Chapter Thirty-Four: A Clash of Masters

The forceful energy was released, and a scorching gale rushed forth. Zhao Ziyang spoke in a low voice, “Ye Ran, although I harbor hostility toward you, I am a straightforward man, a true warrior. I won’t resort to cunning or deceit. A martial duel is just that—a fair and honorable contest.”

He wore no armor, only a blue robe, and carried no weapon. As a Chosen One, he had his own pride. Facing an opponent like Ye Ran, a commoner, he refused to let the match become unfair.

His words were spoken so quietly that only Ye Ran and the three elders could hear. Ye Ran assumed he was referring to the matter of Mixue and nodded slightly. But the three elders exchanged glances, each seeing mockery in the other’s eyes.

Ye Ran stepped back and gestured invitingly. Zhao Ziyang said no more, remaining where he stood. He pressed his palm down, gathering the searing energy into it, and an invisible wave surged forward.

Ye Ran dared not be careless. The man before him possessed energy at least four levels stronger than his own. There was no way to take that force head-on, but he didn’t want to lose his momentum by evading. With a flicker, two silhouettes seemed to split off, dodging the blast.

Yet, only one figure appeared at Zhao Ziyang’s side.

“Afterimage?” exclaimed Lu Yanhe, his eyes lighting up.

Wang Li, seated at the southern rear, also showed a spark of intrigue in his gaze. Ye Ran truly had some skill. The martial arts experts among the audience recognized the technique: the afterimage was considered high-level in body arts—not because the method itself was so advanced, but because it relied solely on speed to create a lingering shadow.

Knowing the principle and mastering it were worlds apart. Anyone trained in body arts understood the concept, but to achieve it was exceedingly difficult, as it demanded extraordinary physical prowess.

Just now, Ye Ran stepped left three paces, then darted right at lightning speed, so to the students watching below, two afterimages appeared on the martial stage.

Having evaded Zhao Ziyang’s scorching energy, Ye Ran’s power was now gathered. With his left foot angled forward, he took a half-step, harnessed his waist’s strength, and lashed out with a kick at Zhao Ziyang.

His movements were small but highly effective. The whip-like kick, powered by his waist, made Zhao Ziyang wary—he crossed his hands to block, and his internal energy surged forth with a roar.

Seasoned by countless battles, Zhao Ziyang instantly discerned Ye Ran’s strengths lay in body arts, his weakness in energy—a common plight among commoners.

Against such opponents, mastering one's own energy was half the battle won. He always believed that fighting wasn’t just brute force; strategy and technique mattered more.

Ye Ran quickly retracted his leg, flipping backward in midair to dodge the incoming energy. But the dense, torrential energy was impossible to escape entirely. As he landed, his right hand swept through the air, a serpent shadow seemingly appearing. Then his left hand grasped, and the oppressive energy split into streams that vanished in his palm.

“Serpent Hand,”

“Dragon-Serpent Step,”

Strictly speaking, Ye Ran had only used four moves, yet each astonished the audience—the brilliance of the afterimage, the swift, concise whip kick, and now, the serpent hand paired with the Dragon-Serpent Step, were especially masterful to the eyes of the experts.

Lu Yanhe saw it clearly: facing Zhao Ziyang’s far superior energy, Ye Ran first used his adept serpent hand to split the force three times, channeling it away from himself, then used his signature Dragon-Serpent Step to dissipate the power.

Thus, with only two levels of energy, he managed to contend with Zhao Ziyang’s seventh level.

“This youngster... reminds me of myself in my youth,” Lu Yanhe shamelessly stroked his beard. There were so few experts in body arts in Violent Stream City these days—one who could use martial technique to compensate for the gap in energy was a rare gem.

The old man’s heart, dormant for years, was stirred with admiration for talent.

He had won six consecutive body arts championships, his standards were high, but even he couldn’t help but regard this young man with newfound respect.

Wang Li, below the stage, laughed, “Lin Yuan, didn’t I say he was extraordinary?”

Lin Yuan snorted, unconvinced, “His body arts are decent, but against Zhao Ziyang, that’s not enough.”

Wang Li smiled, his interest deepening as he watched the slight heat rising from Ye Ran’s right hand. Ye Ran’s Dragon-Serpent Step could already shift and channel force, but just now he didn’t counterattack, only deflected Zhao Ziyang’s power.

That meant he must have other trump cards—otherwise he wouldn’t have missed that opportunity...

His thoughts halted abruptly, and his gaze sharpened.

On the martial stage, blood had begun to stain Ye Ran’s back. Wang Li was startled—Zhao Ziyang hadn’t struck his back, and his clothes were still intact. Could he be injured?

He didn’t know that, though Ye Ran appeared evenly matched with Zhao Ziyang, he was in dire straits. He hadn’t counterattacked not for lack of skill, but because several old wounds had reopened. He could bear the force-dissipating effects of Dragon-Serpent Step, but to channel force and counterattack would overload his body and risk worsening his injuries, jeopardizing the martial exam.

Zhao Ziyang hadn’t noticed the blood on Ye Ran’s back. He raised his energy again and strode forward, his footsteps slow and heavy, the heat waves like an invisible curtain descending, and tiny flames began to flicker around him.

Ye Ran didn’t wait for his full release. He darted forward and punched at the thickening energy wave, but as soon as his fist touched it, his modest energy was obliterated, and unbearable heat seared his hand. He quickly retreated with a swift leap.

Watching Zhao Ziyang, Ye Ran’s brows furrowed.

He was now shrouded not only in energy, but in flames as if burning in his own furnace. Flames fused within, energy wrapped without. Though Ye Ran’s body arts were excellent, in the face of this elemental power, every contact inflicted harm.

Zhao Ziyang did not press him, but regarded him coldly. “You’re much stronger than I expected, but in the face of absolute power, can you still win with surprise?”

Victory through surprise.

Those four words seemed to define Ye Ran—without enough strength, he could only use ingenious moves to bridge the gap.

The audience was silent. Since their duel began, every move had been unexpected, especially Ye Ran’s techniques. None had ever seen high-level body arts displayed, but now, facing absolute elemental suppression, could he strike back?

Ye Ran’s answer was—

“Yes.”

With a sudden motion, he tore off half his sleeve, revealing his fair forearm, clearly marked with knife scars. He ripped the sleeve into two strips. Under the astonished gaze of the crowd, he bit open his wrist, blood gushing out.

Bathed in firelight, he smeared the blood onto the white cloth and wrapped it around his fist. The iron-willed aura shook their souls.