Chapter Sixty-Four: Encountering Chen Haoran Once Again

Yang Fan had already left the dormitory area and was heading toward the Combat Arts Academy. He was pushing himself to full speed, charging forward recklessly. Not far from the Combat Arts Academy, a newly built outdoor stadium gradually came into view. Yang Fan entered.

“So this is the new arena? It’s pretty big,” he remarked as he walked, his tone filled with awe. If nothing else, the Cultivation Academy in the Magic City certainly had an imposing architectural style. The stadium alone must have at least thirty or forty thousand seats, though it was questionable whether the academy even had that many people in total. In Yang Fan’s year, there were only about two thousand students, scattered and sparse. The previous years were about the same; four years of students and mentors combined probably didn’t make ten thousand. Yang Fan wondered what was the point of building such a massive arena. What purpose did it serve?

He kept walking, his thoughts swirling. Besides the stands encircling the arena, the center was a vast open space, with ten platforms neatly arranged across it. Each platform was about the size of a basketball court. On one, a pair of martial artists were locked in combat.

...

At that moment, Xie Sihua wielded a long staff, sweeping across the platform with force. Opposite him, a burly man of similar build gripped a machete, continually blocking Xie Sihua’s attacks. Every block caused a slight pause in Xie Sihua’s Heavenly Staff Technique. Soon, Xie Sihua’s face flushed red as he raised his staff again, bringing it down in a powerful strike—Heavenly Staff!

A clang echoed as staff met blade. Then, with a sharp crack, the staff snapped, and Xie Sihua was sent flying, landing on the ground, face red and blood spilling from his mouth.

Yang Fan watched the scene from the stands, his brows tightly furrowed. This was nothing short of bullying. The machete-wielder had at least peak Second Rank strength. Xie Sihua, a mid-level Second Rank martial artist, could wield a staff with over a thousand pounds of force. Unless there was a significant power gap, his staff shouldn’t have faltered.

“Yang Fan, over here!” Mu Qingshan shouted from not far away.

Yang Fan quickly walked over, genuinely curious about what was happening. Mu Qingshan, half his face swollen and red, looked about to cry as Yang Fan approached. He’d just returned to the academy, and the events of today made him feel utterly aggrieved.

“What happened?” Yang Fan asked directly.

“We were bullied by seniors. After you left, we planned to rest in the dormitory, but then we ran into Tan Hao. He said the academy had built a new arena and got approval for internal duels from SkyNet. We went to put down our things, then came to check it out—only to run into a bunch of seniors. They kept provoking us; at first, we ignored them, but their words became unbearable. Jiang Xiaoyi couldn’t stand it and took to the platform against a senior. They’d agreed not to use more than a thousand pounds of force, but once the match started, the senior completely ignored the rules. Jiang Xiaoyi’s now in the infirmary. Then we started arguing, and finally Jiang Chao, myself, and Xie Sihua all went up. As you saw, Jiang Chao’s also in the infirmary. I’m not too bad, but judging by Lao Xie’s condition, he might have internal injuries too.”

Yang Fan was thoroughly confused. “Explain properly. Why did they start provoking you? Why did you all go up one after another, knowing you couldn’t win? And why call me? Want me to fight for you?”

He frowned. He didn’t believe in causeless love or hate; if they hadn’t offended the seniors, why would the seniors target them?

“Yang, honestly, this is your fault!”

“Watch your words. How is this my fault?”

“They said you’ve been getting too close to Zhou Ting. They want to mess with you, but couldn’t find a good excuse. We happened to come to the arena today, so messing with us was just a way to lure you here.”

After hearing this, Yang Fan turned to leave. Damn, what nonsense was this? Zhou Ting? Was she really involved in this? What did “getting too close” even mean?

“Yang, don’t go.”

“Why stay? So you can drag me into this mess?”

“Come on, we’re a mission squad. Anyway, this really does involve you.”

“Forget it, the mission’s over, the squad’s dismissed. We have nothing to do with each other. I thought something urgent happened, rushed over, but now you’re pinning the blame on me.”

As Yang Fan spoke, a figure appeared before him, blocking his path. Yang Fan looked up—hmm? He looked familiar. Another look—yes, very familiar, where had he seen him before? A third glance—Chen Haoran?

Chen Haoran stood not far ahead, his gaze twitching oddly. What was he doing? That look, flipping back and forth, what was his problem?

“What are you looking at?” Chen Haoran asked.

“I’m looking at you, so what?” Yang Fan replied instinctively.

Both were momentarily stunned. What was happening? How did they suddenly lapse into northeastern slang?

Chen Haoran shook his head. “You’re Yang Fan, right? We’ve met before.”

Yang Fan nodded. “Yes, we have. Last time, you tucked your tail and ran off like a dog.”

“You’re asking for trouble.”

“Try doing something to me.”

“Fine, I’ll try. Hey, speak properly!”

“You speak properly, too.”

...

Thus, Yang Fan and Chen Haoran traded insults across the distance. Yang Fan was still bewildered—what was going on? The atmosphere had shifted as soon as this guy appeared. Why was he here?

“Enough nonsense, what do you want?” Yang Fan asked.

Chen Haoran’s face was red with anger; he genuinely wanted to slap Yang Fan, but the academy’s rules forbade violence except in the arena. “I want to fight you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Too lazy.”

“You don’t have a choice!”

“Don’t push me.”

“I’m pushing you.”

“You can push all you want, I still won’t fight.”

Mu Qingshan watched their exchange, touching his swollen cheek, feeling a sudden sense of sadness. He’d been beaten up because of these two idiots—how pathetic.

As Mu Qingshan watched Yang Fan and Chen Haoran bicker, a graceful figure approached.

“Chen Haoran, what are you doing?”

A clear, cold voice cut through. Chen Haoran instinctively turned. Zhou Ting stood at the entrance, watching Yang Fan and Chen Haoran. Chen Haoran’s expression soured; he hadn’t wanted to involve Zhou Ting at all. She was supposed to be away at the ruins, or so the seniors had rumored—but here she was, back now? Had he known, he wouldn’t have bothered Yang Fan. His plan had been to deal with Yang Fan while Zhou Ting was gone, then, when she returned, his cousin Li Xianyi would be back as well. By then, it wouldn’t matter; anyone wanting to mess with him would have to get past his cousin first.

Yang Fan breathed a sigh of relief seeing Zhou Ting arrive. Having spotted Chen Haoran, Yang Fan now understood and believed Mu Qingshan’s explanation. He’d met Chen Haoran before, during his first visit to the Magic City, when he had dinner with Zhou Yiyi and Zhou Ting—Chen Haoran, the intended fiancé.

Awkwardly, Chen Haoran addressed Zhou Ting, “You’re back from the ruins?”

Zhou Ting looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Obviously. I’m standing here, aren’t I? Are you stupid?”

Chen Haoran’s face turned pale, then flushed.

...

He turned, saying, “Yang Fan, if you’re a man, fight me on the platform. If not, get lost.”

Yang Fan was incredulous. Not only was this guy’s speech odd, but his behavior was, too. No wonder Zhou Yiyi had called him hopeless—she was absolutely right. His logic was incomprehensible.

“Whether I’m a man or not hardly needs your approval,” Yang Fan replied, touching his nose and smiling.

Chen Haoran grew agitated, clenching his fists and advancing. Mu Qingshan hurriedly shouted, reminding him of the academy’s strict rules: unauthorized fighting would result in severe penalties, up to expulsion.

Chen Haoran stopped, frustrated and helpless. He now found himself in a bind. Yang Fan’s refusal to fight didn’t matter, but with Zhou Ting present, his pride was at stake. This was not how he’d intended things to go; something had changed unexpectedly. As his face shifted between anger and embarrassment, his companions panted with frustration.

Yang Fan spoke. “What’s your real strength?”

Chen Haoran looked up, puzzled. “Why do you want to know?”

“You want to fight, right? How can I fight if I don’t know your strength?”

“You don’t need to know. I’ll only use peak Second Rank strength against you.”

“Don’t give me that nonsense. Your side already broke the rules just now.”

“I’m serious.”

“I said, stop playing games. If you won’t tell me, I won’t fight.”

With that, Yang Fan started walking away. Chen Haoran quickly called out, alarmed—was Yang Fan really going to fight him? Did Zhou Ting’s arrival give him confidence? Or was he trying to show off in front of her? Either way, as long as they fought, he could salvage his pride.

“Don’t go. I’m at peak Third Rank, still some way from Fourth Rank.”

Yang Fan stopped, raising his head thoughtfully.

“Yang Fan, stop. You’re guessing Second Rank, but he’s already at peak Third Rank. You’re not his match,” Zhou Ting said, stepping beside him.

Yang Fan glanced at her. Wow, such poise. He gave her a reassuring look. He’d figured it out—since Old Li Tian had ordered him to challenge his peers, with no room for argument, Chen Haoran’s appearance was timely. He didn’t really know what peak Third Rank strength was like, nor how much damage his lightning abilities could inflict at that level. Without testing it now, he couldn’t be confident about confronting Li Tian’s rival’s disciples later.

Just as Zhou Ting was about to speak, Yang Fan interrupted her.

“Let’s fight. I don’t need you to hold back. Use your peak Third Rank strength against me. As for a worthless opponent, I wouldn’t want you to go easy on me anyway.”

Chen Haoran looked at Yang Fan as if he’d lost his mind. How had his intelligence dropped so suddenly?

Zhou Ting, too, was astonished. Yang Fan had just completed a mission and should understand what peak Third Rank strength meant. Those two beasts would have killed Yang Fan and his group if not for their mutual destruction. As things stood, Yang Fan could barely handle someone who’d just entered Third Rank—at best, with all his effort, he might match mid-level Third Rank. But Chen Haoran was at peak Third Rank. The difference between them was enormous.