Chapter 653: You Really Think My Great Xia Is Uninhabited?

The Tianzhou Training Ground is situated on a broad plain to the east of the city, covering dozens of acres.

The main gate is a tall stone archway, inscribed with the four bold characters "Tianzhou Martial Exhibition," the brushwork robust, clearly the work of a renowned craftsman.

The stone pillars on both sides of the arch are covered with names, dense and countless, said to be those of Martial arts experts who once made a name for themselves here.

Those stone engravings are already aged, weathered by wind and rain, the characters somewhat blurred, yet the vigor of the era can still be seen.

Beyond the arch lies a vast open‑air plaza, the ground paved with whole Green Stone Slabs, polished smooth and even, capable of reflecting silhouettes.

In the center of the plaza stands an Arena rising three feet above the ground, square and measuring over a dozen zhang on each side.

Around its Edge a circle of Iron Chain and stone pillars is set, to prevent anyone from falling during combat.

Surrounding the Arena are tiered Stands that rise step by step, able to accommodate tens of thousands of spectators at once.

It is said that at its peak, this place held an annual Martial Exhibition, and Tianzhou City would empty its ten‑thousand streets; the Stands were packed, and even the aisles and steps were crowded with citizens eager to catch a glimpse.

But that was a long time ago.

Now the Training Ground has become desolate and bleak.

At eleven a. m., the convoy of the Military Office rolled grandly into the Training Ground.

A dozen or so black military vehicles formed a line, entering through the main gate, the raised dust swirling in the sunlight.

The convoy stopped at the Edge of the plaza, the soldiers jumped out, quickly forming ranks, clearing a space around the Arena.

Qiao Zhenyu stepped down from the first vehicle and walked personally to the side of the second vehicle.

He opened the door, slightly bent his waist, waiting for Jiang Feng to alight.

When Jiang Feng stepped out of the vehicle, the sunlight fell perfectly on his face.

Jiang Feng's gaze lingered not long; just as he was about to speak, a muffled thud suddenly came from the Arena, followed by a burst of startled cries and sharp inhalations.

A figure flew out from the Arena.

The figure traced an arc in the air, like a kite with its string cut, crashing heavily onto the ground, then sliding several feet away, leaving a dark‑red bloodstain on the Green Stone Slab.

He lay there, spitting large gulps of blood, his chest garment soaked through with blood, his body curled into a ball, his complexion as white as paper.

"Fang Zhou!"

A white‑haired elder burst from the Crowd, lunging to the figure's side, his voice hoarse and urgent, tinged with heart‑rending pain.

His hands trembled, reaching to support the young man lying in the pool of blood, yet he dared not move recklessly, fearing any touch would worsen the injury.

Behind him trailed four or five similarly clad young people in training robes, each pale, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched, standing nearby yet unwilling to advance.

The young man named Fang Zhou strained to open a sliver of an eye, gazing at the white‑haired elder's twisted, anxious face; his lips moved, emitting a few garbled sounds mixed with blood foam.

"Master..."

His voice sounded as if leaking, each word accompanied by blood spilling from his mouth corner.

"I... have brought shame upon Tianzhou Martial Arts..."

Having spoken, his eyes closed, and his whole body fell completely unconscious.

His chest still rose and fell, but grew ever weaker, like a lamp on the verge of going out.

The white‑haired elder's eye sockets reddened, tears swirling within, yet he did not weep.

He snapped his head up, looking toward the standing figure on the Arena, his gaze filled with anger and sorrow.

His voice was hoarse and trembling, bearing a question suppressed to the extreme.

"Inoue Genichi! My disciple has already been Defeated, why do you still resort to a death‑blow!"

On the Arena stands a buzz‑cut man, not tall but sturdy, wearing a white training robe, a black strap tied around his waist.

His features are rugged, his facial traits bearing obvious foreign characteristics, a hint of a cruel smile at the corner of his mouth.

He gazed at the grief‑stricken white‑haired elder below, as if watching an entertaining performance, spread his hands, and spoke in a heavily accented Xia Kingdom dialect.

"What, can your Xia Kingdom Martial Way not bear Defeat?"

His voice was loud, deliberately ensuring everyone present could hear.

"We Ying Kingdom's Heavenly Pride have crossed the sea, coming to clash with Xia Kingdom's strongmen! This fellow is merely a petty Master Realm, yet dares to swagger! Truly a path to death!"

He paused, looked down at his own blood‑stained Fist, his smile growing more smug: "I even let him have a breath left; that's already giving you enough face!"

Behind him stand four or five Ying Kingdom warriors also clad in white training robes, each compact and sharp‑eyed.

Upon hearing Inoue Genichi, they let out a strange burst of laughter.

The white‑haired elder trembled with anger, pointing toward Inoue Genichi, his lips quivering, wanting to curse but ultimately swallowing it.

He knew he could not defeat the opponent; Tianzhou Martial Arts had already declined, and at his age, charging forward would only add another body lying on the ground.

He turned, beckoning the few young people behind him, intending to lift the unconscious Fang Zhou away together.

"Lift him steadily! Don't touch his chest!"

A few bent over, about to reach for Fang Zhou's body, when the Fang Zhou lying on the ground suddenly convulsed sharply.

A massive gush of dark‑red blood erupted from his mouth, spraying high, splattering the Green Stone Slab like a blooming dark‑red flower.

His complexion grew even paler, his Breath becoming short and erratic, the chest's rise and fall accelerating and growing unstable.

"Fang Zhou! Fang Zhou!"

The white‑haired elder panicked, reaching to press his chest, trying to stop the bleeding.

At that moment, a voice came from beside them, not loud but very clear.

"His Heart Pulse is already severed; if you move recklessly, he has only death ahead."

The white‑haired elder's hand froze mid‑air.

He turned his head, seeing beside a black military vehicle a young man in a gray robe.

The young man appeared only in his twenties, his expression calm, both hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

Behind him stood a young woman in combat gear, watching this side anxiously.

"You... who are you?"

The white‑haired old man's voice was somewhat wary, but more so Confusion.

Jiang Feng gave no answer and walked straight over.

He walked to Fang Zhou's side, crouched down, his gaze swept a Circle over the man's pallid face, then lingered at the Injury on his chest, and then lifted his hand, gently pressing it onto the man's chest.

The white‑haired old man tried to intervene, but Jiang Feng moved too quickly; by the time he reacted, Jiang Feng's hand was already pressing down.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but saw a faint layer of The Golden Light shimmering between Jiang Feng's fingers; the light was soft and warm, seeping from Fang Zhou's chest into his body, as if a warm current poured into the nearly collapsing frame.

The man's convulsions slowly ceased. The rapid rise and fall of his chest also began to steady, Breath shifted from chaotic to regular, his complexion, from pallid, gradually regained a hint of color. The blood that had been gushing out seemed to be halted by something, no longer spilling outward.

The white‑haired old man stared, watching the scene, his Mouth opened wide.

At this moment Qiao Zhenyu stepped forward with a solemn expression and said, "Mr. Jiang, you have come specifically to observe the ceremony…"

Immediately, his gaze fell on the center of the Arena, his face darkening as he spoke.

"Chi Tian Yi Lang, the performance hasn't even begun and you already strike at my Xia Kingdom warriors; do you truly think Da Xia is unguarded?"