Weekend Test

After hanging up, Li Zhengyang stared at his bank balance for a while.

Seventy thousand.

He opened the system, selected recharge, entered 70,000, and confirmed.

[Recharge successful!]

[Recharge amount: 70000]

[Blood-Qi Value gained: +700]

[Current Blood-Qi Value: 4828]

[Current realm: Fourth-Grade Martial Master]

He had not broken through to Fifth-Rank.

He was short by 172 points.

That was 17,200 yuan.

Li Zhengyang emptied all his pockets and found thirty-seven yuan and sixty cents.

"Fine, this will do for now."

He put the change back into his pocket and lay down to rest.

Early the next morning, when Li Zhengyang arrived at school, something felt off.

The Martial Arts Junior College's combat testing ground was an open-air arena, surrounded by stands that could hold seven or eight hundred people.

For ordinary monthly tests, only two or three hundred people came at most. Today, the stands were packed black with bodies, and students even stood in the aisles.

It was lively.

The moment Li Zhengyang entered the testing ground, he heard the first remark.

"He's here, he's here—the one who sold his spot."

The voice drifted down from the stands, neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for everyone nearby to hear.

Li Zhengyang did not stop walking.

"Hey, did you hear? He sold that registered poverty-relief spot for two hundred thousand."

"No way. So many people wanted that spot, and he just sold it?"

"He's poor. Poor people's eyes light up at the sight of money. Normal."

The chatter came from more than one place, drifting in from all directions. Everywhere around him, people pointed and whispered.

Li Zhengyang walked to the edge of the arena and found an empty spot.

A male student beside him leaned over. He was half a head taller than Li Zhengyang, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with righteous indignation written all over his face.

"You're Li Zhengyang?"

"Yeah."

"You even sold a poverty student's spot? That spot is government policy for poor families, not something that belongs to you alone. Do you know how many people are waiting—"

He did not get to finish.

Li Zhengyang raised his hand and slapped him across the face.

Smack.

The sound was crisp. The entire testing ground fell silent for half a second.

The student was slapped stupid. He staggered back two steps, clutching his left cheek, eyes bulging round.

The few students beside him who had been preparing to chime in were stunned too.

"You hit me? You fucking—"

Smack!

Another slap.

Two of the student's teeth flew out, and his whole body was sent flying backward into the wall.

At the sight of that, no one in the crowd said another word.

Li Zhengyang leaned back against the railing.

The rumor had been spread quite effectively.

Director Wang knew what he was doing. First stir up public opinion, then apply pressure. Once Li Zhengyang could not take it anymore, he would naturally return the money from selling the spot.

Unfortunately, he had miscalculated. Li Zhengyang did not give a damn what these people thought of him.

The spot was his. Whether to sell it was his freedom. Yet these people, who were not qualified to get it themselves, could not stand someone else disposing of it?

A voice came from the podium.

Director Wang sat in the center of the judges' table, with two teachers seated on either side.

Holding a microphone, he cleared his throat.

"Quiet, quiet. The rules for this Monthly Combat Test are the same as before: one-on-one free challenges, no restrictions on methods."

After a pause, he added another sentence.

"Both sides participating in actual combat must sign a Liability Waiver. The school will bear no responsibility for injuries or deaths."

Liability Waiver.

Li Zhengyang had been at this school for two years, and they had never used such a thing in monthly tests.

Before, losing a fight meant nothing more than a bruised face and swollen nose. A little medicine from the infirmary and it was over. Now they had suddenly added a Liability Waiver—the intention could not have been clearer.

But that was fine. He liked it.

The usual test matches began below the stage. The skill levels varied wildly, with the strongest reaching Fourth-Rank Martial Warrior. Li Zhengyang watched until he yawned.

When it came time for the ninth match, a commotion rose beside the arena.

Wang Ming stepped up.

Every inch of him, from head to toe, reeked of money.

Custom Martial Armor lined with special Blood Qi-conducting material, a pair of Alloy Bracers around his wrists, and Combat Boots that were obviously high-end custom work. Their soles were set with weighted alloy blocks to increase the force of his kicks.

The whole set had cost at least a hundred thousand.

The uncle and nephew had discussed it already: first create public pressure, then provoke Li Zhengyang and find a way to get the two hundred thousand back.

Standing in the arena, he swept his gaze over the whole audience before settling it on Li Zhengyang.

"Li Zhengyang."

"Get up here."

The stands exploded with noise.

"Wang Ming is already a Fifth-Rank Martial Warrior? When did he break through?"

"Wasn't he only Fourth-Rank?"

"I heard he used some good stuff. His uncle got him resources."

Li Zhengyang did not move. He merely glanced at him.

Wang Ming smiled, the sort of smile that looked down on someone from above.

"What, scared? Did someone who sold his own future for two hundred thousand also sell his courage to step into the ring?"

Someone in the stands laughed.

Li Zhengyang straightened from the railing.

"I can fight you, but let's add some stakes."

"If you don't have money, don't waste my time."

Wang Ming raised his brows, and his face visibly reddened.

"You're fucking negotiating terms with me?"

"Yeah."

Wang Ming pulled a bank card from his pocket and slapped it onto the arena floor.

"Fifty thousand! If you win, it's yours! If you lose, you drop out!"

Li Zhengyang had already reached the edge of the arena, one foot planted on the platform, but he did not climb up.

"Fifty thousand?"

He shook his head.

"Wang Ming, are you looking down on me, or looking down on that prospective undergraduate status of yours?"

On the podium, Director Wang tightened his grip on his teacup.

This brat was fishing.

But Wang Ming either missed his uncle's signal or, more likely, the confidence of a Fifth-Rank Martial Warrior made him too disdainful to look at all.

"How much do you want to bet?"

"Two hundred thousand." Li Zhengyang vaulted into the arena and stood firm. "We'll bet the two hundred thousand you paid for that spot. If you win, I'll refund you at the original price, then kneel and call myself trash. If three times isn't enough, I'll say it ten times. If I win, you give me another two hundred thousand."

The crowd erupted.

Two hundred thousand against two hundred thousand.

Wang Ming choked for a moment. The expression on his face swung back and forth between arrogance and hesitation.

"Scared?" Li Zhengyang added.

Those two words worked better than two hundred thousand.

"Scared of you, you poor bastard?" Wang Ming gritted his teeth and turned toward the podium. "Uncle!"

Director Wang slammed his teacup heavily onto the table.

He wanted to stop this, but hundreds of people across the school were watching. He could not stop it. If he did, he would be telling everyone that his nephew was a coward.

"Sign an agreement," Director Wang squeezed out.

The agreement was written on the spot. Both sides signed and pressed their fingerprints, while Director Wang personally notarized it.

Black words on white paper: the loser would pay two hundred thousand.

After signing, Li Zhengyang tossed the pen back to the staff member and rolled his neck.

He did not take a weapon. Empty-handed.

"Begin!"

Wang Ming moved.

A Fifth-Rank Martial Warrior's explosive power was not bad to begin with. With that full set of equipment boosting him, his Blood Qi circulated at least twenty percent more efficiently than it would unarmed.

He covered three meters in a single stride, his right fist hammering out with a howling gust of wind.

That punch targeted Li Zhengyang's chest.

It landed squarely.

Cries of alarm rose from below the stage.

But they cut off halfway.

Because alongside that dull impact came the sound of bones breaking.

Crack.

It was very clear.

What had broken was not Li Zhengyang's ribs.

It was Wang Ming's entire right arm.

From knuckles to elbow joint to shoulder blade, three separate fractures. His arm bent at an angle no arm should bend.

Li Zhengyang had not even circulated his qi.

It was purely the toughness of his physical body.

A Fifth-Rank Martial Warrior striking a Fourth-Grade Martial Master's Body-Protecting Astral Energy was like smashing an egg against a wall.

They were separated by an entire major realm. The chasm between Martial Warrior and Martial Master was not something equipment could bridge.

Wang Ming's face went white.

"That's it?"

Li Zhengyang looked down at his chest. A fist print marked his T-shirt.

"The future undergraduate?"

His right hand rose, five fingers closing around Wang Ming's throat, lifting his entire body into the air.

Wang Ming's feet left the ground. His left hand desperately tried to pry apart Li Zhengyang's fingers, but they would not budge.

Li Zhengyang raised his left hand and slapped him.

Smack.

Wang Ming flew from one end of the arena to the other, rolled three and a half times, and slammed into the railing at the edge.

The railing was made of welded steel pipes. One of them was bent by his body.

"Ah, my hand! My arm!"

Wang Ming lay on the ground, his right arm bent at an angle the human body was never meant to have.

He braced himself with his hand and tried to get up. The moment he exerted force, his right arm swayed, and the pain sent him crashing back down as he let out a howl.

This was not an ordinary fracture.

Blood-Qi Backflow.

It was what Martial Warriors feared most.

When a Martial Warrior struck a Martial Master's Body-Protecting Astral Energy, all that force rebounded and poured back into the meridians through the fist.

Shattered fist bones were a minor matter. Damage to the meridians was the real problem.

Put simply, that arm was crippled, and the meridians along the entire right side of his body were ruined with it.

His martial foundation had been severed.

Forget advancing from junior college to university—whether Wang Ming could continue practicing martial arts at all was now a question.

There was no sound in the entire venue.

Hundreds of people stood with their mouths open, having forgotten what reaction they were supposed to make.

On the podium, two teachers rose to their feet.

Director Wang remained seated, his face ashen.

Li Zhengyang picked up the agreement from the ground, blew the dust off it, folded it neatly, and tucked it into his pocket.

Then he walked toward the podium. His steps were unhurried, his smile gentle.

"Director Wang."

Director Wang said nothing.

"Bank transfer or QR code?"