Chapter 26: Cultivating Martial Arts? Everyone Goes Mad. You

Northern Dipper Fist is a school founded on real combat.

Cultivators evolve at breakneck speed during battle.

Jia Ji understood this well: since that day he won by ambush against his younger brother, a week had passed, and Quan Zhi Lang, now fully awakened, moved with unwavering resolve—as if his Ren and Du meridians had been fully unblocked—and utterly crushed him.

No matter what strange or unconventional tactics, or verbal distractions he used, none worked anymore.

The wheel of fortune has turned; now it was his turn to lie sprawled on the ground.

Long Quan had yet to retract his declaration, meaning that unless he abandoned his cultivation of Northern Dipper Fist and fled in disgrace, he would have to keep fighting his younger brother for months—even years.

Of course, the nature of things had changed by now.

It was no longer punishment; it had become mutual refinement.

Each time, both entered standing, but only one walked out; the other could only crawl, roll, or inch his way to the mess hall.

And that person, barring unforeseen circumstances, was always Jia Ji.

Fortunately, no outsiders were allowed inside; besides his few fellow disciples, no one witnessed his daily humiliation with bruised face and swollen eyes.

Gasping for breath, his chest heaving, Jia Ji lay flat on his back in a star-shaped sprawl, his battle qi silently repairing all his injuries.

He stared at the clear, lake-like blue sky and said nothing.

Except for the first time, Long Quan had never come to watch their duels.

If so, then all he needed to do was surrender cleanly each time—just crawl out, after all, he was the villain, so what did he care about his pride…? If he simply lay down before every fight, could Quan Zhi Lang really beat up his own unresisting older brother?

Wouldn’t that be far easier than fighting to the death, exhausting every trick just to take two more punches before falling?

If I surrender every time, won’t the saved stamina be better used in afternoon training?

This isn’t cowardice or weakness—it’s supremely wise. I have an external advantage; someday I’ll surpass them all. Time is on my side… it must be.

But,

facing his younger brother’s contemptuous gaze… no, more likely, his silent departure, then pretending exhaustion as he slowly crawled out, only to endure everyone’s judgmental stares again…

Could I endure that?

“Not one bit!”

Merely imagining the scene made Jia Ji’s face burn red; invisible wrath surged from every aching wound on his body, igniting him, enraging him.

In that moment, he fully understood the mindset of the previous Jia Ji.

—To make me surrender is worse than killing me!

Fuck, there’s no such thing as a younger brother stronger than his older brother!

In Jia Ji’s eyes, flames hotter than molten metal burned.

…………

BOOM!

The air exploded the instant the fierce palm strike struck, like thunder cracking across flat ground.

It wasn’t one palm—it was hundreds of shadowed palms striking in unison, overlapping waves of force vibrating through every sinew and bone, short, sharp, with no gap between them.

Yet the boy facing this tidal onslaught remained expressionless, spoke no word, lunged forward in a low dive, clenched fingers tearing through the air like chaotic currents, violently ripping apart the palm shadows.

Then he drove a fist straight into the exposed, defenseless abdomen.

THUD!

A slightly larger palm appeared from an unexpected angle below, catching the fist mid-strike, intercepting and countering with force.

Jia Ji’s lean forearm muscles twitched; major tendons trembled in unison, sending a surge of power like a dragon rising from water to his wrist, then to his splayed fingers—already assuming a “throwing” posture.

Even Quan Zhi Lang, under this deft force, could not control his own fist, nor his arm, nor even his entire body, which was lifted involuntarily upward.

In that tiny space, Jia Ji stepped forward, bent his knee, twisted his hips, and delivered a sweeping kick like a giant axe cleaving through air—faster than lightning, wind howling, impossibly swift.

Quan Zhi Lang’s pupils contracted, yet he did not dodge or retreat; instead, he rooted himself like an ancient tree, channeling rigid strength through his calves, thighs, and waist into a unified whole.

THUMP!

A dull, heavy sound—not flesh striking flesh, but like a mountain stone falling into a deep valley, echoing long and deep.

They locked eyes; both saw the other’s pain, neither yielding. Their four arms, hardened beyond granite, violently twisted and grappled, brute force transmitting through their bodies, cracking the ground beneath their feet.

In mere blinks, dozens of blocks, parries, pushes, and strikes had passed; two who knew each other’s moves too well could not determine victory through pure physical strength alone in such a short time.

Same master, same techniques—no way to break through!

Quan Zhi Lang inwardly recoiled; his senior brother had somehow unlocked something, broken through some key barrier—he’d been reborn.

This morning, he’d charged in muttering nonsense about “complete realm,” and his once-weak fists had suddenly become heavy as lead, yet fluid as a swallow’s flight, each movement infused with an inexplicable will, utterly unlike before.

Even though both had shattered human limits, Quan Zhi Lang was younger, and Jia Ji’s greater age gave him superior size and physique—he found it harder to block each strike than the last.

“What are you daydreaming about?!”

Jia Ji seized the opening, dropped his shoulder, and slammed an elbow into his brother’s chin—the force threatening to launch his skull into the air.

Quan Zhi Lang reeled backward, still struggling, when Jia Ji followed up with another punch.

The boy staggered, then collapsed unconscious to the ground.

“Aaaah—finally!”

Jia Ji raised his right fist triumphantly, cheering like a boxing champion, leaping and bouncing like a madman.

Cultivating martial arts? Everyone goes mad. You’re just pretending to hold on!

This was his twenty-eighth duel with his brother, his second victory—but it was temporary. He knew well: just as he grew stronger, so would his brother tomorrow, far stronger than today.

Defeat was the nourishment both drew from.

Looking at his fallen brother on the ground, he smiled, lifted his head, straightened his chest, raised his brows, exhaled—and walked into the courtyard.

————————————

【Great Moe God: Today I knocked out the world’s protagonist with one elbow strike】

【Afterlife Angel: Today I ate ten bowls of mapo tofu】

【Xia Na: Today I slashed a hundred phosphor ghosts in one cut】

【Yin-Yang Eye Witness: Today I wiped out a thousand evil spirits at once】

【Great Moe God: Stop, stop, this is getting ridiculous】

【Great Moe God: Do you all think I’m lying?】

【Forever Seventeen: Don’t say “lying” like that】

【Xia Na: Don’t say “doubt” like that】

【Ice Queen: Then what?】

【Great Moe God: Hmph! Friend break (﹏)】

【Yin-Yang Eye Witness: Alright, alright, let’s get serious… the Buddha beads the group admin gave me are amazing—ordinary ghosts that attack me instantly disintegrate. Only downside? They’re too heavy (˙▽˙)】

【Ice Queen: Train harder】

【Xia Na: Try learning swordsmanship】

【Great Moe God: How about swimming and fitness?】

……

For a moment, the group chat was a mess, everyone brainstorming ways to transform the female high school student—those who knew understood it was “Beautiful Girl Kaleidoscope”; those who didn’t thought it was “Classroom of the Superior Power.”

Until one person’s post shifted the topic again.

【Afterlife Angel: But I really ate ten bowls of mapo tofu today】

Xiao Zou had just said something terrifying, calmly.

For a Mugen character, AI strength is part of ability—that’s the Complete Realm!

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(End of Chapter)