Underhanded Betting

The next morning, the sky was overcast.

The area around the Training Ground was already packed with people, even livelier than the day before.

Chen Ping didn't head straight to the registration desk. Instead, he lowered his bamboo hat and slipped into an inconspicuous alley beside the Training Ground.

A tattered cloth sign reading "Xinglong Gambling House" hung outside. Inside, smoke swirled thickly, and the reek of sweat and stinking feet made his eyes sting.

Chen Ping felt the silver pouch in his clothes.

It held the few taels of broken silver he had left, along with the forty taels he'd borrowed from Tie Niu last night after shamelessly asking him for a loan.

That simpleton Tie Niu had heard Chen Ping needed money to "grease a few palms" and, without a second thought, handed over everything he owned.

It was all money Tie Niu had saved by scrimping and pinching.

Beneath the wooden plaque bearing his name, the odds of ten to one still glared at him. After yesterday's "clumsy" victory, everyone thought he was a good-for-nothing who'd won by dumb luck.

"Fifty taels on Chen Ping to make the top ten."

Chen Ping deliberately lowered his voice, putting on the air of a gambler staking everything, and slapped the heavy pouch down on the table.

The clerk behind the counter looked at him as if he were an idiot, then swiftly took the money and wrote out a betting slip.

After putting away the slip, Chen Ping left the gambling house.

If he won, fifty taels would become five hundred—enough to buy a few decent old medicinal herbs and advance his Longevity of Pine and Crane a little further.

This time, he wasn't just gambling with money. He was betting his life was tough enough to take it.

The gong signaling the start of the second round soon rang out.

Chen Ping stood on the arena, facing a lean man with a sinister gaze.

The man was called Zhang San Tui, a well-known figure in the southern part of the city. They said his legs could kick through wooden posts as thick as a bowl, and he was famed for his speed.

"Kid, you got lucky and scraped through yesterday. Your luck won't hold today."

Zhang San Tui sneered. He pushed off the ground and shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string.

So fast!

A chorus of shocked cries rose from below the arena.

But in Chen Ping's eyes, the man's movements seemed to slow several times over.

With Longevity of Pine and Crane circulating day and night, his senses had long surpassed those of ordinary people. Zhang San Tui's vaunted speed looked no more than a little faster than an average man's.

Chen Ping instinctively started to dodge to the side, but his foot paused, and he forced himself to stop.

He couldn't dodge too easily.

If he did, he'd give himself away.

He pretended he hadn't reacted in time, lurching backward in a sorry heap and narrowly avoiding the kick aimed at his face.

The gust of wind stung his cheek, making the dodge look perilously close.

Zhang San Tui pressed his advantage, unleashing a flurry of kicks like a violent storm.

Chen Ping struggled to fend him off, apparently unable to fight back. In reality, every step he took landed in the dead angle of his opponent's strike.

"This kid's slippery as a loach!"

Zhang San Tui had been attacking for a while without landing a hit. His frustration mounted, and his gaze turned vicious.

He drew in a breath and launched himself into the air, swinging a powerful whip kick with a howl of wind straight at Chen Ping's temple.

If that kick landed, Chen Ping might not die, but he'd be left an idiot.

There was nowhere to dodge.

Chen Ping's eyes narrowed. He stopped holding back.

Instead of retreating, he stepped forward half a pace and raised his left arm, tensing his muscles until they were hard as iron.

"Thud!"

A dull impact of flesh against flesh rang out.

The expected sight of Chen Ping being kicked away never came. Instead, Zhang San Tui's face changed, his features contorting in pain.

It felt as if his kick had struck solid granite. Agonizing pain shot through his shinbone.

"How is this possible..."

Before Zhang San Tui could react, Chen Ping's gaze sharpened.

His chance had come.

He abandoned the signature killing move of Shattered Stone Palm, changing his palm into a push. He used an unremarkable move from Shattered Stone Palm called "Mountain-Pushing."

This move relied not on internal force penetrating the body, but on sheer strength.

Chen Ping planted his right hand against Zhang San Tui's chest, dug his feet into the ground, brought his waist and abdomen together, and shoved.

"Down you go!"

The push was plain and unremarkable, yet it carried the tremendous force Chen Ping had built up by tempering his bones and muscles for the past three years.

Zhang San Tui felt an irresistible force surge into him. He flew backward beyond the arena, hit the ground with a heavy thump, and clutched his leg, howling in pain.

The whole arena fell silent for a moment, then broke into sparse applause.

"That kid... sure is strong."

"Yeah, Zhang San Tui was unlucky. He kicked someone with bones of iron and got shoved right off the stage."

The spectators buzzed with discussion. Most thought Chen Ping had won through brute force and good luck.

Only at the gambling house did a few sharp-eyed clerks hurry backstage. Before long, Chen Ping's odds were quietly lowered a little.

Chen Ping brushed the dust from his sleeves and jumped down from the arena. That block and push had been clean and decisive: he'd won the match without revealing too many of his cards. It had been just right.

But before he could relax, a commotion in the distance caught his attention.

On another arena, Jin Shijie stood with a cruel grin, planting his foot on a candidate's knee.

"Crack!"

The sickening sound of a bone breaking rang clear.

The candidate screamed and passed out from the pain. Jin Shijie didn't care in the slightest; he even wiped his shoe on the man's clothes in disgust.

He raised his head and looked through the crowd toward Chen Ping, his gaze full of provocation.

More precisely, he was looking at Tie Niu, who was about to enter the arena.

Chen Ping's heart sank. A foreboding feeling rose within him.

When Tie Niu's turn came, his opponent turned out to be a Black-Clad Man skilled in dirty tricks.

The man was slippery and specialized in attacking below the waist.

Tie Niu had brute strength to spare, but couldn't land a blow. His opponent seized an opening and struck him in the back with a palm.

"Pfft!"

Tie Niu spat out a mouthful of blood and crashed heavily to the ground.

The Black-Clad Man still wasn't satisfied. He was about to go in for another attack when the referee finally called a halt, far too late.

"Tie Niu!"

Chen Ping rushed forward and helped up Tie Niu, whose face was pale as gold paper.

Tie Niu's back muscles were rigid beneath Chen Ping's hand, and his breathing was weak. He'd suffered severe internal injuries.

"Brother Ping... I... I lost..."

Tie Niu managed to open his eyes. Blood still seeped from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were full of guilt.

"Shut up. Don't talk."

Chen Ping snapped, using the position of his arm around Tie Niu's back to press his palm against the Life Gate acupoint.

A hair-thin strand of the warm, mellow Changchun inner energy within him flowed into Tie Niu's body.

It wasn't meant to heal him, only to protect his heart meridian and steady his injuries.

If anyone learned he possessed such pure life-nourishing inner energy, he'd be courting certain death.

But looking at Tie Niu like this, Chen Ping ultimately couldn't bring himself to leave him untreated.

Feeling the warmth, Tie Niu's breathing steadied a little, and he fell unconscious.

Chen Ping handed Tie Niu over to the physician who had hurried over, then stood and looked toward Jin Shijie.

Jin Shijie was making a throat-slashing gesture in their direction, a cruel smile on his face.

The chill in Chen Ping's eyes was colder than frost in late autumn.

By dusk, the second round was over.

Chen Ping looked at his name on the rankings and saw that he had successfully advanced to the top sixteen.

He was just one step away from the top ten.

But when he saw the name of his next opponent, his gaze sharpened.

His opponent was called Ghost Hand Seven. No hometown, no background.

Having spent time in the Black Market, Chen Ping knew what a name like that meant.

A death soldier, a tool raised for the sole purpose of killing.

And in Jinguang City, the only family that could afford to raise death soldiers was the Jin Family.

"They're planning to kill me here and keep me out of the top ten."

Chen Ping understood perfectly well.

The Jin Family wanted to monopolize the top places, so naturally they couldn't allow a "wild card" like him to remain. What's more, he was a former retainer of Lin Manor who had "failed to appreciate their generosity."

Night deepened as Chen Ping walked home alone.

The alleys in the western part of the city were already run-down, and now they were eerily quiet.

The cold wind swept dead leaves across the bluestone paving, whispering and scraping.

When he reached a corner, Chen Ping stopped.

Several thugs stood in the shadows ahead, arms folded, looking like a rough lot as they toyed with short clubs and daggers.

Among them stood a middle-aged man dressed in a silk robe.

Chen Ping recognized him. He was a steward from Jin Manor, and he was always throwing his weight around.

"You're Chen Ping, right?"

Steward Jin sized him up with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His gaze was plainly that of a man looking at a stray dog about to be slaughtered.

Chen Ping hunched his back slightly and tucked his hands into his sleeves, letting a look of alarm appear on his face.

"Gentlemen... what do you want? This humble one doesn't have any money."

"No money? You were throwing it around at the gambling house today."

Steward Jin sneered and casually pulled a heavy money pouch from his clothes, tossing it at Chen Ping's feet.

"Clink."

The sound of silver hitting the ground rang especially clear in the silent alley.

"There are a hundred taels here."

Steward Jin clasped his hands behind his back and spoke unhurriedly, his tone full of arrogance.

"Tomorrow, lose to the man Young Master Jin has arranged for you, and the money is yours; otherwise, it won't even be enough to buy your coffin."