Turnaround

In the fourth match, An Chen faced Tall Lackey.

An Chen stepped onto the stage, stretched out his right hand, and poured in Soul Power. A Big Iron Pot materialized out of thin air in his palm.

The bottom of the pot was pitch-black, its rim gleamed with a cold light, and a layer of gray mist faintly hovered over its surface.

Tall Lackey stood in the center of the stage, his horns glossy black. In a muffled voice, he asked, "An iron pot?"

"Mm." An Chen was expressionless.

Tall Lackey moved first. He stomped his right foot and charged forward. Earth-yellow light flared around his arms as both fists flew out, one punch after another.

An Chen sidestepped, swinging the Iron Pot upward from below and shoving its bottom toward Tall Lackey's wrist.

Tall Lackey's wrist was knocked off course, most of his force dispersed, and his fist grazed past An Chen's shoulder.

An Chen turned with the momentum, switched the Iron Pot to his left hand, and swept it sideways into Tall Lackey's back.

Bang.

Tall Lackey staggered two steps before steadying himself. When he turned to look at An Chen again, his gaze had changed.

The surprise was gone, replaced by even fiercer fighting spirit.

He charged again, lowering his horns into a ramming stance.

An Chen retreated three steps, backing up to the edge of the stage.

A sharp glint flashed in Tall Lackey's eyes. He unleashed Savage Bull Charge again, sealing off An Chen's left and right with his fists while sweeping out his right leg to force him off the stage.

An Chen did not retreat. He bent his knees and crouched low, overturning the Iron Pot with its bottom facing outward before smashing it down at Tall Lackey's knee.

A muffled crack sounded.

Tall Lackey let out a grunt. His right leg buckled, and he lost his balance, pitching forward. An Chen slipped through the opening as he fell and backhanded the back of his neck with the Iron Pot.

Tall Lackey crashed onto the bluestone slabs. He struggled twice, but his arms could no longer support him. The glow around his body gradually faded, his horns vanished, and he returned to his original size.

An Chen recalled the Iron Pot, his expression calm.

"The fourth match goes to An Chen."

In the fifth match, An Chen faced Wu Lei.

Wu Lei untied the short sword at his waist and set it by the edge of the stage.

As he stepped onto the bluestone slabs, he stretched out his right hand, and a Dark Iron Soft Whip condensed out of thin air in his palm.

The whip was black and slick, formed from tiny interlocking iron rings, with an iron spike the size of a thumb hanging from its tip.

"I was watching you the whole time during that last match." Wu Lei toyed with the whip handle. "You always react before your opponent makes a move. That means you can see through their intentions, right?"

An Chen's eyelid twitched. This was an application of Spirit Vision. By observing the direction in which the colors of an aura gathered, he could predict where an opponent would attack. He had only realized this use a month ago.

But he had used it too often in the previous battle, and Wu Lei had noticed.

"What if your predictions stop working?" Wu Lei flicked his wrist, sending the soft whip arcing through the air. It cracked against the bluestone slabs.

Before his words had even faded, he was already moving.

Yellow Light lit up beneath his feet. "First Soul Skill, Azure Light Whip Shadow!" The soft whip shot out like a venomous snake, stabbing straight at An Chen's face. Midair, it split into three and became three streaks of azure light, targeting his face, chest, and lower leg.

Through Spirit Vision, An Chen saw Wu Lei's emotional colors gathering directly ahead of him, and instinctively sidestepped.

But the three whip shadows shook at the same time in midair, bypassing An Chen's front and lashing toward his lower leg from the side.

A feint!

By the time those three words flashed through An Chen's mind, it was already too late.

Crack!

The iron spike at the whip's tail tore through his pant leg, leaving a bloody gash on his lower leg.

A burning pain spread from the wound through his entire leg. An Chen sucked in a sharp breath and nearly dropped to one knee.

"See? It stopped working." Wu Lei retracted the soft whip, his smile widening.

An Chen gritted his teeth and straightened up. Spirit Vision's predictions relied on the color of an opponent's emotional aura gathering in the direction of attack. But Wu Lei's emotional colors had genuinely gathered in front of him, meaning that at the instant he attacked, even he believed he would strike head-on. Then he had forcibly changed moves halfway through. That was not something an ordinary person could do.

He could not use Spirit Vision anymore. At least, he could not trust it completely.

An Chen took a deep breath and shut off Spirit Vision.

But Wu Lei gave him no chance to catch his breath. The soft whip struck again, this time lashing out in a dense curtain of whip shadows that sealed off every path of retreat.

An Chen raised the Iron Pot to shield his upper body.

Clang clang clang clang clang clang!

The whip struck the pot in a rapid series of metallic impacts, numbing An Chen's hand from the shock.

"Is blocking all you know how to do?" Wu Lei attacked faster and faster. "What about your Soul Skill? Use it!"

An Chen exposed half an eye above the rim of the pot, watching the gaps between the whip shadows.

Wu Lei's whip was dense, but there was an extremely brief pause between each strike as he drew breath. An Chen was waiting for that opening.

Clang.

One whip strike landed on the bottom of the pot, but it carried slightly less force than before.

Now.

An Chen's Soul Ring suddenly lit up, and yellow light exploded beneath his feet.

First Soul Skill, Black Fog.

Thick Black Fog poured out of the Iron Pot, swallowing the entire Martial Stage in the blink of an eye.

The dense black fog churned and rolled, allowing not a trace of sunlight through.

Wu Lei's whip lashed into the Black Fog, but no sound of it striking the pot came back.

That strike had missed.

"A petty trick, hiding your head and showing your tail..." He had not even finished speaking.

A hand reached out from the Black Fog and accurately seized his wrist.

Wu Lei's pupils shrank sharply. He twisted his wrist, trying to break free, but that hand clamped around him like iron pincers, utterly unmoving.

He tried to swing his whip, only to discover that its tip had somehow been stepped on.

Within the Black Fog, An Chen's figure slowly emerged. His left hand gripped Wu Lei's wrist, while his right held the Iron Pot, its bottom aimed at Wu Lei's chest.

"You asked about my Soul Skill just now." An Chen's voice was calm. "This is it."

The Iron Pot pushed forward without much force, but Wu Lei's wrist was restrained and his body was off-balance. He was shoved out of the Black Fog, his feet leaving the ground as he flew over the edge of the stage and crashed heavily onto the yellow dirt.

The Dark Iron Soft Whip slipped from his hand and dissolved into specks of light.

The Black Fog slowly dispersed. An Chen stood in the middle of the Martial Stage, spun the Iron Pot once in his hand, and let it vanish into his palm.

"The fifth match goes to An Chen." Zhao Qinian set down his teacup and rose to his feet. "Two wins out of three. An Chen's side wins."

The back mountain fell silent for a moment.

Then Shitou and Qian Yiming shouted at the same time, "Brother Pot!" "We won!"

Wu Lei lay on the yellow dirt, staring up at the sky. His chest heaved violently, and his hair was disheveled.

An Chen jumped down from the stage and walked over to him.

Wu Lei looked back at him. After they held each other's gaze for three seconds, Wu Lei suddenly smiled, though the smile was somewhat bitter.

He rolled over and sat up, dusted the yellow dirt off himself, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I lost." He walked to the front of the Martial Stage, facing An Chen and the other two, then took a deep breath. "I framed you over the boots. From now on, whenever I, Wu Lei, see the three of you in the academy, I'll take a detour."

With that, he turned and left. The two lackeys exchanged glances before following after him dejectedly.

After taking more than a dozen steps, Wu Lei suddenly stopped without looking back. "An Chen, this isn't over."

An Chen watched his back without saying a word.

Wu Lei disappeared into the woods with his two lackeys.

At some point, Zhao Qinian had left. The chair stood empty, his teacup still resting on its arm, though the tea had gone cold.

The little yellow bird that had been perched on the crooked flagpole had also flown away at some point.

Shitou threw his arms around An Chen, his eyes red. "Brother Pot! You were incredible!"

"Ow, ow, ow." An Chen sucked in a breath. Shitou's hug tugged at the wound on his lower leg, making it ache fiercely.

Shitou quickly let go. "Your leg is bleeding! Hurry, let's go to the infirmary."

"It's fine, just a flesh wound." An Chen bent down to look. The blood had already clotted, forming a dark red scab over his pant leg.

Qian Yiming walked over, recalled his kitchen knife into his Wuhun Mark, stared at An Chen for a long while, then finally nodded.

By the time the three left the back mountain, the sun had already climbed overhead.

Working Student An Chen had defeated the noble Wu Lei.

He knew those words would spread through the entire academy before dawn.

Shitou bounced along excitedly the whole way. "Brother Pot, that move just now was so cool! The moment you unleashed Black Fog, that brat Wu Lei couldn't even tell north from south. Hey, do you think he'll really take a detour when he sees us?"

An Chen did not answer. He looked back toward the back mountain, but there had long been no sign of anyone in the woods.