A Natural Gift for Making a Living!

"Zhao Tieshan." Deacon Gu flipped through the register. "An independent cultivator from the north, seventeen this year, specializing in external hard-body techniques."

Zhou Mingyuan emerged from the entrance on the south side of the arena.

Zhou Mingyuan had changed into a fitted white outfit today, its cuffs and collar trimmed in silver-gray. A wide black belt cinched his waist, and as usual, his hair was pinned up with a silver hairpin. The way he stepped onto the arena was completely different from when he had sparred in the training grounds. That day, standing opposite Lu Chi, he had been like a quiet pine tree. Today, facing an opponent twice his size, that stillness had become something heavier, like water—calm on the surface, yet with raging undercurrents beneath.

The two stopped in the center of the arena and cupped their fists to each other.

The referee was an elderly man in his fifties, standing at the edge of the arena with a small red flag in hand. He looked at the two men, said something, then swung the flag down—

Zhao Tieshan moved.

His movements were completely at odds with his massive frame. Lu Chi had expected him to charge like a bull, but Zhao Tieshan did not. After taking one large step forward, he abruptly stopped, lowered himself slightly, and crossed his arms before his chest, blocking Zhou Mingyuan like a wall. This was not an attack. He was forcing his opponent to attack first.

Zhou Mingyuan did not take the bait. He stood where he was and drew something from his waist with his right hand—not a weapon, but a folding fan. When it opened, a landscape painting spread across its surface: distant mountains, nearby waters, painted in pale, elegant strokes. He held the fan and slowly waved it