Awkward First Victory

"Whoosh—"

The heavy Flower-engraved Axe swept down with a vicious gust, cleaving past Chen Ping's nose.

Chen Ping looked as if he'd been scared witless. He stumbled, his body lurching awkwardly to the left, and narrowly dodged the axe that would have split his head open.

The axe blade smashed into the wooden platform, sending splinters flying and numbing Chen Ping's feet with the impact.

"Dodging? Let's see how many times you can dodge!"

The burly man's jowls quivered. His first strike had missed, and with a furious roar, the muscles in his arms bulged. He swung his two heavy axes like windmills, unleashing a storm of axe shadows that engulfed Chen Ping.

Chen Ping was like a tiny boat tossed about in a raging sea, barely managing to fend off the blows. Sweat covered his head.

At times he clutched his head and scurried away; at others he rolled and scrambled across the platform. Every time, he brushed past death by the narrowest margin.

Yet deep in his eyes, beneath the panic on the surface, lay a chill as still and dark as an ancient well.

Too slow.

With the heightened senses granted by Longevity of Pine and Crane, the burly man's seemingly unstoppable assault was riddled with openings in Chen Ping's eyes.

Every time his opponent exerted himself, every pause in his breathing, registered clearly in Chen Ping's perception.

His steps looked like a chaotic mess, but in truth they secretly followed the essentials of Plum Blossom Stance. Each "stumble" had been calculated with precision, landing just outside the dead angle of his opponent's strike.

"Hack that monkey to death!"

"Number Seven from Group D, don't disgrace us! Split him in half!"

The spectators below jeered in unison. The gamblers who had bet on the burly man roared with bloodshot eyes, wishing they could rush up and hold Chen Ping down so the man could chop him.

Chen Ping paid them no heed. His mouth hung slightly open as he panted, putting on a show of having reached his limit. In truth, the inner energy within him flowed smoothly. He hadn't sweated a drop; the dampness on his forehead was just a little moisture he'd forced out for the sake of appearances.

"Die!"

After failing to land a blow for so long, the burly man had burned through a great deal of strength. The crowd's heckling had also left him agitated, and at last he lost patience.

With a roar, he raised both axes high, intending to end this game of cat and mouse with a mighty "Mount Tai pressing down."

As the burly man lifted his arms, a huge opening appeared across his chest and abdomen.

In that instant, the index finger of Chen Ping's right hand, hidden in his sleeve, twitched slightly. It was the muscle memory of Shattered Stone Palm after reaching Great Accomplishment. If he struck now, a burst of penetrating force would shatter the man's heart meridians and kill him on the spot.

But as soon as the thought surfaced, Chen Ping forcibly snuffed it out.

He couldn't use Shattered Stone Palm.

The technique was too fierce and domineering, its signature too distinctive. If Jin Zhenshan spotted it from the platform, Chen Ping's image as an "unremarkable" nobody would fall apart.

In the blink of an eye, Chen Ping made his choice.

He let out a strange cry, pretending to be terrified out of his wits, and wildly swung the standard wooden saber in his hand.

The strike had no form at all. It wobbled and veered, looking like the death throes of a cornered man.

"Smack!"

A sharp crack rang out.

The back of the wooden saber "accidentally" struck the numb point on the burly man's right wrist.

The seemingly light blow actually carried a thread of Chen Ping's hidden force.

"Ah!"

Half the burly man's arm went numb and weak at once. He could no longer hold on to the axe in his right hand, and it flew free with a clatter.

The burly man staggered as he lost his balance. Before he could react, Chen Ping promptly flopped onto the ground and used a move that was terribly undignified in the martial world, yet extremely practical—Lazy Donkey Rolling.

He rolled across the ground once, his right leg bending into a hook. It caught the burly man's ankle squarely, and he suddenly yanked.

"Thud!"

Like a mountain of meat being toppled, the burly man hit the platform hard, dazed and reeling.

Before he could struggle back to his feet, Chen Ping had already sprung onto him. He clamped his legs around the man's waist and jammed the hilt of his wooden saber hard against the man's Adam's apple.

"Don't move! Move and I'll stab you to death!"

Chen Ping panted heavily. His face was twisted in the ferocity of someone who had "just escaped with his life," and his trembling voice rang out.

With his throat pinned and breathing difficult, and still winded from the fall, the burly man felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into Chen Ping's bloodshot eyes. His face flushed with humiliation, but in the end, he had no choice but to slap the floor.

"Stop! The match is decided!"

The examiner beside them announced the result without expression.

Only then did Chen Ping roll off the burly man, looking utterly spent. He slumped onto the ground, wiping the "cold sweat" from his face as he cupped his hands to the crowd, grinning foolishly in "relief."

"That... that actually worked?"

"Damn it, what kind of dog luck did this kid have?"

"An unworthy victory! What a shameless fighting style!"

The spectators cursed furiously, feeling as if they'd swallowed a fly. They wanted to see a bloody fight, not some street thug rolling around and launching a sneak attack.

Hearing the curses, Chen Ping secretly rejoiced.

Curse all you want. The harsher, the better.

Only by being dismissed as a clown who relied on dirty tricks could he avoid drawing the attention of those truly powerful people.

He struggled to his feet, dusted himself off, and was about to leave the platform.

Suddenly, he felt a chill across his back. A gaze had settled on him.

Chen Ping jolted and instinctively looked over his shoulder.

On the raised platform, Chief Examiner Jin Zhenshan sat in his Grand Master Chair, idly turning two iron balls in his hand. His keen, piercing eyes were fixed on Chen Ping, thoughtful.

Chen Ping's heart gave a thump.

Had he overdone it?

Or had the clever way he'd struck the man's wrist just now aroused suspicion?

He didn't dare meet Jin Zhenshan's gaze. Quickly lowering his head and putting on a timid look, he blended into the crowd leaving the platform.

"Brother Chen! You won too!"

As soon as he stepped down, a figure like an iron tower charged over. It was Tie Niu.

Bloodstains marked the simpleton's clothes, and it looked as if he'd just fought a hard battle. But he was in high spirits, grinning so widely you could see nothing but teeth.

"I just tossed that skinny monkey who practices Eagle Claw Technique off the platform! That felt great!"

Tie Niu's voice was thunderous, drawing plenty of eyes.

The Jin Family lackey who'd provoked them earlier was especially watching them now with a sinister look.

"Shh!"

Chen Ping's expression changed. He hurriedly grabbed Tie Niu and lowered his voice. "You won, so what? Why are you shouting? Are you tired of living?"

He dragged Tie Niu into the crowd and hurried through a series of twists and turns. Only after making sure no one was watching did he stop in a secluded corner.

"Brother Chen, what's wrong?" Tie Niu scratched his head, confused.

"Nothing. It's always better to keep a low profile."

Chen Ping didn't explain further. In this cutthroat examination ground, the more you showed off, the faster you died. Jin Zhenshan's glance had left his nerves taut.

The two collected their numbers for the next round and headed out of the arena.

As they passed the edge of the Training Ground, the commotion caught Chen Ping's attention.

A huge betting booth had been set up there. It was run by the city's biggest betting house, the Treasure Gambling House.

The names of the candidates and their odds were densely written on a large wooden board.

At the very top, Jin Shijie's name was written in vermilion. His odds were pitifully low, one to one-point-one. He was undoubtedly the odds-on favorite to take first place.

The mysterious young man in black, Leng Feng, had extremely low odds as well.

Chen Ping's gaze moved down until he found his own name in a corner.

[Group D, Number Thirty-Two, Chen Ping. Odds: one to ten.]

Note: A lucky nobody who relies on dirty tricks. Won't make it past the next round.

Seeing the glaring "one to ten," Chen Ping didn't get angry. Instead, he stopped in his tracks.

He felt inside his clothes.

He had only a few taels of broken silver left.

To buy back his freedom and buy medicine, he'd already emptied his pockets.

His future cultivation would require a great deal of silver, even for the most essential ingredient in Iron Bone Soup: Black Tiger Shin Bone.

Chen Ping stared at the wooden board. His usually timid eyes now gleamed with madness.

"Since you all think I'm just a good-for-nothing who gets by on dog luck..."

Chen Ping clenched the broken silver in his hand, a cold smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Then I'll use these few taels to gamble for a fortune."