Chapter 236: Wang Ping Who Plays Outside the Routine

Below the arena, silence reigned; all white-clad disciples stared in shock at Wang Ping standing still on the stage, their hearts trembling.

How could a lower-realm cultivator be this strong!

Zhu Xiangyang and Gu Tianfeng were outstanding among the early Golden Core white-clad disciples.

Such a disciple lost in under two rounds, and at once most of those challenging Wang Ping turned pale.

Earning points is hard common knowledge among disciples; normally they'd split a single point in half to spend, and those who could enter here were all wealthy nobles from the outside world, never having to pinch pennies.

But in the Dao Institute, all cultivation sites require points to access.

If they hadn't known Wang Ping came from the lower realm, many disciples might not have challenged him; upon learning he was merely an early Golden Core cultivator from the lower realm, their usual caution vanished miraculously, replaced by the idea of earning a fortune off this lower-realm cultivator.

But now, all early Golden Core disciples participating in the fights wore grim faces, for Wang Ping's strength exceeded everyone's expectations.

In the ensuing battles, Wang Ping ended today's hundred matches with a perfect record.

On the first day he accepted challenges, Wang Ping snatched three hundred points.

"How can this Wang Ping be so strong? He isn't from the lower realm, is he?" Dong Fanghong's eyes flashed with disbelief.

He Peng's face also looked grim; thinking of how the opponent easily gained three hundred points today sparked jealousy, especially when he considered that over a thousand disciples had challenged Wang Ping, his eyes turned blood-red.

Even if he lost to some opponents, after all the challenges, gaining over two thousand points was easy.

Just thinking about those terrifying points made He Peng's eyes turn bloodshot.

"Tomorrow, let them start a rotation battle; don't give Wang Ping any rest, keep him under constant high tension, and in the final matches send some strong fighters to go all out and cripple him."

He Peng said hatefully.

The next day, Wang Ping faced a storm-like barrage of attacks, hardly pausing, and within a short hour accepted challenges from over fifty disciples.

Even though each fight ended within three rounds, his spiritual power drained extremely fast.

He also understood their tactic: to wear him down, having seen through their scheme, Wang Ping remained unfazed and even cracked a slight smile.

They always thought they were fighting to become invincible, unaware that he was only after points; if it ever came to a point where he couldn't continue, Wang Ping wouldn't mind losing a few matches.

In fact, Wang Ping did just that; when only five matches remained, he was swaying on the verge of collapse, with less than thirty percent of his spiritual power left.

The challenging disciples standing outside the arena all showed excitement.

Dong Fanghong and He Peng exchanged a glance, their eyes shining with excitement.

At that moment, another white-clad disciple leapt onto the arena, wearing a look of arrogance, and upon seeing Wang Ping's pallid face, he spoke directly:

"Make your move! I'll let you have one strike!"

Looking at Lei Gang stepping forward, Dong Fanghong gave a cold smile and said, "Lei Gang will surely cripple Wang Ping."

Some white-clad disciples below the arena sneered, looking at Wang Ping with hearts full of greed.

Over these two days, 195 battles, all victories, yielding a full 585 contribution points—who wouldn't be jealous?

Many disciples schemed endlessly, thinking of how to seize the contribution points Wang Ping held.

On the arena, seeing Wang Ping unmoved, Lei Gang frowned and said again, "If you still don't act, I won't hold back."

Wang Ping glanced at Lei Gang, gave a light laugh, then looked up and said, "I surrender!"

I surrender!

Hearing this, nearly all the disciples froze, then widened their eyes in disbelief, thinking they had misheard.

On the arena, Lei Gang was also stunned by those words, then anger surged as he demanded, "What did you say?"

Wang Ping gave him a faint glance and said nothing.

At that moment, an instructor appeared in the high sky; he too had been stunned for a moment, and in all the years the Dao Institute had been founded, there had never been a case of surrendering before battle.

Zhang He hovered in midair, lowered his head and asked, "Wang Ping, are you sure you want to surrender?"

Wang Ping nodded and said, "I'm certain!"

Now all the disciples heard that Wang Ping intended to surrender.

Instantly, the venue erupted in an uproar!

"Shame! Shame! Our Dao Institute has never, in a million years, had a precedent of surrendering without fighting!"

"This Wang Ping is utterly shameless—he earned our points, yet when facing Senior Brother Lei he surrenders without a fight; it's nothing short of a disgrace to our Dao Institute."

"No surrendering!"

Dong Fanghong couldn't help but redden his eyes and roar in fury.

Wang Ping looked at Dong Fanghong and coldly asked, "Does the Dao Institute have any academy rule stating that disciples cannot surrender before battle?"

Dong Fanghong wanted to retort but didn't know what to say; indeed, the Dao Institute had no such rule, so Wang Ping's conduct did not violate academy regulations.

But thinking of this, Dong Fanghong felt utterly infuriated!

So he glared at Wang Ping on the arena with reddened eyes, while Lei Gang wore a furious expression, feeling he'd been played by Wang Ping.

Above the arena, the presiding judge Zhang He nodded, scanned the surroundings, his imposing aura silencing all disciples; seeing the scene quiet, he then spoke:

"This match goes to Lei Gang's victory!"

What should have been an exhilarating moment instead met silence below the arena; some disciples stared at Wang Ping with hatred, some had red eyes, and others wore smiles.

Above the arena, after announcing the result Zhang He faded from view, yet the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he thought to himself:

"An interesting disciple."

In the following matches, Dong Fanghong's uneasy premonition came true—four bouts, and Wang Ping surrendered each time.

"Wang Ping! You're shameless!"

Dong Fanghong roared at Wang Ping's back with reddened eyes; beside him, He Peng wore a grim face, a flicker of killing intent flashing in his gaze—having reckoned a thousand ways, he never imagined this lower-realm cultivator would dare to surrender before all the Dao Institute disciples.

How could he?

How dare he?

He Peng roared inwardly.

"I've heard the lower realm's environment is extremely harsh; a mere Golden Core cultivator can already dominate a region there, using what are called spirit stones—impure spirit crystals—and it's said that even during the Qi Refining stage they fight outside, risking their lives for a single low-grade spirit stone; in their minds, as long as they live, anything is possible."

The so-called honor in our hearts may seem utterly insignificant to these lower-realm cultivators, because our living environments are different.

A white-robed disciple gazed at Wang Ping's back, murmuring.

Upon hearing this, He Peng's face stiffened and Dongfang Hong stared blankly; they seemed never to have considered this aspect.

Among the white-robed disciples of the Ninth Dao Institute, the news that a disciple had surrendered without fighting spread quickly to all the white-robed disciples' ears.

Disciples unaware of the truth felt that Wang Ping was a disgrace to the Dao Institute, while those who knew the truth showed a mocking expression; they laughed at He Peng and Dongfang Hong, who had lifted a stone only to smash their own feet, gratuitously giving Wang Ping over two thousand points.