First Battle

The drums sounded again. The matches had begun.

A young man in a silver martial outfit leaped onto the stage. The words "Rushing Thunder" were embroidered across his chest, edged in silver thread and glaringly bright beneath the sun.

He was around seventeen or eighteen, with sharp brows and keen eyes, his temples slightly bulging. The instant he stood on the stage, he looked like a blade freshly drawn from its sheath.

He cupped his fists toward the crowd below, his movements clean and crisp, yet his gaze deliberately swept across the disciples of the Zhao Family, the Shi Family, and the three martial academies of Raging Tide. A cold smile hung at the corner of his mouth.

"Rushing Thunder Martial Academy, Li Chong. Please enlighten me."

His voice was so loud that even those in Listening Wind Tower could hear him.

People below the stage began whispering among themselves. "Li Chong—the prized disciple of Hall Master Yu from Rushing Thunder Martial Academy. I heard he may break through to hidden strength this year."

"Tsk, tsk. He won't be easy to deal with."

"Of course he won't. In my view, among the eighteen people competing today, only a handful are stronger than him." The speaker kept his voice low, but his tone brimmed with certainty.

Xu Qing watched Li Chong, and his gaze shifted slightly. He had recognized the man before Li Chong even stepped onto the stage.

That day at Blackwater Bay, he had gone with Shopkeeper Qian to buy treasure fish. Shopkeeper Qian had been ahead of him while he lagged a step behind, and Shopkeeper Qian had bought that Golden-Scaled Carp.

Back then, Xu Qing had not even been qualified to look him in the eye. He could only lower his head and listen to Li Chong speak of Rushing Thunder Martial Academy's grandeur and prestige.

Yet now, the two might stand on the same stage as opponents.

Xu Qing did not hurry to go up. He had no desire to be the bird that stuck its head out first.

At the main table on the second floor, County Magistrate Lin Hanshan lifted his teacup, took a sip, and glanced at Yu Tai with a smiling face. His smile was neither too deep nor too shallow, perfectly measured. "Hall Master Yu, this disciple of yours is quite good."

Yu Tai's face blossomed into a grin, but his words remained as modest as ever. "Your Excellency overpraises him. The boy is merely willing to endure hardship. His talent is ordinary, ordinary." His mouth spoke humbly, but the pride in his eyes could not be concealed. The wrinkles at his eyes squeezed outward one after another.

County Deputy Su Zhengyuan sat to one side, a faint smile always on his face. He raised his teacup and slowly blew at the floating leaves without saying a word.

The master of Raging Tide Martial Academy was surnamed Miao, a lean, wiry man in his fifties with two thin mustaches.

Seeing Yu Tai's smug expression made anger rise in his heart. He gave one of his disciples at another table a meaningful look. The disciple understood and made a gesture toward the stage below.

A young man in a blue martial outfit leaped onto the stage. The two words "Raging Tide" were embroidered across his chest, their blue threads rippling like waves.

He was solidly built, with a steady gaze. He cupped his fists to Li Chong. "Raging Tide Martial Academy, Zhao Heng. Please."

Li Chong sized him up, his lips curling with a measure of contempt.

Zhao Heng gave a cold snort. The two took an immediate dislike to each other; neither would yield to the other.

Li Chong moved first.

He stepped forward, and the entire stage seemed to have been struck by a hammer, letting out a muffled thud. His right fist shot from his waist—no flourishes, no probing—straight for Zhao Heng's chest.

His fist tore through the air with a sharp, brief shriek, the sound of air compressed by excessive speed.

The essence of the Rushing Thunder Fist lay in one word: speed. Not the speed of flowery fists and embroidered kicks, but the speed of lightning crashing down. By the time you heard the thunder, you had already been struck.

Zhao Heng did not meet it head-on.

He turned aside, raising his left palm before his chest while his right palm pushed out like a wave. The edge of his hand slid along Li Chong's forearm, shedding most of its force. At the same time, his palm spat out force, sending the punch's momentum away.

The Raging Tide Palm emphasized softness. Like ocean waves, one swell followed another. You might block the first wave, but not the second. Block the second, and there would still be a third, a fourth.

Li Chong felt a numbing ache shoot through his forearm, as though he had been swept by the tail of a great fish. The numbness raced from his wrist to his shoulder. He immediately withdrew his fist and retreated half a step, dropping his left elbow to guard his ribs as his right fist struck again!

This one was even faster. His fist traced an almost invisible arc through the air, shooting straight for Zhao Heng's face.

Zhao Heng tilted his head back to evade it. The fist wind swept past above his nose, chilling its tip. Without stopping his feet, he circled Li Chong by half a turn, his palms striking in alternation, each faster than the last. Layer upon layer of palm shadows piled up like waves at high tide, one wave covering the next, pressing down until one could barely breathe.

Li Chong was forced back three steps in succession, his heels pounding the stage boards with thud, thud, thud.

He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms to block, taking Zhao Heng's four palms head-on. Every strike against his arms felt like a wooden plank lashing him—dull and heavy. By the time the fourth palm landed, Li Chong's arms were already trembling slightly.

The disciples of Rushing Thunder Martial Academy below the stage grew anxious and shouted at the tops of their lungs, "Senior Brother Li! Hold steady!" Their voices were sharp and bright.

Yet the smile on Yu Tai's face on the second floor did not change. The curve of his lips even widened slightly. He lifted his teacup, slowly blew on it, and took a sip.

Li Chong was not panicked either.

The instant the fifth palm came down, he abruptly crouched low, his entire body compressing like a spring. His knees nearly touched the stage before he explosively sprang upward, his right fist blasting diagonally from below toward Zhao Heng's jaw.

That punch was called Thunder Rising from the Ground, one of the killing moves of the Rushing Thunder Fist, designed to catch an opponent utterly off guard.

Zhao Heng's pupils suddenly contracted. He forcibly withdrew his palm, bending backward at the waist until his body nearly formed an arch bridge. The fist wind swept half an inch above his nose, blowing the loose hair over his forehead straight back.

He narrowly avoided it and rode the motion into a backflip, opening the distance.

The two took their stances again.

Neither had gained an advantage. Several red palm prints marked Li Chong's arms, while Zhao Heng's temple bore a red streak where the fist wind had grazed him.

This time, neither was in a hurry to attack. Li Chong slowly pressed forward, his fists half-clenched and half-relaxed, as though gathering strength. Zhao Heng turned slightly sideways, his palms held one before the other and facing outward like two waves ready to crash down and swallow someone whole.

Li Chong threw the first punch again.

Another straight punch, but unlike before. Midway through, its direction suddenly changed. His fist twisted and smashed diagonally toward Zhao Heng's shoulder hollow.

Zhao Heng swung a palm to block, but Li Chong's fist withdrew again. His left fist immediately came crashing in from another angle.

A variation of the Rushing Thunder Fist.

Lightning did not only strike downward—it also exploded outward. When a bolt fell, it branched into countless forks in the air. You could never know from which direction it would hit you.

Zhao Heng responded calmly. His palms whirled through the air, blocking, deflecting, pushing, and slapping away every one of Li Chong's punches. His palm technique grew ever more rounded and fluid, like the tide itself. No matter what kind of stone came its way, it could wrap around it, grind it smooth, and push it back.

Li Chong's punches grew heavier, each strike carrying a low boom through the air like a beating war drum. Zhao Heng's palms came faster and denser, their shadows weaving an invisible net that caught Li Chong's fists one by one.

The spectators below were dazzled, scarcely daring to breathe.

The two had fought beyond thirty exchanges.

Forty exchanges.

Fifty exchanges.

Li Chong's breathing began to grow rough. The Rushing Thunder Fist was fierce and forceful, and forceful fist techniques consumed the most stamina. By now, his fists were a fraction slower than at the start.

Though it was only a fraction, Zhao Heng felt it.

Zhao Heng's palms suddenly changed. Before, he had focused on defense, on deflecting and neutralizing force. Now, he abruptly shifted from defense to offense.

His palms struck in alternation, each faster and heavier than the one before. Even his footwork accelerated as he circled Li Chong completely. Palm shadows surged in from every direction like floodwaters spilling over a dam and pouring through every crack.

Li Chong was driven back step by step. His heel had already reached the edge of the stage.

Someone below cried out in alarm.

Li Chong's pupils suddenly contracted. He knew that one more step back would send him off the stage. This retreat would cost him more than a single match—it would cost Rushing Thunder Martial Academy its face, his master's expectations, and his standing among his fellow disciples.

Victory or defeat would be decided in this instant.

Zhao Heng saw the opportunity as well.

He closed in, his right palm charged with the full force of ten parts, and drove it straight at Li Chong's chest. The strike was fast and heavy, carrying an aura of utter determination!

He meant to blast Li Chong off the stage with one palm!

But this very strike was committed too fully.

And committing too fully meant he could not pull it back.

Li Chong's eyes suddenly lit up.

He did not retreat.

He charged straight into Zhao Heng's palm. Not to take it head-on. He flashed sideways, letting Zhao Heng's palm skim past his chest. The palm wind tore a rip in his robe.

At the same time, his right fist flipped out from beneath his ribs like a thunderclap that had lain dormant for ages, smashing precisely into Zhao Heng's waist.

That was the opening Zhao Heng had exposed when he struck.

His left ribs—one of the weak points of the Raging Tide Palm.

When he threw a right palm, his left ribs had to open wide. Ordinarily, Zhao Heng would shield them with his left palm, but this strike had used all his strength. His left palm had withdrawn too far and could not return in time.

The fist landed.

Zhao Heng gave a muffled groan and staggered two steps to the right. A fist-shaped dent appeared in the robe at his waist. His face turned deathly pale in an instant, and large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

Before he could steady himself, Li Chong's next fist was already upon him.

A straight punch struck Zhao Heng squarely in the chest. Zhao Heng staggered back seven or eight steps, stepped into empty air, and fell from the stage.

"Thank you for yielding!" Li Chong stood at the edge of the stage and cupped his fists toward those below, a victorious smile on his face.

Cheers rose one after another across the martial arts ground.

"Excellent fist technique!" The guests applauded in succession.

"Well done, Senior Brother Li!" The disciples of Rushing Thunder Martial Academy clapped and cheered.

"Senior Brother Li is amazing!" The disciples of Longwind Martial Hall and Flying Cloud Martial Academy also joined in with loud shouts.

On the other side, however, the disciples of the Zhao Family, the Shi Family, and Raging Tide Martial Academy looked worse than the last.