Chapter Twenty-Four: First Battle

Su Qingyang was the young master of Datong Trading Company, born into a powerful family. His opponent, Yan Linzu, was virtually unknown. Though the two were close in age, their abilities were worlds apart, and disciples from various martial halls gathered around the arena, discussing the disparity.

Yet Yan Linzu was older and looked far more robust than Su Qingyang. Neither were particularly outstanding contestants, so while the debate was lively, it failed to stir much excitement.

Yan Linzu swaggered off the stage, approaching the disciples of White Cloud Hall, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect you to be so weak. I just used a little extra force…”

The White Cloud Hall disciples were furious at his arrogance. Feng Yuancheng raised his hand with a cold smile, shaking his head but saying nothing.

“Ha…” Yan Linzu pursed his lips, glanced at Feng Yuancheng with a half-smile, then turned and walked away without another word.

As Feng Yuancheng watched the young man’s departing figure, he narrowed his eyes slightly.

Chen Fan frowned. During Yan Linzu’s fight with Su Qingyang, he’d used only basic punching—force over skill, without any technique or martial arts at all! Yet not using martial arts didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t mastered them…

Chen Fan squinted, watching Yan Linzu more closely. Sensing the scrutiny, Yan Linzu suddenly turned, flashing a mouthful of white teeth.

Chen Fan withdrew his gaze, making no move. At this moment, he was still just a nobody, with no opportunity to display his strength, unnoticed by the crowd.

…

White Cloud Hall’s average strength was indeed formidable. Aside from the defeated Su Qingyang and Yong Shiyu, everyone else emerged victorious, leaving only Feng Yuancheng and Chen Fan yet to compete.

Dusk was settling over the arena. Some rings had already finished their matches for the day; at ring five, only four contestants remained—including Chen Fan and Feng Yuancheng.

“Am I going to face Feng Yuancheng early?” Chen Fan felt a small pang of anxiety. He was confident in himself, but had never seen Feng Yuancheng in action and did not want to meet such a talented opponent so soon.

“In the next match at ring five, Feng Yuancheng of White Cloud Hall faces a challenger from Plum Blossom Pavilion…”

A Plum Blossom Pavilion opponent!

When Feng Yuancheng stepped onto the stage, Chen Fan noticed more spectators crowding around the arena. Feng Yuancheng carried himself with exceptional poise.

Plum Blossom Pavilion was among the renowned martial halls of Feiling County, boasting strong disciples—this opponent was also a first-rank martial artist! But as a disciple of Plum Blossom Pavilion, his foundation was far superior to those from smaller halls.

Yet against Feng Yuancheng, he lasted less than ten moves before being knocked off the stage.

The gap in strength was astonishing.

“Feng Yuancheng truly is formidable!” Chen Fan felt his fighting spirit surge. He had watched dozens of matches, rarely seeing anyone win so effortlessly. Even if the Plum Blossom Pavilion disciple had only mastered a third-tier manual, his skills should have been solid—yet the disparity was vast.

“My foundation is strong, with a dozen manuals stacked together; my physique may not be inferior to Feng Yuancheng’s, but I lack experience in combat…” Chen Fan understood: children of great families received specialized training from a young age, including sparring partners, so their strength was comprehensive—not just technique and power.

His gaze grew more solemn. If such a figure existed in the small ring five, what about the others? The dozen manuals he’d mastered were generally of poor quality—barely enough to match Feng Yuancheng’s two first-class manuals.

With these thoughts, the final round began, and Chen Fan ascended the stage.

As Feng Yuancheng’s match ended, most of the crowd dispersed from the ring. Chen Fan, though from White Cloud Hall, was unknown and drew little attention.

Looking at the now sparsely populated ring, Chen Fan felt a strange sense of emptiness. Aside from the White Cloud Hall disciples waiting out of courtesy, nearly all others had left.

Below the stage, among the White Cloud Hall disciples, Meng Fan cheered Chen Fan on. Su Qingyang, dejected, watched Chen Fan with some imbalance in his heart—secretly hoping Chen Fan would lose as well.

“The final match, begin!” The referee’s voice rang out.

Chen Fan immediately charged at his opponent—a disciple from Four Symbols Hall, about fourteen or fifteen, not much older than Chen Fan. Seeing Chen Fan’s aggressive move, the youth panicked, retreating and throwing a punch.

Smack.

They clashed simply, and the youth staggered back four or five steps, face stricken with terror.

Chen Fan, having mastered over a dozen strength-training manuals, though new to martial arts, had accumulated robust vitality and immense power, far surpassing the youth before him.

With the first exchange, Chen Fan sensed his opponent’s ordinary strength and equally meager combat experience.

Since it wasn’t a fight to the death, and Chen Fan was certain of victory, he didn’t press the advantage but instead slowed the pace, practicing his own boxing techniques.

He performed the Wind and Thunder Palm several times, sparring over thirty or forty rounds before the youth finally conceded defeat, retreating under pressure.

Even without forcing the issue, the difference in their abilities left the youth increasingly overwhelmed.

Chen Fan stopped his movements. The two bowed to each other and left the ring.

Despite using the Wind and Thunder Palm in combat, Chen Fan failed to break through or gain further insight.

“Does this not count as real combat? Is it the opponent’s weakness, or… must it truly be a fight to the death for me to gain enlightenment?” He recalled the moment he defeated Pi Liu and felt a bit helpless.

Lost in thought, he walked off the stage.

Meng Fan cheerfully put his arm around Chen Fan’s shoulder, “Congratulations on your win!”

Sadly, Chen Fan’s opponent was of average strength, and neither were famous family disciples. The victory meant little to the onlookers, with Meng Fan alone offering congratulations.

Ironically, the one most affected by Chen Fan’s victory was Su Qingyang. Both were new students, from the same class, representing different social strata. Su Qingyang inevitably felt uneasy—especially as he was the loser, too ashamed to look Chen Fan in the eye.

…

Chen Fan’s progress in boxing improved considerably.

His “talent” was unique; breakthroughs in strength-training arts quickly reflected in his body. All day, he could feel his blood and energy surging, his physique slowly improving.

His nutritional intake increased accordingly—he ate two extra bowls at dinner!

With this breakthrough, his body would soon enter a period of rapid improvement, requiring even more nutrition.

The next day, the competition continued.

Today featured not only the next round of preliminaries, but also matches for the losers’ bracket.

Su Qingyang and the other defeated disciples were required to attend.

Though they had no chance at the prize money, they still needed to compete in the losers’ bracket.

The prize was only motivation; the true purpose of the martial tournament was to temper the disciples of each hall.

The bronze gong sounded.

The day’s matches began anew.

Chen Fan, previously scheduled last, was the first to take the stage. His opponent was a disciple from Flying Tiger Hall named Zhang Feihong.

This young man looked seventeen or eighteen, tall and sturdy, dressed in a gray cloth jacket—clearly a commoner.

Generally, age was the most reliable indicator of strength. Even less gifted students, by seventeen or eighteen, had trained several more years and were usually stronger.

“Go, Chen Fan!”

Meng Qi shouted encouragement from below.

In the White Cloud Hall disciples’ section, Su Qingyang watched Chen Fan ascend the stage, his eyes flashing complex emotions, silently wishing, “You must lose! I can’t believe your luck will hold!”

Sometimes, personal defeat meant little; it was the success of those one looked down upon that stung the most.

On the stage, Chen Fan nodded to Meng Qi, then turned to face the Flying Tiger Hall disciple with grave attention.

Confidence in his own strength did not warrant underestimating any opponent.

The contestants’ abilities were not too far apart, all still ordinary mortals; at this level, anyone could reverse their fortunes.

Chen Fan’s earliest training had been in techniques from Flying Tiger Hall, giving him a unique feeling toward the school.

Flying Tiger Hall was one of the few boxing halls capable of competing with White Cloud Hall.

After the deliberate provocation by Yan Linzu the previous day, there was now an undercurrent of rivalry between White Cloud Hall and Flying Tiger Hall.

The two locked eyes before Zhang Feihong rushed in with a punch.

Smack!

Chen Fan responded with a punch of his own.

Zhang Feihong felt the overwhelming force from Chen Fan’s fist and retreated a step, casting a surprised glance. Though Chen Fan was tall, his face was youthful—obviously not very old.

“This kid’s got great strength!”

Chen Fan was equally surprised. He recognized the technique—Tiger Fist, and sensed the man had even cultivated inner energy!

Tiger Fist was a common art, but still a second-tier manual with its own threshold. Zhang Feihong, though lacking apparent background, had managed to master it—no small feat.

“A formidable opponent!”

Chen Fan grew alert, intent on honing himself. Instead of exploiting his advantage, he used Wind and Thunder Palm with steady, careful moves.

Smack, smack, smack!

Zhang Feihong, having cultivated inner energy, fought fiercely and decisively—his moves were seasoned, clearly from much real combat. Unlike disciples relying solely on strength-training, he had real experience.

Had Chen Fan not possessed a powerful physique and abundant vitality, he might have faltered.

White Cloud Hall’s disciples, seeing Chen Fan hold his own, were inspired. Though they couldn’t gauge Zhang Feihong’s exact strength, his age and build signaled a tough opponent.

Onstage, Zhang Feihong sweated, his hair flying, unable to secure victory—his struggle growing ever more desperate.

“I must break into the top thirty and win twenty taels of silver—how can I lose here?!”

For commoner disciples, twenty taels was a windfall! Even those with true martial skills couldn’t ignore such a prize.

Having mastered Tiger Fist’s inner energy and possessing solid combat experience, Zhang Feihong had a real shot at the top thirty.

Unable to overpower Chen Fan, Zhang Feihong’s eyes reddened. Suddenly he crouched, delivering a fierce kick at Chen Fan’s groin!

He resorted to street-fighting tricks.

Chen Fan dodged hastily, frowning.

Zhang Feihong grew increasingly shameless, employing every possible tactic.

Though Chen Fan struggled to adapt, his superior strength allowed him to cope.

He glared at Zhang Feihong—were they not in the ring, he’d expect lime or chili powder to be thrown!

Zhang Feihong’s eyes flashed with malice.

“I can’t lose!”

When a person disregards everything but victory, their tenacity becomes formidable.

Zhang Feihong continued to target Chen Fan’s lower body, employing every trick.

The tournament rules did not restrict such moves—so long as no weapons or banned drugs were used, any method was fair!

Below the stage, watching this scene, Feng Yuancheng shook his head and declared, “Chen Fan is going to lose…”