Chapter Eighty-Six: The Competition on the Other Side

In another grand hall marked with the characters of Wushen, several elders sat calmly, their gazes falling upon the young man before them. Elder Zhang, a slight and wiry figure, could not hold back his question: “Has your junior brother been diligently practicing his fists? Which hall is he participating in for the grand competition?”

Wang Yao was briefly taken aback before realizing the elder was referring to Senior Brother Xiao Bao. He explained, “Senior Brother Xiao is still quite young. According to Master’s wishes, he will not participate in this competition.”

“Not participating?” Elder Zhang frowned, his dissatisfaction evident. “How foolish!”

In his opinion, that youngster possessed extraordinary talent in martial arts. If a discerning inner-sect elder were to notice, even with his lower cultivation, it was not impossible for him to enter the inner sect. From then on, he could soar to great heights and might one day become a Golden Core True Immortal. Would that not be a hundred times better than lingering in the lesser peaks?

How could they simply keep him from competing out of fear for his safety? Elder Lin was truly lacking in judgment!

Qu Qi and Yang Shulong, the other two elders, could only shake their heads helplessly at this. Had this old man forgotten their true purpose here today? They quickly interjected, smiling, “Pay him no mind. Go on and participate in the competition. Don’t be nervous.”

Though their words were reassuring, a hint of worry crept into their smiles. The boy from the Wang family was rather unfortunate; there weren’t many disciples from their own mountain among this batch. They couldn’t guarantee how far they’d be able to help him progress.

All that remained was to leave it to fate.

Wang Yao read their concerns and bowed respectfully. “Qingshan Peak is grateful for your concern. On behalf of my master, I thank you, elders.”

“It’s nothing, truly,” Yang Shulong waved his hand with a hearty laugh. “Go on.”

As with the other groups, the first two rounds here passed without controversy.

A few defeated disciples recognized the young man and, with a sour undertone, whispered amongst themselves, “He used to be much weaker than me.”

The only difference was his boldness; now he’d become a sect disciple overnight.

But Wang Yao neither heard nor cared for such remarks. Facing a disciple from Miaofa Mountain, he humbly took a half-step back. “Please, senior brother.”

“No need to be nervous, junior brother. I know my limits,” the disciple replied with a smile, then teased, “At the very least, I won’t let you be stopped here.”

Wang Yao responded with a smile of his own, raising his palm and assuming the stance of the Mountain-Crushing Palm.

He fought with precise control, exchanging blows with his opponent for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea before narrowly edging out a victory, prevailing by the slimmest of margins.

The elders watched this with satisfaction. One commented to Yang Shulong, “Your disciple is quite proper—sensible, too.”

Yet, none of them could see the shock that had seized the Miaofa Mountain disciple.

This was indeed as he had planned, but the one who dominated the match was, inexplicably, not himself. It would be more accurate to say that the young man only chose to win by half a move, and still had strength to spare. Even as he left the stage, the disciple had yet to recover from his astonishment.

Wang Yao simply withdrew his hand, said nothing, and sat cross-legged to restore his spiritual energy.

When the round ended, the steward of the southern hall called the next name.

He looked up to see a senior brother across from him, wearing a cold sneer.

“It’s been a while,” the newcomer said as he strolled closer, greeting him with a soft voice. “I thought I wouldn’t need to deal with you personally, but you’ve grown much stronger since then.”

Wang Yao sat silently for a long moment.

This was an old acquaintance. Back at the foot of Qingshan Peak, this very man had tried to take Yang Mu away and had cursed at Wang Yao in passing.

Huayang Peak—Feng Wu.

“You struck out at me with your palm that day,” Feng Wu smirked, pointing to his side. Even after three months, he hadn’t forgotten how Wang Yao’s attack had made him lose face before the other disciples.

He’d even been scolded by Steward Fang afterward.

“Today, I’ll return the favor.” He raised his hand, aiming at Wang Yao’s chest with deliberate slowness. “You need to understand: a monkey remains a monkey. Even dressed in fine clothes, you’ll never be a man.”

“That blue robe doesn’t suit you—better you wore a short jacket.”

As he drank in the mocking words, Wang Yao suddenly exhaled a long, steady breath.

It was never likely that the various peaks would stand by and watch Little Qingshan survive so easily. He’d long expected this; evidently, their trump card was to pit him against such an opponent.

But...

Was this card not a little too weak?

He rose slowly, matching the smile on Feng Wu’s face with one of his own—a smile that felt as if it belonged to another lifetime.

Not long ago, he’d had to bow his head and call the man “senior brother,” living at his mercy.

Now, even the self he’d been half a month ago had no reason to lose to such a person.

Both stepped forward almost simultaneously.

Within three steps, they contested that sliver of space between them.

Both used the identical Mountain-Crushing Palm, prompting a flicker of confusion from the southern hall steward. One was clearly a disciple of Little Qingshan, so why did it look like an internal Huayang Peak duel?

With the same techniques, victory would be decided by cultivation and mastery.

Feng Wu knew Wang Yao had honed the Mountain-Crushing Palm to perfection, yet dared to meet him with the same technique, confident in his own strength.

He had reached the peak of Qi Refinement; such cultivation could match even the final rounds.

Their palms gathered all the force of the mountain-crushing technique and crashed together, neither yielding, each striking for the other’s chest.

Swift as thunder, unstoppable as a landslide!

A figure instantly flew backward like a severed kite, blood spraying from his lips, eyes wide with disbelief.

At the sight, the southern hall steward turned his gaze away, bored.

He’d expected a clash of titans; was this all?

The resounding blow drew many onlookers.

The Miaofa Mountain disciple from before stared in shock at the young man now calmly seated once more, a shiver running through him. He gulped audibly. “Good heavens... he’s lethal.”

That fierce palm was far more than half a move superior.

Even with another six months, he’d have no hope of stopping it.

The elders exchanged glances, their expressions complex.

At last, they understood the feelings Pan Yang and Helin had expressed.

Having defeated a senior brother who once seemed so far above him, Wang Yao found his own heart surprisingly calm, as if it were a trivial matter.

Scanning the remaining disciples, he easily spotted a dozen or more wearing Huayang Peak’s robes.

All of them were watching him, their gazes unfriendly, like a pack of wolves circling their prey.

Surrounded, Wang Yao met each stare unhurriedly. The group was first startled, then their faces twisted with malice—how could this boy dare act so brazenly?

“Isn’t this a bit much?” Elder Zhang muttered to himself.

The other two elders’ faces darkened as well; they, too, had noticed something unusual about this batch of Wushen disciples.

Earlier, with so many present, it had gone unseen, but after four rounds, the number of Huayang Peak’s disciples remaining was abnormally high.

The three elders shared a wry smile.

Their just-eased hearts tightened once more.

Matters were clearly not as simple as they had hoped. Not only had they prepared their own measures, but the great sects had directly meddled in the southern hall’s arrangements. Their methods were truly shameless.