Six taels of debt, power shakes the Black Market

Arm-Wrestling Shakes the Ghost Market, Debts Cleared

"Count!"

Iron Arm Hu's roar echoed through the cavern, carrying a heaven-defying brute force. His palm, broad as a winnowing fan, clamped tightly around Ye Qingxuan's right hand, veins coiling along his forearm like tangled vines, muscles bulging like cast iron. He drove with his waist and back, his entire body leaning forward, and a mountain-toppling torrent of power slammed down toward Ye Qingxuan's arm.

Ye Qingxuan's arm stood like a stone pillar, utterly unmoved. He sank his stance slightly, his feet rooted firmly to the ground, his waist and abdomen taut. A surge of strength rose from his soles, traveled up his spine, and poured straight into his right arm. He didn't rush to counterattack, merely held steady, letting Iron Arm Hu's force crash against him.

"One!" a man in the crowd called out loudly.

Sweat rolled down Iron Arm Hu's face. He was giving it his all, yet Ye Qingxuan's hand hadn't so much as trembled. Alarm struck his heart—this kid, scrawny as he looked, how could he have such freakish strength? He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his arm swelling again, as if trying to snap Ye Qingxuan's arm clean off.

"Two!"

Ye Qingxuan's gaze, piercing through the gap in his facecloth, landed on Iron Arm Hu's flushed face. He could sense the hollowness in the other's force—raw power driven by brute strength, lacking staying power. The Indestructible Vajra Body within him was steadily channeling blood and qi into his right arm, muscle fibers vibrating into tighter density, bones as tough as jade.

"Three!"

The veins on Iron Arm Hu's forehead bulged, his breathing growing ragged. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he tried to overwhelm his opponent with sheer presence. The onlookers, who had started out amused, gradually turned solemn. They could see that Iron Arm Hu was giving everything, yet this masked man seemed as relaxed as if strolling through a garden.

"Four!"

A faint twitch at the corner of Ye Qingxuan's mouth betrayed a calm ease. He stopped merely defending. A force, vast and irresistible, erupted from his right arm. It wasn't simple brute strength—it was the seamless unity of qi and blood, sinew and bone, achieved after reaching Minor Accomplishment in the Indestructible Vajra Body.

Iron Arm Hu felt an unprecedented backlash, like a mountain collapsing or a tsunami crashing down. He had already exhausted his strength and could no longer hold. His wrist began to tilt backward, inch by inch.

"Five!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. No one had expected this masked man to turn the tables.

Iron Arm Hu's face shifted from flushed to ashen. He tried to pull back, but the force locked him in place, immovable. He tried to push forward, but his qi and blood were spent, unable to muster even a shred of power.

"Six!"

Crack!

A faint sound of bone shifting cut through the clamor of the Ghost Market, startlingly clear.

Iron Arm Hu's right arm snapped outward, his wrist twisting at an odd angle. A scream tore from his throat as the recoil sent him stumbling, nearly crashing to the ground.

Ye Qingxuan released his grip. Iron Arm Hu's arm hung limp, his hand clutching his wrist, drenched in sweat and pain, all trace of arrogance gone from his face.

The crowd fell silent, then erupted in astonished murmurs.

"This kid's got monstrous strength!"

"Iron Arm Hu's been taken down!"

"That 'Clumsy Strength Art'—could it be real?"

Ye Qingxuan paid no heed to the uproar. He withdrew his arm, his sleeve falling back to cover his right arm, smooth as polished jade. He looked at Iron Arm Hu, his voice still calm: "Do you still want the technique?"

Iron Arm Hu grimaced in pain, lifting his head with a look of unwillingness mixed with wariness. He knew he'd run into a tough opponent. In the Ghost Market, someone who could break his wrist without breaking a sweat was no ordinary man.

"Yes... yes!" he ground out through clenched teeth. "But I can't give you those three taels. I... I only have six on me."

The bystanders sneered. Iron Arm Hu, having lost the strength contest, was now trying to cheat on the payment.

Ye Qingxuan didn't get angry. He just watched Iron Arm Hu quietly. In the Ghost Market, profit ruled; there was no room for sentiment. If the other dared to renege openly, he was testing the limits.

"Six taels?" Ye Qingxuan repeated the number.

Iron Arm Hu, thinking Ye Qingxuan would refuse, quickly explained, "I... I only brought this much today. If you don't believe me—" He made as if to open his shirt, then stopped, a flicker of cunning in his eyes.

Ye Qingxuan had no intention of searching him. The Ghost Market had its rules, but some rules only existed on the surface. Starting a fight would only invite unnecessary trouble.

He needed the money, and he needed it now. Time was running out.

"Deal," Ye Qingxuan said.

Iron Arm Hu froze, surprised at how readily Ye Qingxuan agreed. He pulled a heavy money pouch from his chest and tossed it over.

Ye Qingxuan caught it, weighed it in his hand, then loosened the drawstring. Inside were several uneven lumps of silver, glinting faintly in the dim firelight. He tucked the pouch into his robe and handed the stack of straw paper to Iron Arm Hu.

"This is the Clumsy Strength Art," he said. "Practice it diligently, and you'll see results."

Iron Arm Hu took the paper, his gaze complex as he looked at Ye Qingxuan. He seemed about to speak, but in the end, said nothing. He silently put away the paper, clutched his injured arm, and turned to leave.

Ye Qingxuan didn't linger. He picked up the wooden board inscribed with "Clumsy Strength Art" and walked away.

Six taels, plus the fourteen he already had in his pocket, made exactly twenty.

He needed fourteen to pay off his debt; the remaining six would be enough to support him and his sister for a while.

Leaving the underground cavern of the Ghost Market, Ye Qingxuan slowed his pace. He wove through narrow alleys, his body tense, every sound—the wind, faint footsteps—within his perception. He knew that making money in the Ghost Market meant watching for eyes that didn't want to be seen.

He deliberately took a few detours to avoid any possible tail. The morning air of Linyuan Prefecture carried a damp, earthy scent, worlds apart from the Ghost Market's stench of decay.

He stopped at a deserted street corner, his back against the wall, his gaze fixed on several figures in the distance. They were guards on the Ghost Market's periphery. Tall and steady in bearing, they were clearly trained fighters. He assessed their strength, running mental simulations of how he'd fare in a conflict.

Reaching Minor Accomplishment in the Indestructible Vajra Body had given him a clearer understanding of his own power. His current strength was enough to handle ordinary Body Tempering martial artists, even contend with those at the second level of Minor Accomplishment. But against these Ghost Market guards, he had to be cautious. They outnumbered him and moved in sync—not an easy fight to win alone.

He didn't act rashly, only observed in silence.

Today, he had settled one burden. The fourteen taels that had weighed on his heart for so long were finally gathered.

But this was only the first step.

Hu Jiudao's threat, Duan Tianbao's ten-day deadline—tomorrow was the day of reckoning.

Fierce Tiger Hall, a gang entrenched in the Southern District for years, wielded immense power. He knew that merely paying off the debt wouldn't solve everything. Hu Jiudao's words had already touched his reverse scale.

He glanced down at the money pouch in his arms. He had the money now, but could this money buy true peace?

He knew this was only the beginning.

He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on the sky gradually brightening in the distance. The light of the rising sun pierced through the thin mist, painting Linyuan Prefecture in a faint layer of gold.

In this world of murky currents, there was no true peace. Only by meeting hardness with hardness, tooth for tooth, could he and his sister carve out a sliver of hope.

He took a deep breath and tucked the money pouch securely into his robes.

Today, he would deliver this money to Fierce Tiger Hall with his own hands.

He would make those people understand that Ye Qingxuan was no lamb to be slaughtered.

And that money was far from his only card.

He turned and strode purposefully toward the Southern District. His silhouette, unremarkable in stature against the morning light, radiated a steadfastness as solid as a mountain.

In his heart, a decision had already been made.