Chapter Thirty-Seven: I'm Going to Teach You a Lesson, Zhou Yiyi!

At that moment, the burly man was already lying on the ground, gasping for breath, while Yang Fan was still standing, though his eyes were dark and swollen. No one gathered around; even the other fights had paused for the moment. Yang Fan’s roar had interrupted everyone’s bout.

The man sitting on the ground was filled with confusion and discomfort. “Why? If it’s just a fight, why is he so furious? I didn’t do anything to him. He rushed at me and started swinging, and then shouted at the end. What does he mean?” Xie Siying was genuinely baffled now, utterly bewildered.

Yang Fan glared at Xie Siying with his bruised eyes, his anger slowly ebbing away. He said, “You brat, dare to ambush me again? Attack me from behind, and I’ll beat you to death!”

“What the hell? When did I ever ambush you? Explain yourself!” Xie Siying was about to explode upon hearing this. He couldn’t understand—ambush? With his strength among the freshmen, he never needed to ambush anyone. He’d mastered the basics of combat; why would he stoop to that?

“You’re still denying it? I’ll beat you to death!” Yang Fan lunged forward, swinging his fists.

Xie Siying blocked and shouted, “You’ve got it wrong! I didn’t ambush you—it was you who ambushed me!”

The competition continued. The referee and mentors were already covering their foreheads in exasperation; this year’s freshman tournament seemed to have gone completely off-script. By the time the top twenty were decided, Yang Fan and Xie Siying were still wrestling with each other. Their brawl had devolved from a duel between martial artists to a street fight, their fists swinging wildly.

When the referee announced the end, everyone rushed to pull them apart. They had to—both looked utterly battered. Each was as swollen as a pig’s head. Both were second-rank martial artists, but by the end, neither used any inner energy; it was pure brawling. Their bodies could withstand the blows, but wherever they were hit, swelling had set in.

Neither had lost all fighting strength, so the referee hadn’t separated them earlier due to the rules. Now that the match was over, they could finally be split apart, but the referee truly didn’t want to intervene. It was humiliating. They were supposed to be cultivators, martial artists—yet this? Shameful.

At last, the two were separated. Yang Fan was still cursing, “Ambush me, will you? I’ll beat you to death!” Xie Siying was equally furious, “What did you say? Say it again! Who ambushed you, you lunatic? Are you sick?”

On the second floor of the arena, the senior staff of the Shanghai Cultivation Academy sat in a room, watching the farce unfold below, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

Zhou Haifeng pressed his forehead and said, “What the hell is this?”

Xiao Minghe was just as speechless, “That kid—I wanted to mentor him, but what kind of temperament is this?”

Zhang Weiguo didn’t say a word, but his constipated expression said it all. This wasn’t what he had expected. The freshman tournament was meant as a pretext to single out some students for special training, but seeing the mess below, Zhang Weiguo’s head was beginning to ache.

The next day, Yang Fan entered the arena with a swollen face. Beside him, Zhou Yiyi walked and laughed. She had watched the entire spectacle yesterday. Eventually, Yang Fan and Xie Siying sorted things out. It turned out someone else had ambushed Yang Fan at the start of the match, wielding a long staff. But Yang Fan hadn’t seen the attacker’s face clearly, and after dodging, he turned to look for the culprit—only to glimpse Xie Siying brandishing a staff. In a rush of anger, he went after him.

When the misunderstanding was cleared up, Xie Siying was full of indignation, expecting Yang Fan to apologize. But Yang Fan, face swollen, simply thought for a moment and then walked away.

Outside the arena, Mu Qingshan watched the scene with a sense of familiarity, while Xie Siying’s heart was in turmoil, just as Mu Qingshan’s had been the day before.

Today was the freshman tournament's draw for the top ten. There were few participants left, and things moved quickly. Yang Fan drew number ten. When Zhou Yiyi saw Yang Fan’s number, her expression soured. Yang Fan glanced at the number in her hand—both had drawn ten.

Zhou Yiyi’s face grew darker; Yang Fan hardly dared look. At the Shanghai Cultivation Academy, Yang Fan’s only acknowledged friend was Zhou Yiyi, but now he truly didn’t know what to do.

Should he concede? But Yang Fan really wanted the F-grade alloy weapon. Yesterday, his blade had died alongside Xie Siying’s staff, and after the match, Yang Fan, sporting his swollen face, went to the resource exchange center to get a new one. Yet ordinary weapons felt flimsy—under a thousand pounds of force, they simply couldn’t hold up.

But if he didn’t concede, he’d have to fight Zhou Yiyi, and that made him hesitate. Zhou Haifeng hadn’t shown him much favor, but Zhou Ting had personally brought Yang Fan to Shanghai, and before Yang Fan accepted any missions, Zhou Ting had done the groundwork for him. Though Yang Fan only half-accepted her advice—only challenging those weaker than himself—it still counted as guidance.

Now, to beat up her daughter, her sister—Yang Fan was truly conflicted.

Zhou Yiyi’s expression soon improved. She said, “Yang Fan, see you in the ring. I won’t hold back. If you don’t give it your all, don’t blame me!”

With those words, she turned and walked away. Yang Fan watched her retreating figure and muttered, “She’s getting more and more like Zhou Ting. Changes at the drop of a hat…”

The first match saw Xie Siying on stage, facing Tan Hao. Yang Fan couldn’t help but laugh at Tan Hao’s hopeless expression, and both Xie Siying and Yang Fan’s faces were equally swollen, their eyes barely visible.

Yang Fan felt no guilt toward Xie Siying; if he beat him, it was just bad luck, and besides, Xie Siying had done just as much damage to Yang Fan. In the end, it devolved into wrestling, neither faring well.

In the arena, Xie Siying gripped a new long staff, clearly exchanged at the resource building yesterday. Tan Hao was empty-handed; trading a basic weapon at the academy wasn’t worthwhile. Though the quality was slightly better than standard swords outside, the difference was marginal, and the price was double. Outside, an ordinary weapon cost five to seven thousand in cash; at the academy, one basic weapon cost a credit, which equated to ten thousand in cash.

Tan Hao couldn’t bring himself to spend it, and thought it unnecessary—he hadn’t yet left the academy or entered the mission building, so he didn’t need it.

The match began. Tan Hao charged at Xie Siying, whose staff spun and swept horizontally. Tan Hao ducked, the staff whistling past his face, his knees skidding across the ground as he slid to Xie Siying’s feet, sweeping his legs from behind. Xie Siying stepped back, withdrew his staff, and jabbed it at Tan Hao on the ground.

Tan Hao rolled aside, sprang up, and kicked repeatedly. Xie Siying held his staff steady with one hand, batting Tan Hao’s legs away with the other.

After a few exchanges, Tan Hao stopped kicking—it hurt too much. Tan Hao was at the peak of first rank, with a solid five hundred pounds of force. Xie Siying, a second-rank martial artist, was slightly below Yang Fan in cultivation, but not by much; otherwise, their fight yesterday wouldn’t have been so fierce. His strength easily exceeded a thousand pounds.

Five hundred against a thousand—no matter how you looked at it, Xie Siying was bound to win, and the difference in strength made Tan Hao’s legs ache with every clash.

Tan Hao’s eyes showed resignation. There was nothing he could do—his skills were no match for overwhelming power. Xie Siying barely needed to use his staff.

He’d hoped to take advantage of Xie Siying’s injuries from yesterday, his eyes swollen shut, but he’d miscalculated. A martial artist is still a martial artist; a martial apprentice is still a martial apprentice.

Tan Hao conceded, and no one watching was surprised. Xie Siying was already well known among the freshmen, and yesterday’s battle only increased his fame—many had witnessed that “Ling Tian Strike”! If not for Yang Fan’s emergence, everyone would have thought Xie Siying was the strongest among this year’s freshmen.

Of course, whether he truly was the strongest remained to be seen…

The second match featured Jiang Chao. His opponent was also a second-rank martial artist, and a classmate—both with the same surname. They were familiar with each other, but a drawn match meant they had to fight.

The match began, and Jiang Chao went on the offensive, spear in hand, thrusting forward. The cold gleam whistled through the air toward Jiang Xiaoyi, who held a broad-bladed sword. As the spearhead approached, Jiang Xiaoyi slid to the right, tilting his body, grabbing the sword hilt with a reverse grip, and drew the blade upward. Jiang Chao adjusted his spear’s trajectory, using Jiang Xiaoyi’s upward force to retract the spear slightly, then swung it in a circle and thrust again.

Their weapons clashed repeatedly, the sound of “ping-pong” echoing through the arena.

After a prolonged struggle, Jiang Chao’s shout of “Breaking Army!” ended the match.

The Breaking Army spear technique—Yang Fan had seen it used by a third-rank martial artist named Shen Qinghe during his first duel. Zhou Ting had explained at the time: “Breaking Army spear is all about force—breaking through an army with unstoppable momentum, never retracting the spear once it’s thrust.”

Shen Qinghe had mastered the technique, but Jiang Chao was clearly only at the beginner’s level. Yet even a beginner’s combat technique was not to be underestimated.

Jiang Xiaoyi also knew some techniques, but had not reached the beginner’s threshold—he couldn’t bring out their true power.

This strike, Jiang Chao’s spear didn’t just thrust—it swept horizontally. The spearhead struck Jiang Xiaoyi’s blade, the sword pressed against Jiang Xiaoyi’s body, knocking him to the ground.

The referee announced the result.

The tournament continued. Yang Fan watched each match. The remaining twenty contestants were all second-rank martial artists or peak first-rank—essentially the best among the freshmen.

Of course, there were unlucky ones, like Mu Qingshan, who now sat atop the stage, gazing down, filled with endless melancholy.

Soon, it was Yang Fan and Zhou Yiyi’s turn.

Yang Fan and Zhou Yiyi entered the arena. Yang Fan was prepared; the first words he’d ever heard about martial artists’ competitiveness had come from Zhou Ting, so to “compete” by beating up her sister seemed justifiable.

Zhou Yiyi faced Yang Fan, her expression grave. Before yesterday, she hadn’t fully grasped Yang Fan’s strength. Though they were close, they mostly worked on missions outside and didn’t know much about each other. But after witnessing Yang Fan’s fight with Xie Siying, she now understood the abilities of both.

Yang Fan said, “I’m going to beat you up, Zhou Yiyi.”

Zhou Yiyi’s face changed instantly.

At that moment, the referee’s call of “Begin!” cut off any retort she was about to make.

Both raised their weapons.