Chapter 60: Cang Luo

The boar still roasted over the fire, emitting rich, non-greasy meat aroma, but no one had any appetite—they all stared at Cang Luo and his opponent, Sima Ling.

Li Zhan whispered: “Zang Brother, how much do you think Cang Brother’s chances are?”

Zang Feng hesitated a moment, then replied: “Actually, Brother Wang lost because he underestimated his opponent—he took that killing strike head-on without preparation; otherwise, he wouldn’t have lost.”

He added: “But Brother Wang’s loss wasn’t without value—he drained a good deal of the opponent’s Qi. Cang Luo still has a chance to win.”

As for his odds? At least thirty percent!”

Thirty percent wasn’t Zang Feng’s true belief—he was certain Cang Luo would win, because he knew Cang Luo possessed something stronger than a Martial Saint; how could he step onto the arena unprepared?

Li Zhan and Liu Xuande nodded in relief, trusting Zang Feng’s judgment; Gan Lei and Zhang Yan’s group also eased their tension—they were the ones who most wanted Cang Luo to win.

Zhao Renwu also agreed with Zang Feng’s analysis: Sima Ling’s three punches must have drained considerable Qi—after all, it was a Grade Earth-Low martial art; a Warrior-level cultivator simply couldn’t wield a Grade Earth martial art multiple times, even at its first layer.

But Zhao Renwu simply didn’t want to see Cang Luo win—because if Cang Luo won, Zhao Renwu’s influence among the three dormitories would plummet drastically...

As the crowd talked, the two combatants were ready. Sima Ling smirked: “Are you from the Profound Heaven Sect really so devoid of talent, or do you look down on me?”

“You send an old, useless waste to fight me? Even if I win, it’s a disgrace!”

Cang Luo snorted: “Enough talk. Did Confucius teach you to disrespect your opponents? Who’s the real waste—we’ll find out once we fight.”

With that, Cang Luo silently gathered his Qi, choosing not to activate the Body-Annihilating Divine Art yet—he’d first test his opponent’s strength.

Sima Ling sneered: “Hmph! Overestimating yourself. Let me show you what a genius is—and what a waste looks like.”

No sooner had he spoken than Sima Ling charged forward with True Yang Fist, planning to defeat Cang Luo in one blow, just as he had with that fat man earlier.

As Sima Ling attacked, Cang Luo prepared—he rapidly channeled all his Qi into his right arm and unleashed Thunderclap Palm at full power.

The next instant, True Yang Fist met Thunderclap Palm in direct collision—where fist met palm, a violent gale erupted, whipping their sleeves violently.

Pain!

Pain pain pain pain pain!

Cang Luo felt an extremely fierce and scorching punch force erupt from Sima Ling’s fist, surging wildly into his arm—it didn’t linger in the forearm but raced straight toward his shoulder.

Once it reached his shoulder, it tried to push further into his chest—but fortunately, Cang Luo’s endless attributeless Qi forcibly blocked it.

At this moment, the True Yang Fist’s punch force and Cang Luo’s attributeless Qi were locked in battle at his shoulder.

The True Yang Fist’s force was brutally fierce and scorching; unable to penetrate Cang Luo’s chest, it instead tore inch by inch through his deltoid and arm meridians, causing him unbearable agony.

Cang Luo endured the pain, frantically mobilizing his attributeless Qi to fight back, forcing the punch force out of his body while repairing the damaged muscles and meridians...

Soon, the pain lessened, and Cang Luo smiled happily.

At that moment, he realized the True Yang Fist’s force bore a strange resemblance to Zhang Tao’s Void-Piercing Force.

Before the Confucius Academy group arrived, during his fight with Zhang Tao, Zhang Tao’s Void-Piercing Force had only raged chaotically in the forearm.

But now, Sima Ling’s True Yang Fist force had surged through his entire arm and even tried to reach his chest—if not for his endless Qi blocking it, this single punch would have crippled his arm on the spot.

Cang Luo now understood the difference between Grade Earth-Low and Grade Yellow-Superior martial arts.

But so what if it’s Grade Earth-Low? What real power can a Warrior-level cultivator unleash?

Isn’t it crushed under my endless Qi?

Once the punch force was fully expelled, Cang Luo sneered: “This is True Yang Fist? Pathetic. I’d call it Turtle Fist.”

“You?!” Sima Ling stared at Cang Luo in shock, bewildered—his True Yang Fist force had clearly entered the opponent’s body, so why was he unharmed?

At that moment, Sima Ling suddenly felt numbness spreading from his right fist upward—his arm was growing weaker, and he could distinctly sense continuous electric currents paralyzing his right arm.

Sima Ling was terrified—he realized Cang Luo’s Thunderclap Palm had reached perfection; the lightning force was no joke. He immediately retracted his fist and stepped back, violently shaking his arm to relieve the numbness.

Cang Luo didn’t pursue—he rubbed his shoulder and laughed loudly: “I said it was Turtle Fist, didn’t I? Why run? Like a turtle, you’re hiding your head and limbs—where’s that arrogant swagger from earlier?”

“You call yourself a genius? More like a waste from the heavens!”

Sima Ling was now both shocked and furious—shocked that True Yang Fist had no effect on Cang Luo, furious that his Grade Earth-Low martial art was called Turtle Fist.

And worse—he dared call him a waste?

Sima Ling erupted in rage...

Beside the arena, all disciples of the Confucius Academy stared in stunned disbelief at Cang Luo, unharmed—unable to fathom how he’d survived Sima Ling’s True Yang Fist.

They knew Sima Ling’s strength well—his True Yang Fist, first layer perfected, could obliterate any opponent of equal cultivation; even those one level higher couldn’t withstand a single punch.

The Warrior-Eight fat man just now was proof enough—even if he’d been careless, he’d still been finished by three True Yang Fist strikes.

But this Warrior-Seven, old disciple—how was he immune to True Yang Fist’s force?

After a moment, Murong Ye calmly said: “His Qi is denser than Sima Ling’s—he must have cultivated a same-grade Yang or Earth affinity core technique, allowing him to resist True Yang Fist’s force...”

On the arena, Cang Luo heard Murong Ye’s analysis. Though the man was wrong, it gave him a warning.

He recalled passages from the “Overview of Core Techniques”: damage from Yang-affinity martial arts—such as erosion or absorption—could be resisted by equal-grade Yang or Earth-affinity Qi.

Cang Luo cultivated two core techniques.

One was Thunder Qi Decree, a Grade Yellow-Low technique—naturally incapable of resisting True Yang Fist’s force.

The other was Body-Annihilating Divine Art, a Grade Earth-Superior Yang-affinity technique—under equal cultivation, resisting True Yang Fist’s force would be effortless.

But Cang Luo hadn’t even considered using the Body-Annihilating Divine Art’s Yang Qi—he’d simply relied on his infinite attributeless Qi.

The endless supply of attributeless Qi, along with its healing ability, had held firm against True Yang Fist’s force.

Behind him, Liu Xuande, Li Zhan, Gan Lei, and others shouted excitedly—Cang Luo’s strength had surpassed their expectations.

Wang Fuhai, a Warrior-Eight, had been defeated in one blow—yet Cang Luo had matched the opponent evenly, even gained the upper hand...

The female disciples of the Profound Heaven Sect were also surprised—they hadn’t expected this disheveled, five-year-older fellow disciple to rival the Confucius Academy’s genius.

For a moment, many of them changed their opinion of him.

Among the crowd, Xiang Yunjiao stared at Cang Luo with delighted astonishment, lost in thought.

Not all Profound Heaven Sect disciples were pleased with Cang Luo’s strength—Zhao Renwu’s face was dark as he whispered with his cousin Zhao Renli.

Also, Li Haoran, a top inner-disciple and suitor of Xuan Qingqing, was greatly surprised by Cang Luo’s power.

At this moment, he suddenly thought: perhaps Cang Luo is a threat...