Chapter 38: The Style of That Punch

“Chu Wange!”

Someone had already called out her name.

Chu Wange still wore that striking crimson Daoist robe, her hair tied neatly into a Daoist topknot, strands falling straight down her back; she carried a plastic storage box full of books and walked lightly toward them from the direction of the classroom building.

“No way, seriously?”

Someone seemed to realize something, glancing first at Lin Mo on the stage, then at Chu Wange, eyes filled with shock.

No way, no way, no way?

Many male classmates screamed inwardly, yet Chu Wange walked straight toward the fighting platform, and the crowd automatically parted to make way.

Until she passed through the crowd, reached the edge of the platform, and finally looked up at Lin Mo on the stage—her cold voice rang out:

“Here.”

The moment she spoke, every male student’s lingering fantasy shattered instantly.

“Noooo!!!”

They screamed silently inside, their three-year white moonlight reduced to shattered pieces on the ground.

On the platform.

Ye Chen stared at Chu Wange standing beside the platform’s edge, his expression also showing a flicker of disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe it.

As for Zhang Da behind Lin Mo, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

What the hell? Yesterday you said you didn’t even know the campus beauty and weren’t dating anyone, and today you just send one message and she shows up—yet you still claim you’re not eating off a woman’s money!?

Fuck me…

That’s impressive!

Zhang Da silently gave Lin Mo a thumbs-up in his mind, then shot a challenging glance at Ye Chen.

My guy’s rich benefactor is basically my… uh, my backer.

Instantly, Zhang Da straightened his posture, his earlier listless expression now radiant.

Under everyone’s gaze, Chu Wange spoke: “What is it?”

Her voice was cold, as brisk and direct as ever.

Lin Mo replied: “Fight.”

“Who?”

“Him!”

A few short words, and the exchange was over.

Lin Mo turned his head, raised an eyebrow at Ye Chen, and said: “You said anyone from the school was fine—I could call anyone.”

Ye Chen: “...”

The surrounding students muttered inwardly: Holy shit, this guy’s shameless—he’s eating off a woman’s money so openly!

Chu Wange simply said: “Fine.”

She set her storage box down at her feet, leapt lightly, and landed on the platform.

Her crimson Daoist robe fluttered in the wind, drawing the eyes of countless male students.

Without any warm-up, she faced Ye Chen and said: “You strike first—otherwise, you won’t get a chance.”

Quite honorable…

Lin Mo thought to himself.

But then again, as Nanshan No. 4 High’s top student for three years, Chu Wange’s last appearance on a platform was at last year’s Rongcheng Ten-School Exchange.

She faced off one by one against the best peers from all ten schools, sword in hand.

At that exchange, no one could withstand even one of her strikes.

She became famous overnight, earning the true title of “legend” among Rongcheng’s schools.

More than a year has passed since that exchange; no one knows how strong she’s become now.

Perhaps only Lin Mo, who knows how many sword arts she’s mastered, has even a rough idea.

Even though Ye Chen recently defeated Nanshan’s second-ranked Zhu Hongyuan, no one believed he could beat Nanshan’s “legend.”

Not even he believed it.

Ye Chen fell silent for a moment, then said: “I yield—”

“Hurry up and kowtow.”

Lin Mo cut him off with a timely interruption.

Ye Chen stopped mid-sentence, glared at Lin Mo, then gritted his teeth and said:

“I beg your instruction!”

He slowly drew his wooden sword, gripping it in his right hand, left hand forming a sword seal, his expression more serious than ever.

“Ice transforms into blade light, frost descends in all directions!”

He muttered sharply, and a surge of icy energy gathered toward his wooden sword.

Lin Mo rubbed his chin, observing the other’s sword technique closely.

Whether against Zhu Hongyuan or during the Immortal Exam test, Ye Chen had always used this technique.

If nothing changed, this was likely one of his main cultivation arts.

As for its quality, judging from his last Immortal Exam score, it was probably a mid-grade technique, like his “Heavenly Thunder Spell.”

I just leveled up the “Heavenly Thunder Spell” yesterday—haven’t had time to train its proficiency yet. Perfect chance to see how a mid-grade sword art performs.

After a brief moment of charging, Ye Chen finally stepped forward and slashed.

A brilliant blue blade aura shot toward them, drawing gasps from the students below.

Lin Mo felt the freezing air rushing at him—stronger than last time when he watched from the sidelines.

At that moment, Chu Wange moved.

Like Ye Chen, she stepped forward—but this step Lin Mo recognized well.

Kuixing Stance, Step One, Meteor Chasing the Moon.

She vanished like a meteor streaking across the platform, disappearing from everyone’s sight.

When they saw her again, she was already behind Ye Chen.

Ye Chen’s eyes rolled back, his wooden sword slipped from his hand, and he collapsed with a loud “thud,” unconscious.

The entire fight lasted less than a minute.

Ye Chen spent fifty-nine seconds charging; Chu Wange shattered his aura and knocked him out in less than a second.

Lin Mo clucked his tongue in admiration, walked over, glanced at the fallen Ye Chen—his forehead bore a distinct red fist imprint—and exclaimed:

“You didn’t draw your sword?”

Chu Wange shook her head: “He’s not worthy.”

As soon as she spoke, Lin Mo noticed Ye Chen’s body twitch slightly.

Only because he was watching closely did he catch it.

Chu Wange had clearly held back—Ye Chen had no injuries except the fist mark on his forehead.

And Ye Chen was Qi Refining Seventh Layer—how could he be knocked out by a single punch?

Doesn’t want to kowtow, huh?

Lin Mo chuckled, crouched down, and shouted: “Oh no, he’s passed out! Quick, someone carry him to the infirmary—he’s badly hurt!”

Zhang Da snorted: “Why bother with him?”

Lin Mo gave him a look; Zhang Da glanced at the motionless Ye Chen and instantly understood, shouting loudly:

“Quick, quick! Ye Chen’s injured! He’s our school’s destiny child—we can’t let anything happen to him!”

Hearing this, many bystanders snapped out of their shock from Chu Wange’s strike and rushed forward enthusiastically.

Lin Mo and Zhang Da naturally joined in, “enthusiastically” helping drag him along—though they accidentally kicked him a few times in the process…

Feeling the pain coursing through his body, Ye Chen, pretending to be unconscious, felt his temple veins throb—those two bastards!

By the time the enthusiastic students carried him off, his Daoist robe was covered in several large footprints.

“Ahahaha!”

Zhang Da hobbled onto the platform, grinning smugly; he refused Lin Mo’s suggestion to go to the infirmary, then slapped him hard on the shoulder, winking:

“Take good care of the campus beauty—your whole future fortune depends on this!”

Lin Mo stared at him: “Take care of her? Are you mistaken about something?”

If anyone was to serve, it should be her serving me.

Zhang Da gave him a look: I get it!

You get nothing!

Lin Mo cursed inwardly, then turned to Chu Wange beside him—she showed no reaction, simply picking up the storage box from beside the platform again.

“Leaving?”

Lin Mo asked.

Chu Wange nodded, then heard Lin Mo add: “Since you’re here anyway, how about some barbecue tonight?”

At the mention of barbecue, Chu Wange’s throat visibly swallowed, her expression wavering.

But after a moment, she firmly shook her head: “Next time.”

Lin Mo smiled: “Then see you at the Immortal Exam, friend.”

Chu Wange nodded firmly: “Alright, Immortal Exam.”

With that, she turned, clutching the storage box, and walked toward the school gate—her crimson robe fading into the distance, drawing as many eyes on departure as it had on arrival.

After this battle, no one knows how many hearts will forever hold Chu Wange as an unerasable white moonlight, and her legend will surely continue to be told across Nanshan.

Lin Mo stood atop the fighting platform, mentally replaying the grandeur of that punch, his spirit inevitably yearning for such power.

Forget Chu Wange—even Ye Chen, lying on the ground feigning death—was beyond his current ability to oppose.

Thirty years east of the river… never mind, only one has fallen; that saying brings bad luck.

He cleared his throat softly, hearing the murmurs around him occasionally sprinkled with terms like “sponger,” took a deep breath, and his strong, weathered fingers curled slightly, then straightened—

【Merit +1】