Severed Pulse Without Trace

The saber wind howled, sharp as a golden crow crying blood.

Facing this strike that could split a man in two, Chen Ping did not flee with his head down as before.

He halted his retreat, planting his feet like gnarled roots into the blue stone slabs. His withered, sallow hands, half-hidden in his sleeves, took on an eerie bluish-black metallic sheen.

Shattered Stone Palm at its perfected stage—Iron Hand Without Trace.

Instead of retreating, he advanced, pressing his palms together and reaching for the razor-sharp blade.

"You're asking for death!"

Jin Shijie's eyes brimmed with manic glee, as if he already saw Chen Ping's hands severed in a spray of blood.

Clang—!

A jarring, teeth-grinding clash of metal rang out across the arena.

No blood or flesh flew. That Hundred-Refined Steel Saber was caught mid-swing, held fast between two bare palms.

Chen Ping's face flushed red. The immense force from the blade sent him stumbling backward.

"Pfft."

His tiger-mouth split open, blood dripping from his fingers and staining the stone beneath him. He swayed, looking like he was on his last legs—a spent bolt from a strong crossbow.

This blow seemed brutal, but in truth, Chen Ping had deflected seventy percent of the force, suffering only superficial wounds.

To outsiders, though, the ragged youth had barely half a life left.

"Hahaha! Block? Let's see what you block with!"

Jin Shijie, now fully under the drug's influence, had eyes bloodshot and wild. Seeing Chen Ping wounded, his innate cruelty surged.

He gave Chen Ping no chance to catch his breath. With a roar, he swung his long saber wildly, chaotically charging in for another kill.

But he didn't notice that as the Bloodburst Pill's effects intensified, his breathing grew ragged like a bellows. The once-refined Golden Crow Saber Technique now showed gaping flaws born of impatience.

Chen Ping narrowed his eyes, a faint glint of light deep in his pupils.

Jin Shijie's ferocious assault slowed like a replay in slow motion.

Left foot unsteady, center wide open, qi and blood flowing backward.

All flaws.

"Now."

Chen Ping's mind spoke coldly.

The moment Jin Shijie's saber sliced through empty air—old strength spent, new strength unborn—

Chen Ping moved.

He used no flashy footwork. Like a slippery fish, he sidestepped along the blade's edge and slipped right into Jin Shijie's embrace.

Their bodies brushed past, face to face.

Chen Ping caught the nauseating, bloody stench of the drug on Jin Shijie's breath.

He raised his right hand and pressed it lightly against Jin Shijie's chest—the Shanzhong Acupoint.

This palm strike carried no wind, no leaking energy. It was like a gentle pat between old friends.

Yet the moment his hand touched the fabric—

The unique "penetrating force" of Shattered Stone Palm at its perfected stage turned into an invisible steel needle. It pierced through the Golden Silk Armor protecting Jin Shijie's body, ignoring flesh and bone.

The force struck straight through to the heart meridian.

Thump.

A dull sound, audible only to Chen Ping, echoed inside Jin Shijie's chest.

The sound of heart meridians snapping.

The two figures parted.

Jin Shijie held his saber high, frozen mid-motion. The twisted, arrogant grin on his face hadn't yet faded.

The next moment, the flush on his face receded visibly, turning into a deathly pallor.

"Uh... gah..."

A strange, bellows-like rasp escaped Jin Shijie's throat. His eyes bulged, unable to believe what had happened.

Clatter.

The saber hit the ground.

Then, like a pile of mud, Jin Shijie slowly crumpled to the floor.

"Whoosh—"

A mouthful of black blood gushed from his lips, mixed with dark red chunks of internal organs.

The entire arena fell dead silent.

The onlookers who had been cheering for Young Master Jin to kill were now like ducks with their necks wrung—mouths agape, unable to make a sound.

Just as Jin Shijie collapsed, Chen Ping also exhausted his last ounce of strength.

His legs gave way, and with a thud, he slumped to the ground, gasping for air in ragged breaths. Cold sweat poured from him, and his face was as pale as paper.

"Scared... scared me to death..."

Chen Ping wiped the cold sweat from his face with a trembling hand, his eyes filled with the terror and exhaustion of a narrow escape from death—the perfect picture of someone who had lucked out to survive.

That was the best cover.

A bitter victory was still a victory.

"Jie'er!"

A roar of fury and anguish erupted from the main seat in the viewing stand.

A burly figure descended like a great eagle spreading its wings, leaping directly from the two-zhang-high platform and landing heavily in the center of the arena.

It was the chief examiner, Iron Palm Jin Zhenshan.

The hard Blue Stone floor of the arena cracked under his feet like a spiderweb.

Jin Zhenshan immediately lifted Jin Shijie from the ground and pressed his fingers to his son's pulse.

In just a single breath, the face of this martial arts master who had dominated Qinghe County for years turned ashen.

Meridians severed, heart and pulse shattered.

Beyond even a god's salvation.

"You little beast! You dare strike so viciously?!"

Jin Zhenshan snapped his head up, eyes bloodshot, a tangible, murderous intent locking onto Chen Ping, who was slumped nearby.

His robes billowed without wind, and his right hand rose high, faint black energy swirling in his palm.

If that palm strike landed, not only was Chen Ping now at his "last gasp," but even in his prime, he would be crushed into meat paste.

Chen Ping shrank his neck, panic flickering in his eyes, and scrambled backward with all his might, stammering:

"Spare... spare me, sir! It was Young Master Jin himself... who fell! I didn't use any force!"

Even as he begged for mercy, his left hand, hidden in his sleeve, had already quietly gripped a Poison Smoke Pellet, and the Longevity of Pine and Crane within him churned wildly, ready for a desperate last stand.

"Stop!"

Just as Jin Zhenshan's palm was about to descend in that critical moment, a stern shout rang out from the viewing stand.

The County Magistrate of Qinghe stood up, his face as dark as water, his gaze coldly fixed on Jin Zhenshan below.

"Master Jin, this is the Imperial Military Examination, under the eyes of all. The victor is decided. Your son was outmatched; injuries are inevitable in a bout where fists and feet show no mercy."

The Magistrate's voice was not loud, but it carried official authority. "If you kill someone on the spot, where does that leave the laws of the Imperial Court? Where does that leave this official?"

Jin Zhenshan's hand froze mid-air, just three inches from Chen Ping's crown.

The palm wind stung Chen Ping's cheeks.

The air around them stagnated.

A long moment passed.

Jin Zhenshan slowly withdrew his hand, took a deep breath, and forcibly suppressed the overwhelming murderous intent back into his body.

He gave Chen Ping a long, hard look.

That gaze was venomous, as if looking at a dead man.

"Fine. Very well."

Jin Zhenshan picked up his son's corpse, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping. "The young are formidable. I, Jin, will remember today's matter."

With that, he cast no further glance at anyone, turned, and strode away with Jin Shijie in his arms, his back looking especially desolate and sinister.

Chen Ping remained slumped on the ground, watching Jin Zhenshan's retreating figure, the taut string in his heart still not loosened.