Chapter 32: Cruel!

North City, Training Ground.

This place, usually empty and desolate, was today packed with a sea of people.

A temporary raised platform stood tall, a crimson carpet laid before it, banners fluttering on either side with a crisp rustle in the autumn wind.

Below the platform, a dense crowd pressed tightly together.

There were disciples of various martial academies in uniform training gear, wealthy merchants and local gentry in elegant attire, common folk with families in tow come for the spectacle, and also foreign martial artists who had fled from Lushan County—pale, emaciated, yet with sharp, piercing eyes.

Directly in front of the platform sat a row of brocade-covered armchairs.

The County Magistrate sat centered, smiling faintly, occasionally exchanging a few words with those beside him, exuding the dignity and composure of a local ruler.

Beside him sat the top figures of Anxi County’s martial world, seated in order.

Yan Sheng, master of Kaishan Martial Academy, stood tall and broad, his face stern, his fist technique said to have reached the pinnacle of Hua Jing.

Jin Huang, master of Jingtao Martial Academy, had a sharp, lean face and piercing eyes, his aura surging like tidal waves.

Xu Feng, master of Suifeng Martial Academy, was slender, yet his brow radiated a blade-like sharpness.

The three sat closest together, occasionally whispering to each other—undeniably the three titans of Anxi County’s martial world.

Further to the side were the seats reserved for academy heads like Liu Qingshi and Zhou Yue.

Though also academy heads, their seating was clearly inferior, sharply divided.

Liu Qingshi’s expression was calm; his gaze occasionally flickered toward the three figures nearby, his eyes utterly still, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Behind them, in the general seating area, sat representatives of local powerful families.

Su Chen, head of the Su family, smiled warmly, exchanging pleasantries with his neighbor, embodying the polished demeanor of a shrewd merchant.

Zhang He, head of the Zhang family, was also there, whispering quietly with someone beside him, his expression serene—as if he had merely come to observe the ceremony, as though no bitter enmity or tense confrontation had ever passed between him and Liu Qingshi or Su Chen that night.

On one side of the viewing platform, several servants carefully carried a soft couch, placing a figure tightly wrapped in blankets and pale as paper into the shadowed corner.

The figure was swathed in thick quilts, only a sunken face exposed, its cloudy eyes fixed unblinkingly on the direction of the Liu Qingshi Martial Academy disciples, occasionally shifting to reveal glimmers of venomous hatred.

The man was none other than Zhang Xu.

“How did that unlucky bastard even show up?”

In the formation of Liu Qingshi Martial Academy disciples, Su Yan was quietly adjusting the ties on her sleeve, her movements gentle and meticulous.

Yet the instant Zhang Xu’s venomous gaze fell upon her, her hands paused slightly, then she lifted her eyes, meeting his gaze directly.

In that moment of eye contact, Su Yan’s gentle face retained its smile, even deepening it slightly.

But deep within her eyes lay a cold stillness, like a winter lake reflecting dead branches and withered leaves along its shore.

Liu Yili never turned around.

She merely tilted her head slightly, her peripheral vision brushing over the soft couch in the corner, a chill colder than Su Yan’s flickering in her gaze.

Then she turned away, as if the figure were nothing but worthless filth.

Two gazes—one warm, one cold—both carried the same meaning: A crippled man dares to look at us like that?

Zhang Xu met those two gazes, and his heart involuntarily trembled.

It was the humiliation of being scorned, utterly ignored.

His fingers clenched the blanket until his knuckles turned white, his chest heaving violently, a guttural, bestial growl rumbling in his throat.

“Damn bitch… wait and see…”

At the edge of the crowd, a tall, lean, cold figure moved like an ordinary old man passing by, slowly weaving into the throng of spectators.

He wore plain clothes, his face unfamiliar, his aura ordinary—indistinguishable from the excited, animated faces around him, as if he were merely an old man come to watch the show.

But his eyes, hidden in the shadows of the crowd, locked onto the tightly wrapped figure in the corner with the precision of a hawk.

“Found you.”

Jiang Ye’s aged lips twitched slightly, curling into a smile edged with chilling frost.

His gaze lingered on the pale, sunken face, then swept over the servants standing respectfully nearby.

“With that weak aura, the boy won’t last more than an hour—he’ll be carried back to rest.”

“On the way back, the servants carry the couch slowly, and no elite guardian would accompany them—that’s the perfect moment to strike.”

In an instant, a clear, ruthless assassination plan flashed through Jiang Ye’s mind.

Just then, a commotion erupted on the martial tournament platform.

A lithe figure leapt onto the platform, landing firmly in the center.

He was a young boy in gray training gear, skin dark, a faint old scar across his brow adding a fierce edge to his youthful face.

He bowed to the crowd, his gaze fixed directly on the direction of Jingtao Martial Academy, his voice loud and full of vigor:

“I am He Jie of Kaishan Martial Academy! I’ve long heard Anxi County is full of hidden dragons and tigers, and I’ve heard your academy recently took in a ‘top disciple’ named Hu Tian—who broke through Ming Jing in half a month, truly a young hero! Today, I’ve come to challenge you—does this brother Hu Tian dare step up and fight me?!”

As his words ended, the crowd below erupted.

“Kaishan Martial Academy? Aren’t those the refugees who fled from Lushan County?!”

“Damn, these outsiders finally can’t hold back—they’re going straight for the most prominent target!”

“Hu Tian? The one who defected from Liu Qingshi Martial Academy and joined Jingtao?”

“Yes, yes! That’s him! Everyone in the academy’s been talking about it—says the kid betrayed his master!”

“Now this is interesting! A Lushan outsider challenges a traitor from the academy—hah, whoever wins, there’ll be a show!”

“That He Jie looks like Ming Jing early stage too—same level as Hu Tian, perfectly matched!”

“Let’s see if Hu Tian dares to accept! If he backs down, he’ll not only be a traitor but also a coward!”

Voices surged like a tidal wave.

Countless eyes turned sharply toward the Jingtao Martial Academy section—expectant, mocking, openly gleeful.

On the front row of armchairs, Yan Sheng sat unmoving, his expression calm as ever, as if the whispers calling Hu Tian a traitor had nothing to do with him.

But had anyone leaned close to observe, they’d have seen a dark shadow flicker deep in his eyes—like a venomous snake gliding beneath still water.

He instinctively wanted to turn and signal Hu Tian to hold back, not to accept recklessly.

The boy had only joined Jingtao three days ago—his footing was still unsteady, his status so sensitive. If he stepped up now, winning would be fine, but losing… it wouldn’t just be his own face lost—it would be Jingtao Martial Academy’s.

But his movement was just a fraction too slow.

“What’s there to fear!”

A clear, excited young voice rang out suddenly from behind.

Hu Tian sprang to his feet, face flushed, eyes blazing, like a young tiger finally spotting its prey.

Which young man doesn’t dream of fame on the fighting platform?

Since leaving the Liu Qingshi Martial Academy and joining Jingtao, he had lived under oppression and suffocation.

After joining Jingtao, Master Yan Sheng hadn’t taken him in as a personal disciple, as Zhang Xu had promised—he said he needed to test Hu Tian’s character, giving him only slightly better treatment than ordinary disciples.

His fellow disciples’ glances always carried a faint, unspoken scrutiny and disdain; the whispers behind his back made him feel like thorns pricked his skin.

He needed a decisive, glorious victory—to silence every mouth, to prove his choice was right, to make those who looked down on him stare in awe.

And now, this platform, this opponent, this stage under countless eyes—was heaven-sent perfection!

Seeing Hu Tian defy his silent cue and accept outright, Yan Sheng’s brow flickered with barely perceptible displeasure, then he shook his head slightly. “Forget it—he’s not my own disciple, after all.”

“So what if you’re from Lushan County? Let Hu Tian face you!”

He strode forward with bold confidence, his robes snapping in the wind, each step firm and resolute.

He could already imagine himself knocking down the dark-skinned boy, the crowd roaring in cheers, Master Yan Sheng patting his shoulder in approval, and his former classmates’ scorn transformed into envy.

Then who would dare call him a traitor of the academy?!

On the platform, He Jie watched the approaching boy, his dark face splitting into a grin—wildly provocative, thrillingly eager.

“Brother Hu Tian, please!”

“Please!”

Below, the crowd’s clamor grew louder.

“Kill him!!”

With a roar, Hu Tian struck first, clenching his fist and launching it straight at He Jie’s face.

The punch was heavy and swift, tearing through the air with a sharp whistle, almost as if it could split the wind.

Someone in the crowd gasped—in just a few days, he’d already grasped the essence of Jingtao’s signature fist technique, “Po Ji Quan.” His talent truly deserved the title “prodigy.”

“Good!”

Facing the heavy blow, He Jie didn’t dodge or retreat—he swung his own fist, choosing to meet force with force.

Thud!

A dull impact.

Both stepped back two paces—seemingly evenly matched.

But the situation shifted quickly.

He Jie’s fist technique carried a bloodthirsty, do-or-die ferocity, repeatedly aiming to trade blows, to exchange wounds.

“Is this guy insane?! It’s just a sparring match—he’s trying to kill!”

Hu Tian grew more and more anxious.

He’d always trained in the academy with partners, practicing forms, stopping short of real harm—he’d never faced life-or-death combat.

Facing He Jie’s reckless, no-holds-barred style for the first time, his initial confidence vanished, replaced by growing panic.

“No… if I keep fighting, I might die…”

After a few more exchanges, Hu Tian’s mind began to retreat; his fist technique grew erratic.

In a balanced duel, the first sign of weakness is a fatal flaw.

He Jie sharply sensed the tremor in Hu Tian’s strikes—he deliberately left an opening, letting Hu Tian’s fist land hard on his left shoulder.

In a muffled thud, his expression remained unchanged; instead, he used the momentum of that punch to twist his body like an eel, closing the distance in an instant and circling behind Hu Tian.

“No good...”

Alarm bells rang loudly in Hu Tian’s mind—he realized something was wrong.

But it was too late.

He Jie, now behind him, gathered all his strength into his right fist and slammed it down like a heavy hammer onto Hu Tian’s spine.

Crack.

A sharp, grating sound of bone breaking,

Hu Tian’s entire body went limp, as if his skeleton had been pulled out; his forward momentum froze, then he collapsed onto the platform like a pile of mud.

He didn’t even have time to let out a full scream—only a few guttural, animal-like whimpers escaped his throat.

“Aaaah!!!”

After a moment of dead silence, a piercing scream finally tore from his throat—heart-wrenching, making the onlookers’ scalps crawl.

Seeing this, the crowd below all paled; some timid souls even shut their eyes in revulsion.

To everyone, the spine was the most critical of vital points.

A severe blow here meant catastrophic damage.

The shift had come too fast—only now did the crowd below finally snap out of their shock.

“No way... that’s way too brutal...”

“Is that martial artist from Lushan County insane? Using such a reckless fighting style!”

“That punch was brutal—he probably shattered Hu Tian’s spine...”

“Gah... if his spine’s broken, that genius Hu Tian is finished!”

Gasps, hissed breaths, stunned murmurs surged like a tide.

The martial arts masters seated at the front of the platform watched the scene with varied expressions.

But none were more complex than Yan Sheng, master of Jiquan Martial Arts Hall, and Liu Qingshi of Qingshi Martial Academy.

“That idiot!”

Yan Sheng’s eyelid twitched violently; then he leapt onto the platform.

He pressed one hand onto Hu Tian, who was still screaming, placed his palm against his back, and released a trace of force to probe the injury.

After a moment, Yan Sheng stared at He Jie with a face as dark as water, his voice low: “You went too far. This was supposed to be a sparring match—why break his spine?”

He Jie, who had taken Hu Tian’s punch squarely on the shoulder, was now pale as well. Facing Yan Sheng’s accusing glare, he lowered his head slightly, avoiding the man’s murderous gaze, and replied weakly but without much fear: “I... couldn’t hold back in time...”

“Hmph! Couldn’t hold back? I think you—”

A flash of cold light passed through Yan Sheng’s eyes.

“Yan brother!”

A deep voice cut him off.

A middle-aged man in gray martial attire, with a square face and a burly frame, strode onto the platform and stood beside He Jie, speaking loudly:

“In martial arts competitions, fists and feet have no eyes—that’s an eternal truth. I’ve heard that in past gatherings, many disciples have been injured because they couldn’t hold back. As master of Jiquan Martial Arts Hall, you should know better than I do. You can’t favor your own student and break the rules just because it’s your disciple who got hurt.”

This man was none other than Shi Kaishan, master of Kaishan Martial Arts Hall—a powerful Hua Jing martial artist.

He smiled, but his tone was honeyed poison—unyielding.

The atmosphere on the platform turned instantly tense.

“Enough!”

A voice, calm yet commanding, came from below the platform.

The County Magistrate sat on his high-backed chair, expression serene, his gaze sweeping over those on the platform with undeniable authority.

He spoke slowly, his voice soft but clear to every ear: “Yan Sheng, first send your disciple for treatment. The rest can be discussed later.”

Yan Sheng took a deep breath, suppressing his rising fury, and waved his hand.

Several disciples from Jiquan Martial Arts Hall stepped onto the platform and carefully lifted the writhing, screaming Hu Tian away.

Two physicians waiting below immediately rushed forward; after examining him, one of them frowned and approached Yan Sheng, whispering: “Master Yan, your disciple’s spine is severely damaged—he’s in mortal danger. We need a Da Huan Dan to stabilize his condition.”

Yan Sheng’s brow shot up; his gaze toward Hu Tian grew even colder.

That fool—he ignored my orders, volunteered for the match, now he’s badly injured, and I have to clean up his mess.

Da Huan Dan cost a fortune—one pill required three thousand taels of silver.

He pointed to Zhang Xu, standing in a corner nearby, and told the physician: “He’s the one who brought this man here. Go to him for the Da Huan Dan.”

The two physicians exchanged glances, sighed helplessly, and carried the screaming Hu Tian to Zhang Xu’s couch.

Before they could speak,

“Get out, get out—go back. I need to rest.”

Zhang Xu cast a disgusted look at Hu Tian, limp and moaning like garbage, and signaled his servants to carry him back to the Zhang residence.

A martial artist with a broken spine was worth less to him than a stray dog on the street.

Hu Tian lay slumped on the stretcher, his consciousness already dim, yet the instinct to survive forced him to reach out toward the rapidly retreating couch, letting out a piercing plea.

Hu Tian lay on the stretcher, his mind fading, yet his instinct for survival drove him to reach out toward the rapidly retreating couch, crying out in desperation.

“What kind of stray dog dares call me brother!”

Zhang Xu’s curse drifted faintly into Hu Tian’s dying ears.

“How... how could this happen...”

Hu Tian’s voice grew even more desperate, more hopeless.

Meanwhile,

[160] As Zhang Xu departed, an unremarkable old man in the crowd also vanished.