Hundred Flowers

The next day, the second round of the Martial Meet began.

The weather was colder than yesterday, and the wind on the training grounds whipped the flags into loud flapping.

The old referee struck the gong and shouted at the top of his lungs that the second round had begun.

Shi Meng of White Cloud Martial Hall stepped onto the stage first. His opponent was Qian Tieshan of Stone Bridge Martial Academy.

Someone below the stage jeered, "White Cloud's leading disciple against Stone Bridge's old hall master—now this should be worth watching!"

"Old Qian injured a White Cloud Martial Hall disciple yesterday. Looks like karma's coming for him today!"

Shi Meng was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted. Standing on the stage, he looked like a wall, his knuckles covered in hard calluses from palm training.

Qian Tieshan, meanwhile, climbed onto the arena one step at a time, neither hurried nor slow.

"Shi Meng is at Qi Gathering Perfection, a realm above Old Qian. But Old Qian has twenty years of foundation in Stele-Smashing Hand," Liu Tiehe commented from nearby. "In a direct clash, Qian Tieshan suffers because of his age. Still, he has plenty of experience, and Stele-Smashing Hand focuses on using force against force. It's hard to say."

The referee's gong rang.

Shi Meng let his hands hang naturally at his sides, his knuckles slightly curled as though gripping two invisible blades.

White Cloud Martial Hall was famed for its Drifting Cloud Saber, but Shi Meng had not brought a saber today.

Flying Cloud Palm and Drifting Cloud Saber came from the same lineage. Both emphasized lightness concealing heavy force, with palms striking like blades.

Qian Tieshan moved first. His right foot stepped forward, and his right palm turned out from his waist, Stele-Smashing Hand slamming toward Shi Meng's chest.

Before the palm arrived, its wind had already pressed a visible dent into the sand on the arena.

Stele-Smashing Hand emphasized overwhelming force. A palm strike was like smashing a stone monument, grand and powerful.

Shi Meng did not dare receive the strike head-on. He shifted half a step aside, then thrust his palm from below at an oblique angle—the first form of Flying Cloud Palm, Cloud-Piercing.

The angle was viciously tricky, his fingertips grazing past Qian Tieshan's ribs.

Qian Tieshan hurriedly drew in his abdomen and retreated. His robe was sliced open by the fingertips, nearly cutting his flesh.

"So fast!" someone below the stage gasped.

Shi Meng's palm strike looked light and fluttering, yet its path was identical to that of Drifting Cloud Saber.

Though he looked rough and burly, his palm and saber techniques were both bold and meticulous!

White Cloud Martial Hall's techniques focused on an unbroken barrage, cutting and striking in succession—one saber stroke after another, one palm after another—never allowing the opponent a moment to breathe.

The second palm followed immediately.

The second form of Flying Cloud Palm, Cloud-Breaking!

It shot straight upward from below, targeting Qian Tieshan's chin.

Qian Tieshan pressed down with his right palm, forcibly knocking the strike off course with Stele-Smashing Hand.

The palm forces collided, sending the sand beneath their feet rippling outward in a ring.

Instead of retreating, Qian Tieshan advanced. Stele-Smashing Hand struck out twice in succession, each palm heavier than the last.

Shi Meng raised his arm to block. A muffled bang rang out, and a seam split open in his sleeve from the shock.

The second palm went straight for his chest. Seeing that he could not dodge, Shi Meng met it directly with his right palm.

Flying Cloud Palm against Stele-Smashing Hand.

The two palms collided with a dull bang.

Both men retreated several steps.

"Looks like Qian Tieshan's Stele-Smashing Hand is nearing Perfection. Otherwise, how could he trade blows so evenly with someone at Qi Gathering Perfection?"

"I think Shi Meng hasn't exerted himself yet. Just wait and see!"

The crowd below discussed it animatedly.

Shi Meng took a deep breath and stopped probing. Flying Cloud Palm chopped out three times in succession, one palm after another, each faster than the last.

The first palm tested the waters, the second broke through defenses, and the third was the true killing move.

White Cloud Martial Hall had established itself in the county through this relentless offensive pressure.

Qian Tieshan blocked two strikes in a row, but the force of the second had already numbed his arms.

His old muscles and bones, tempered over twenty years, could withstand fists and kicks, but they could not endure the full-force consecutive attacks of someone at Qi Gathering Perfection.

The third palm struck Qian Tieshan squarely in the chest.

His expression changed sharply, and he slid backward until he finally stopped at the edge of the arena.

A clear palm print marked his gray cloth shirt. His skin was unbroken, but his internal organs had been badly shaken.

Qian Tieshan coughed twice, cupped his hands, and conceded.

The next match was Ma Biao of Iron Ridge Martial Academy against Meng Lei of Mountain-Suppressing Martial Hall.

Meng Lei was a familiar face from Class B, at Lesser Qi Gathering, with a solid foundation in fist techniques.

He had trained at Mountain-Suppressing Martial Hall for three years and built a firm foundation.

But Ma Biao was at Qi Gathering Greater Achievement, one realm above Meng Lei.

Moreover, his Iron Sand Palm had been forged through brutal training in the countryside. Rumor had it that he had also practiced body-hardening arts, and his combat experience was exceptionally formidable.

The moment Meng Lei stepped up, he spread into a stance, his fist frame steady and solid.

Ma Biao looked as he always did, bare-chested. The bitter twelfth-month wind seemed nonexistent to him, and his muscles were especially thick and powerful.

Meng Lei threw the first punch. His left fist tested the distance, followed by his right, the two blows linked smoothly as his fist wind whistled.

Ma Biao did not dodge. He took both punches head-on.

The first landed on his chest with a dull thud, but Ma Biao did not move an inch.

The second struck his shoulder. Ma Biao did not even blink, while Meng Lei's expression changed.

Ma Biao grinned and pushed his Iron Sand Palm forward.

It did not look fast, but its force felt terrifyingly heavy.

Before the palm arrived, its wind had already blown Meng Lei's hair upward.

Meng Lei crossed his arms to block. The sound of the palm hitting his arms was like an iron hammer striking wood. He flew backward, his back smashing heavily into the railing at the edge of the arena. Sand erupted everywhere, and even the railing snapped in half, flipping off the platform and crashing to the ground before rolling twice and stopping.

The entire crowd erupted.

Xue Zhenshan's expression darkened on the stage. Ding Yong gripped his bamboo pole at the side and cursed, "That brute."

A spectator from one of the martial academies slapped his thigh excitedly. "Did you see that? Martial academy fighters can still beat the three great martial halls!"

The apprentices of Mountain-Suppressing Martial Hall beside him had blackened expressions, their fists clenched so tightly that veins bulged.

Several Class C apprentices from Mountain-Suppressing Martial Hall hurried over and helped Meng Lei up.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his left arm hung limp at his side. It was unclear whether it had been dislocated or broken.

Ma Tou'er stepped forward to take a look. His expression was grim as he had Meng Lei supported away to find a physician.

Ma Biao stepped down from the arena. The people from Iron Ridge Martial Academy wore broad smiles as they hurried over and draped a cotton coat around him.

Chen Fangyuan of River Mouth Martial Academy stepped onto the stage. His opponent was Sun Changfeng of Heavenly Peak Martial Arts Hall.

Sun Changfeng was at Lesser Qi Gathering and had trained at Heavenly Peak Martial Arts Hall for four years. His saber technique followed Heavenly Peak's style—grand and imposing.

Chen Fangyuan looked the same as ever, tall and thin, his bamboo hat pulled low.

The sword on his back was slender, a third narrower than an ordinary sword, its blade carrying a cold gleam.

The way he held his sword was completely unlike what martial halls taught. Its tip pointed obliquely at the ground, leaving nothing but openings at a glance.

A flash of saber light—Sun Changfeng's saber slashed diagonally down from the upper right, its force heavy and solid.

Chen Fangyuan turned aside, his sword lifting from below at an impossibly tricky angle.

Before Sun Changfeng could retract his saber, the sword had reached his ribs, forcing him to retreat two steps in embarrassment.

"His sword doesn't follow conventional paths." An instructor from Heavenly Peak frowned.

Seeing this, Sun Changfeng held his saber horizontally before himself and moved with caution.

Chen Fangyuan stepped forward, and the sword tip suddenly emerged from the left.

Sun Changfeng swung his saber to block, but the sword had already withdrawn. The next strike stabbed in from the right. Sun Changfeng hurried to block again, but the sword changed direction once more.

After three strikes, his saber had been forced into a position where he could no longer swing it freely. Even his footwork had become chaotic as Chen Fangyuan's sword led him along its rhythm.

The sword tip flicked upward, precisely striking the saber hilt.

Sun Changfeng's tiger's mouth went numb, and his saber flew from his hand. It spun twice in the air before plunging into the sand at the edge of the arena.

The sword tip stopped half an inch before Sun Changfeng's throat.

"Thank you for yielding." Chen Fangyuan sheathed his sword, his voice quiet.

His tall, thin figure descended from the stage, his bamboo hat pulled low enough to hide any expression on his face.

The crowd below burst into uproar.

"In past years, the martial academies only came to make up the numbers. What's going on this year?"

"That Ma Biao from Iron Ridge and that sword user from River Mouth may look unremarkable, but each one is more ruthless than the last."

"The three great martial halls collected so much tuition, only to get beaten flat by martial academy fighters. It'd be humiliating if word got out."

"That Chen Fangyuan from River Mouth is at Qi Gathering Greater Achievement. The angles of his sword aren't orthodox at all; he figured them out himself."

"He figured them out himself and reached this level?"

"He hunts wild beasts in the mountains year-round. That combat experience is right there."

Liu Tiehe sat in Mountain-Suppressing Martial Hall's seating area, baring his teeth as he said, "This is bizarre. Heavenly Peak has lost two, and we've lost one too. These martial academy people are all holding back their strength, itching to slap the three great martial halls in the face."

Zhou Yan's second-round opponent was Zhao Quan of White Cloud.

Zhao Quan looked like an honest man. His fist frame was proper and conventional, without any flashy tricks.

The referee's gong rang.

Zhao Quan attacked first. His left fist tested the waters, his right followed, leaving room between offense and defense. It was a cautious style.

Zhou Yan met him head-on with Mountain-Suppressing Fist. Their first punches collided directly, scattering Zhao Quan's fist force and forcing him back half a step.

The second punch followed immediately. Zhao Quan crossed his arms to block, and the fist struck his forearms with a dull bang.

He retreated three or four steps, the muscles in his arms twitching beneath his sleeves.

Zhou Yan noticed that Zhao Quan's inner qi had begun to scatter. He withdrew half his strength from the third punch and struck Zhao Quan's shoulder.

The force passed through, but did not injure his muscles or bones.

Zhao Quan retreated several more steps, reaching the edge of the arena.

He looked at his own hands, then below the stage, and jumped down himself.

"Your punches are much heavier than I expected."

Zhao Quan cupped his hands below the stage and conceded, his expression open and unruffled.

Zhou Yan cupped his hands. "Thank you for yielding!"

With the second round over, half the people on the field were gone.

Meng Lei had gone to see a physician after Ma Biao injured him. Sun Zhiyuan had lost in the first round, leaving only Zhou Yan and Liu Tiehe on Mountain-Suppressing Martial Hall's side.

Heavenly Peak Martial Arts Hall had Luo Chengyuan and Zhou Hong remaining as winners, but Sun Changfeng and Meng Xiaoliu had both been eliminated.

White Cloud Martial Hall only had Shi Meng left. Qian Tieshan, Liu Qing, and Zhao Quan were all gone.

Among the Lesser Martial Academies, Ma Biao and Chen Fangyuan advanced to the third round, while Qian Tieshan and Xu Changqing stopped here.

He had seen what happened to Meng Lei and understood that Ma Biao had held back some of his strength in that palm strike against him.

Zhou Yan walked over and sat down beside him.

"How is Luo Chengyuan?"

"Fast. His spear is the fastest Heavenly Peak has seen in ten years." Liu Tiehe tilted his head, recalling something. "He had a private match with Ma Biao before. Ma Biao endured three spear thrusts and rushed in to shatter the spear shaft with one palm, but Luo Chengyuan switched to a short spear in the middle of the fight and won with a backhand thrust. If you meet him, watch out for that spear. Mountain-Suppressing Fist is at a disadvantage against fast weapons like that."

Zhou Yan nodded.

He had mostly practiced fist techniques. It was difficult for him to exert his strength against sabers and swords. It seemed he would have to find himself a weapon in the future!