Lin Shaoyun Had Lost?

Shi Yong moved faster than anyone had expected.

The eldest disciple of Changfeng Martial Arts Hall was at Mid-Stage Second Body Tempering, a man whose name carried weight in Anping County.

Shi Yong needed only four moves. The first broke through his guard, the second disrupted his rhythm, the third struck his chest, and the fourth kicked him off the platform.

When the news reached Green Bamboo Martial Arts Hall, the lunch dishes had yet to be cleared away.

The disciples gathered in small groups around the training ground. Their faces looked as though someone had dumped a basin of cold water over them, chilling them from head to toe.

"Four moves! The eldest disciple of Changfeng Martial Arts Hall went down in four moves."

"I heard he broke two ribs, too. Same as the one from Baishi Martial Arts Hall."

"Has Shi Yong gone mad? Hitting that hard—isn't he afraid of making enemies?"

"What's he got to fear? Iron Fist Martial Arts Hall is behind him, and someone in the Four Major Families has his back. Making enemies? He'd love to make enemies of everyone. Once he beats them into submission, no one will dare make a sound."

Someone swallowed, his voice dry. "We're next, aren't we?"

No one answered.

Because everyone knew that after challenging the Second Body Tempering disciples of the Martial Halls one by one, Shi Yong had only Black Tiger and Green Bamboo left.

And Green Bamboo Martial Arts Hall's Zhao Tieshan had just failed his breakthrough. His vital energy and blood had yet to recover; even holding a stance was a struggle.

Lin Shaoyun was at Peak Second Body Tempering, but he had reached it only recently, and his cultivation had yet to fully stabilize.

Shi Yong had spent nearly three months honing himself at Peak Second Body Tempering. He also had the Shattering Iron Fist, taught to him personally by Lei Meng, and every blow he threw was meant to kill.

The atmosphere on the training ground grew more oppressive by the day.

Even the sounds of striking the Wooden Dummies had grown quieter.

Hall Master Su Yuanshan had come out more often these past few days. He stood beneath the corridor eaves, watching the disciples train. He said nothing, but everyone could tell he was searching for a way through.

At noon the next day, someone from Iron Fist Martial Arts Hall arrived.

The visitor was Shi Yong's junior disciple, a boy at Peak First Body Tempering. Dressed in black training clothes, he stood at the entrance to Green Bamboo Martial Arts Hall with a letter in his hand and his chin raised. His voice was not loud, but every word carried a barb.

"Listen up, Green Bamboo Martial Arts Hall! My senior brother Shi Yong says your hall's conduct is disgraceful and brings shame upon the name of a Martial Hall. He'll come to teach you a lesson! In three days, he'll pay you a visit to test your skills!"

He tossed the letter onto the ground and turned to leave. As he went, he glanced back, a cold sneer on his lips—colder than the winter wind.

The training ground erupted.

"What does he mean, our conduct is disgraceful? What does he mean, we bring shame upon the name of a Martial Hall?"

"Is that a challenge letter or an insult?"

"He's plainly here to tear our hall down, and you want to reason with him?"

Several newcomers flushed red, their fists clenched so tightly their knuckles creaked. They wanted to rush out, drag the boy back, and give him a beating then and there.

But their cultivation was what it was. None had even reached First Body Tempering. Charging out would only be serving themselves up to be beaten.

They cursed fiercely, but afterward they looked at one another and fell silent.

"If I hadn't started training a few years late, I'd show that Shi Yong what pain feels like!"

"Oh, give it a rest. You can't even beat me, and you want to fight Shi Yong?"

"I'm angry, that's all! What gives him the right to call our hall disgraceful?"

"The fact that his fists are harder than yours."

The arguing gradually died away, replaced by a stifled resentment no one could quite put into words.

Someone glanced toward the spot where Zhao Tieshan usually stood. It was empty. So was Lin Shaoyun's usual place.

Even Senior Sister Su Qing was nowhere to be seen.

Only Ye An remained in the corner, his fingers striking the iron plate with a steady clang, clang, clang.

The letter from Iron Fist Martial Arts Hall lay on the ground outside the entrance. Ye An had not even glanced at it.

Challenge or insult, its contents did not matter. If Shi Yong wanted to come, let him. Until then, Ye An would keep training. Once Shi Yong arrived, he would deal with him.

As for where Lin Shaoyun had gone, Ye An paid it no mind.

That day stretched longer than any before it.

The sun seemed nailed motionless to the sky. The disciples trained distractedly, glancing toward the entrance every few moments as though waiting for something—and dreading that it might actually come.

That afternoon, footsteps sounded at the courtyard entrance.

Ye An raised his head.

Su Qing and Zhao Tieshan came in from outside, supporting a man between them.

His head hung low, his hair was disheveled, and his clothes were torn in several places. Ye An recognized him—Lin Shaoyun!

Zhao Tieshan looked worse than he had yesterday, his face an ashen gray. He gritted his teeth, veins bulging across his forehead, and every step was a struggle.

Su Qing's eyes were red. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she said nothing.

An old man followed them, carrying a medicine chest. He was a well-known physician from the county, surnamed Zhou, who specialized in treating martial artists' injuries.

The three of them supported Lin Shaoyun across the training ground and into the hall master's courtyard. From beginning to end, no one spoke.

The air over the training ground seemed to freeze.

The disciples stood rooted in place, mouths open but unable to make a sound.

"Even Senior Brother Shaoyun lost..." someone murmured, so softly it was almost to himself.

The words were like a dull knife sawing into every heart.

Apart from the hall master, Lin Shaoyun was the strongest among them. He was at Peak Second Body Tempering and had trained the Azure Cloud Finger to its third level. If even he had lost, who could still fight?

"Are we really weaker than them?"

The voice carried unwillingness, humiliation, and an ache no one could explain.

The newcomers' eyes reddened. They bit their lips hard, refusing to let the tears fall. The older disciples lowered their heads in silence. They had no answer either.

Ye An was still in the corner. His Azure Cloud Finger struck the iron plate with a ceaseless clang, clang, clang.

The sound had gone on since morning without a break.

It had sounded when Shi Yong sent his messenger. It was still sounding when Lin Shaoyun was carried in. And while everyone else was seized by fear, anger, and indignation, it went on sounding.

"Senior Brother Ye An..." someone called softly, but the rest of the words never came out.

Because as soon as they reached his lips, even he knew they made no sense.

The story of how Ye An had helped the Qian Family defeat Zhao Heng was still circulating through the hall. But Zhao Heng had been at Late-Stage Second Body Tempering. Shi Yong was at Peak Second Body Tempering.

Lin Shaoyun had entered Second Body Tempering before Ye An and had even reached its peak, yet he had lost. Ye An had not reached the peak. What could he do?

The unfinished words were swallowed.

The training ground fell quiet. No one spoke again.

Sunlight fell across the blue-brick ground, and the shadows crept eastward inch by inch.

Wind swept over the courtyard wall, stirring the strips of cloth wrapped around the Wooden Dummies. They swayed gently, then drooped again.

An invisible haze that would not disperse hung over Green Bamboo Martial Arts Hall for a long, long time.

[Azure Cloud Finger (Third Level): 411/500]