Chapter Sixty-Five: My Turn

In the audience, the expressions of the major families shifted from red to pale. This was the misery of having no grandmaster to rely on; all they could do was bow their heads in submission. Without such a figure, should disaster befall them, not a soul would utter a word in their defense.

Feng Yuling was seated beside Zhang Xinyi. She chuckled and said, "Didn’t you say you wanted our Feng family to step down? Why don’t you let that Mr. Lin you invited take the stage? Are you afraid?"

Zhang Xinyi replied with unwavering composure, "That’s not for you to worry about. Whether or not Mr. Lin appears, your Feng family doesn’t stand a chance at first place this time."

Feng Yuling’s brows knitted together. Her voice was cold. "What do you mean by that?"

Zhang Xinyi let out a soft laugh. "It seems you haven’t heard the news yet. The Zhao family has also brought in outside help."

"Who?" Feng Yuling pressed.

"Qiao Weiliang," Zhang Xinyi answered with a faint smile. As long as their Zhang family could maintain second place, that would suffice.

"What is he doing here?" Feng Yuling’s brows drew even tighter. This was hardly good news. The Feng family’s grandmaster owed his rank to medicinal elixirs; when truly forced to face an old hand like Qiao Weiliang, he’d likely fall in three moves or less.

At that point, the disgrace would stain the entire Feng family. And their rise to the top had been achieved by climbing over the reputations of many others. Should their grandmaster fall, there would be no shortage of factions eager to kick them while they were down.

"I don’t know all the details," Zhang Xinyi said, her smile lingering, "but one thing is certain: the Feng family will not be first this time."

To an outsider, their expressions might have made these two look like close sisters. Only by drawing near would one see how fierce the rivalry between such great families could be.

Feng Yuling’s gaze sharpened, and she gave a cold laugh. "If the Feng family cannot claim first, do you think your Zhang family can hold onto second?"

Zhang Xinyi replied with a radiant smile, "Perhaps. If your grandmaster is crippled by Grandmaster Qiao first, we might yet seize second place."

Feng Yuling clenched her fists, knowing there was no longer time to recall their grandmaster from the stage.

At that moment, the Feng family’s grandmaster swept his gaze over the crowd with imperious disdain and spoke again: "I will count to three. If no one dares challenge, then first place belongs to the Feng family."

Though those below seethed with resentment, who among them dared object in the presence of a grandmaster?

Suddenly, a powerful voice rang out. "The Zhao family objects."

A squinting, rotund man stood up; this was Zhao Hang, head of the Zhao family, known to outsiders as Zhao Maitreya.

As he rose, all eyes turned to him.

"Zhao Maitreya, have you lost your mind?" someone sneered.

After all, standing on the stage was a grandmaster, and the Zhao family ranked last among the ten great families—least qualified to speak.

Zhao Hang usually seemed sly and cunning, so why was he now courting disaster by defying the Feng family?

The Feng family’s grandmaster turned his gaze to Zhao Hang, his tone icy. "Did you just say you object?"

Zhao Hang, as if oblivious to the grandmaster’s anger, gave a sly chuckle and met his gaze calmly. "Grandmaster Feng, your family has held the top spot in Shan Province for a decade. It’s time for a change."

A chill swept through the crowd.

Zhao Maitreya must be mad. To say such things to Grandmaster Feng’s face—he clearly didn’t know the meaning of death.

"Do you know what you’re saying?" Grandmaster Feng’s voice was grave.

If the rules of the resource competition did not prohibit killing, Zhao Hang’s words alone would have warranted the annihilation of the entire Zhao family from Shan Province.

"Of course. Grandmaster Qiao, it’s time for you to take the stage." Zhao Hang spoke respectfully to a black-robed figure at his side.

"Very well. Remember your promise to me," the black-robed man replied.

As he stood, his robe shattered, revealing his true form: a man with a square face and a hooked nose, fierce, tiger-like eyes radiating such power that no one could meet his gaze directly.

"Grandmaster Qiao—it’s really him!"

"Who is Grandmaster Qiao? I’ve never heard of him."

"Grandmaster Qiao is an old master; more than a decade ago, he defeated three grandmasters in succession. His strength is formidable—even Grandmaster Feng may not be his match."

"No wonder Zhao Maitreya is so bold this time. He’s found himself a powerful backer."

Qiao Weiliang stepped forward. Before anyone knew it, he was already on the ring.

Grandmaster Feng’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing, but every muscle in his body tensed, ready for a mortal struggle.

He knew Qiao Weiliang well; the man was renowned in both Shan and Chuan Provinces. But he did not fear him—on the contrary, his fighting spirit was roused. As fellow grandmasters, he had his own pride.

Grandmaster Feng cupped his hands and said, "I have long admired your reputation, Grandmaster Qiao. I am Feng Yi, grandmaster of the Feng family."

Qiao Weiliang merely glanced at him indifferently, hands clasped behind his back. "Come. Three moves will settle it."

Feng Yi’s brows lifted, his anger burning. He gathered his inner energy, and with a punch that cracked the air, struck at Qiao Weiliang’s chest.

Qiao Weiliang met the attack unhurriedly, raising a fist.

Bang.

Their fists collided.

Feng Yi was sent staggering back over four meters, while Qiao Weiliang did not move an inch.

The difference in their strength was obvious.

"How can he be so strong?"

Feng Yi’s arm trembled. A single punch had left his qi and blood in turmoil; only his powerful cultivation allowed him to suppress the backlash.

Qiao Weiliang held up two fingers. "Two moves remain."

Feng Yi’s face flushed and paled. Forcing down the tremor in his hands, his eyes grew sharp once more.

"Willow Hand!"

He swept his arm gently, supple as a willow branch.

The Willow Hand was the Feng family’s secret technique, capable of turning an opponent’s strength against them.

For once, Qiao Weiliang regarded him with interest. He raised a finger, unleashing a sharp white burst of inner energy.

Feng Yi’s expression did not change as the Willow Hand danced through a flurry of shadows.

But the next moment, his face darkened.

The Willow Hand lasted barely three seconds before the white energy pierced through.

A splash of blood. The white inner force shot through Feng Yi’s shoulder.

Qiao Weiliang pressed the attack, giving Feng Yi no chance to recover, and smashed a heavy fist into his chest.

Bang.

Feng Yi was flung from the ring. His chest was deeply caved in, his internal organs likely damaged.

The audience scattered; no one was foolish enough to try catching him.

He crashed to the ground, coughing up blood. His grandmaster’s body had kept him conscious, but only barely.

"Thank you, Grandmaster Qiao, for your mercy," Feng Yi managed, clutching his chest as he struggled to stand.

No matter how bitter the taste of defeat, he had no choice but to endure—unless he could best Qiao Weiliang.

Qiao Weiliang nodded, a silent acknowledgment.

Seeing Qiao Weiliang’s victory, Zhao Hang’s fat face broke into a broad grin. People hurried over to curry favor—after today, the Zhao family would become the new number one in Shan Province.

"Xinyi, let’s go over and introduce ourselves," Zhang Tianfang said with a wry smile.

Zhang Xinyi nodded obediently. "Mm."

She turned to Lin Yi with an apologetic look. "Lin Yi, let’s let the resource competition go this time. But since you’ve already taken your payment, you owe me a favor."

Lin Yi raised an eyebrow. "I don’t make a habit of owing favors," he replied coolly.

A favor is a debt hard to repay.

"What, do you still want to challenge Grandmaster Qiao?" Zhang Xinyi asked, a sly glint in her eyes.

Everyone knew Feng Yi’s strength, but he’d been defeated by Qiao Weiliang in just three moves. With such terrifying power, surely Lin Yi wouldn’t be so foolish as to take him on?

"That’s right," Lin Yi said with a nod.

Zhang Xinyi looked at him in astonishment, uncertain if his confidence was justified or simply arrogance.

Zhang Tianfang was at a loss. "Mr. Lin, you’re still young. Give it another decade or so, and you might be able to compete with Grandmaster Qiao."

"It won’t take that long," Lin Yi replied, shaking his head as he rose and strode toward the ring.

His appearance drew little attention; the crowd assumed he was just another of Grandmaster Qiao’s admirers.

Once on the ring, Lin Yi was met with a sidelong glance from Qiao Weiliang, who said nothing.

"If you want to secure first place for the Zhao family, you’ll have to get past me," Lin Yi said abruptly.

Though his voice was soft, it carried clearly through the hall.

"Who is this idiot, daring to openly challenge Grandmaster Qiao? He must have a death wish."

"Young people nowadays have no sense of their own limits. They’ll provoke anyone."

"Get off the stage, kid. This isn’t a place for you."

Feng Yuling, supporting the wounded Feng Yi, was stunned for a moment and then sneered. "Does that fool really think he’s invincible?"

Feng Yi, clutching his chest, asked, "Do you know him?"

Feng Yuling replied, "Granduncle, I wanted you to teach that brat a lesson before, but now he’s courting death himself. You won’t need to lift a finger."

Lin Yi ignored the jeers, his eyes fixed on Qiao Weiliang.

Qiao Weiliang did not underestimate him. "Are you truly challenging me?" he asked.

Lin Yi’s tone was calm. "Yes. I promised someone I’d take first place. If you’d rather forfeit, that would be best."

To others, his words sounded unbearably arrogant, even more so than Feng Yi’s earlier boasts.

He was telling Grandmaster Qiao to surrender.

Such contempt for Grandmaster Qiao was unthinkable.

Zhang Xinyi’s brows drew together in concern. Lin Yi had never struck her as reckless, yet now he was provoking their strongest foe.

"Dad, can you help Lin Yi if things go wrong?" Zhang Xinyi asked.

"Ah, you overestimate me. In the eyes of a grandmaster, we are nothing," Zhang Tianfang sighed. All he could do now was hope Grandmaster Qiao would show mercy.

On the ring.

Qiao Weiliang laughed aloud. "Boy, do you even know who you’re talking to?"

"I know," Lin Yi said with a nod. "Now, come."

Qiao Weiliang clenched his fists. "Since you’re so eager to die, don’t blame me for what happens next."

A grandmaster’s dignity could not be insulted.

Lin Yi gazed at him, making no effort to defend himself.

Bang.

Qiao Weiliang stamped his foot, and the steel ring cracked with tiny fissures.

In a blink, Qiao Weiliang vanished.

The next instant, he reappeared behind Lin Yi, a fist wreathed in white inner energy driving ruthlessly for Lin Yi’s back.

Watching, Feng Yi’s pupils contracted. He muttered to himself, "So he never even used his full strength against me."

Feng Yi felt both defeated and relieved; had Qiao Weiliang fought at his limit from the start, he would have lost in a single move.

"That boy is finished," Feng Yi thought, shaking his head.

But in the next second, his eyes widened in disbelief.

Just as Qiao Weiliang’s fist was about to strike, a hand effortlessly caught it.

"Impossible!"

Qiao Weiliang was shaken. He tried to pull back, but it felt as if his fist were trapped in iron tongs—he could not break free.

"My turn," Lin Yi said with a faint smile.