Chapter 22: No Chatting

Li Zhi knew he had only the slimmest chance of victory, and hope was faint. But the outcome had already been decided before the martial test—even if he lost to Bao Yun, it was Hui’en Gong who had lost to the Bao family. To secure that sliver of hope, Li Zhi resolved to hold the south and would never go north to fight.

As he waited, the forty men he had sent to his flanks were nearly all dead or wounded, and the Green Team’s flanks had fewer than twenty left. Jiang Qun and Xu Yu remembered Bao Yun’s orders and did not retreat to regroup; instead, they led their remaining troops straight toward Li Zhi’s center.

Li Zhi sighed, knowing Bao Yun’s main force was already on its way and would appear before him any moment.

But even knowing defeat was certain, he had to fight. Li Zhi finally moved his center to meet Jiang Qun and Xu Yu. The moment they clashed, the dozen exhausted Green Team soldiers slammed into Li Zhi’s fresh, well-rested center like waves crashing against rocks—shattered in an instant.

Even after Jiang Qun and Xu Yu, their leaders, vanished in light, Bao Yun’s main force still did not appear.

Even Li Zhi had not expected this result. He still had over fifty men; Bao Yun’s main force should still have ninety. The gap remained vast. But Li Zhi’s thirty elite troops still stood, and only one of his men who understood the art of destiny manipulation—Wang Fang—had been lost. Bao Yun, however, had lost both Jiang Qun and Xu Yu. The actual gap between them had shrunk slightly.

Li Zhi was about to send a few more men north to scout when one of his earlier scouts burst from the side woods, rolling and scrambling toward him, shouting: “Brother Li! The Green Team’s main force has been wiped out—Bao Yun has been driven back!”

Li Zhi’s first reaction was disbelief. He hadn’t moved—how could anyone have destroyed Bao Yun?

The scout gasped for breath: “Someone rode a pig and wiped out the Green Team. It’s true—I saw it with my own eyes! But—”

Li Zhi no longer heard the “but.” This was a fortune dropped from heaven!

In his ecstasy, Li Zhi suddenly felt the ground tremble slightly. A massive figure appeared in his vision, advancing toward him slowly and steadily. Li Zhi tensed—but then saw the yellow armor on the figure’s body, and he relaxed. Not just Li Zhi—everyone around him shed their tension and fear, replaced by smugness.

“Who is that?” someone asked.

A teenager stood with his hands behind his back, arrogantly declaring: “Who cares who he is? If he’s wearing yellow, he’s one of ours—well, technically one of Brother Li’s. This kid’s interesting—he actually managed to take down such a massive mountain boar. He might really have killed Bao Yun. That’s a major achievement. I say we reward him with a Blessed Land. Call him over to speak!”

Another teenager said: “Brother Cui is always too approachable—that’s not good. That big fool is definitely a commoner. A commoner like him? The Crimson Tide Sect is the highest reward he deserves. Anything more, and people will say we’re arbitrary in our rewards and punishments.”

The Cui teenager nodded: “Brother Wang has thought this through thoroughly.”

The two boys, Cui and Wang, chatted among themselves, ignoring Li Zhi entirely. Deep in Li Zhi’s eyes, a flicker of anger passed—but his expression remained calm as he studied the approaching man.

He could be certain this man was not among those he had recruited. But it didn’t matter. Cui and Wang were right: as long as he was in the Yellow Team, it was manageable. Li Zhi was the Yellow Team’s leader; if the Yellow Team won, he was the top merit-holder. Put bluntly, no matter how many others killed, the credit would all be his. Of course, these few boys and girls beside him would take their share too—they were all guaranteed spots in the Celestial Caves.

As for the frontline warriors, only at the end would they discover their scores were unexpectedly low.

Yet when he saw the mountain-sized boar, Li Zhi’s eyelid twitched—he now understood how Bao Yun had lost. If such a beast charged, even with his destiny art, Li Zhi wouldn’t dare claim he could win.

As Wei Yuan drew nearer, Li Zhi stood atop the rise, looking down, and called out loudly: “Brother, I am Li Zhi, nominally leader of the Yellow Team. What is your name?”

Wei Yuan frowned slightly. Those recruited had bowed to Li Zhi’s authority—but must he, who had explicitly refused recruitment, now also submit to him?

Absurd!

Wei Yuan was no fool. History was full of examples where subordinates bled and died, only for their commanders to claim all the credit. Now Li Zhi had declared himself Yellow Team leader—if Wei Yuan accepted, then the merit of wiping out the Green Team would become Li Zhi’s.

Having studied under Zhang Sheng for so long, Wei Yuan had absorbed his hatred for such petty men who seized others’ merits—either by birthright or by scheming. Compared to schemers, who at least used their own wits, those who seized power by birth merely had to be born lucky.

Seeing Li Zhi’s condescending, benevolent facade, Wei Yuan’s face had long grown dark—though hidden beneath his mask.

In the Evaluation Hall, the old scholar stroked his beard and smiled, thinking Li Zhi had played a clever move. The young cultivators, however, glowered with anger, wishing they could possess Wei Yuan’s body and personally rebuke Li Zhi.

Wei Yuan did not reply immediately. Li Zhi had not yet acted—but the group of boys and girls led by Cui and Wang were already furious.

These youths came from families no less powerful than Li Zhi’s; Cui and Wang’s families were even stronger. But they knew their talent and learning fell short of Li Zhi’s, so they had accepted his leadership in battle. Outside combat, Li Zhi had always treated them with courtesy. Cui and Wang were used to being above all others—how could they tolerate arrogance from someone, especially a commoner, right before them?

The Wang teenager’s aura flared, and he leapt ten zhang through the air, landing before Wei Yuan, pointing at his nose: “Where did this commoner come from? Don’t you kneel and pay your respects to us?”

Wei Yuan finally lowered his head, looking at the boy. In an instant, the Wang teenager felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him—his body froze, utterly paralyzed!

Through the resonance of destiny, Wei Yuan felt this boy wasn’t just slow—he was fragile, like a freshly laid egg, soft skin still warm. A slight pressure from him, and he could crush the boy’s yellow aura.

As for what the boy was yelling, Wei Yuan didn’t care. He raised his spear—and brought it down. White light surged.

Zhang Sheng’s instruction to Wei Yuan had been to flatten—not to chat.

Around Li Zhi, the boys and girls erupted in shock, unable to believe their eyes. Li Zhi himself trembled with rage—he was the Yellow Team leader! This man not only refused his command, but dared attack a teammate?

The Cui teenager roared in fury, leaping into the air, his aura blazing, trailing a long seven-colored tail. He thrust a sword through the sky toward Wei Yuan!

Wei Yuan made no other move—only raised his spear and held it in midair. The Cui teenager, like a seven-colored meteor, slammed into the spear—and vanished in light.

Having killed two, Wei Yuan had no more words. The boar’s nostrils began spewing thick clouds of mist, its roar like thunder, its body swelling further. Li Zhi’s face changed—he knew that since Wei Yuan had broken the taboo of killing a teammate, he had already lost points. If Li Zhi were Wei Yuan, he’d kill every last Yellow Team member before stopping. Otherwise, a few survivors might end up with higher scores than him.

Wei Yuan pointed his spear forward. The boar instantly sensed his intent—its eyes turned dark red again, spewing twin jets of scorching mist. The next moment, mist cleared. The mountain-sized boar and its rider, the deathly Wei Yuan, became one—charging into the Yellow Team’s formation!

Li Zhi drew his sword and barked: “Form ranks! Prepare to meet the enemy!”

He knew these ordinary troops, without destiny arts, stood no chance against the mountain-sized boar—but if they could buy him even a moment, it would be enough.

At his command, his prized thirty elite scattered like leaves—none stayed behind.

Li Zhi was stunned and furious. He glanced around—everyone had fled. Even the girl carrying the medicine tray ran the fastest and farthest, leaving not a single pill for him.

These boys and girls weren’t fools. The man who killed anyone with one spear—who could stand against him? And this god of death had uttered not a single word—no communication possible. Without communication, their power of status and connections meant nothing. Now was the time to run—why stay and die for Li Zhi? Hui’en Gong didn’t have that much influence.

In an instant, Li Zhi stood utterly alone—everyone had fled, faster than the boar.

Suddenly, Li Zhi felt the crushing sorrow of a grand ambition turned to dust—moments ago, he had been surrounded by troops and loyal followers; now he was utterly alone. Such was the fickleness of fate.

At this moment, Li Zhi felt the sky darken, the wind howl. He abandoned the instinct to flee, preparing to die with dignity.

In his sorrowful state, his Xing Li Chapter ignited—a golden pillar shot skyward!

Wei Yuan did not pause. He swung his spear in a full arc and brought it down upon Li Zhi with full force. With a thunderous crash, the golden pillar shattered.

Wei Yuan leapt upward, landing lightly atop the hill. The boar, however, kept charging—its chest pierced by a long sword, buried to the hilt. It ran another dozen zhang before collapsing with a mournful cry. Its body shrank rapidly; a wisp of black mist flew from within and returned to Wei Yuan.

Wei Yuan landed precisely beside Li Zhi.

Li Zhi, grievously wounded, could barely rise. He suddenly remembered the judges above, watching—and even higher, many great figures. He drew a deep breath, preparing to recite a verse to declare his resolve. But before he could finish inhaling, Wei Yuan raised his spear—and brought it down. White light surged.

Three years of studying literature, Wei Yuan had spent every day memorizing texts—he hated people who recited poetry before dying. It added unnecessary homework.

Wei Yuan stood atop the hill, surveying the field. Dozens of Yellow Team members scattered across the open land, fleeing in all directions. The Yellow Team truly understood timing—they didn’t cluster, nor did they linger to gawk.

With matters thus settled, Wei Yuan had no intention of letting them live. Then, from the distant woods, a mountain-sized boar charged toward him.

The boar leapt into the air—before it met the wisp of black mist, a bell rang, echoing through the illusion.

This boar, after all, was not meant for Wei Yuan.

The martial test ended.

(End of Chapter)