Chapter Thirty-Nine: Admit Defeat

“The first match: Li Shaohua versus Huang Ziliang. You two, remember to stop when necessary during the bout. Just showcase what you’ve learned; the outcome isn’t what matters most.”

A martial arts instructor in his thirties, seated to the left, rose and announced this in a clear voice. The first part of his remark was directed at Li Shaohua; the latter, in truth, was meant for Huang Ziliang.

No one in the class took issue with these words. Merely glancing at the two competitors as they entered the arena, it was clear they were of different temperaments, so it was unsurprising that the teacher addressed them differently.

Huang Ziliang, sword in hand, approached the center with a tense, cautious expression, every muscle taut as if he’d encountered a wild beast in the wilderness, unable to relax for even a moment.

Li Shaohua, on the other hand, emerged with his sword resting behind his elbow. He moved at an unhurried, leisurely pace, as though out for a spring stroll. He seemed to be going through the motions, his face adorned with a gentle smile; he nodded politely toward the podium as a gesture of respect.

Even Xiao Nan had to admit—the fellow was extraordinarily presentable. With a wasp-waisted, crane-backed figure and nimble steps, he glided effortlessly over several meters with the lightest touch of his toes—graceful yet steady. His bearing and aura were nothing short of exceptional.

“It’s Li Shaohua! I haven’t seen him fight in ages. He’s so handsome!” Several female students couldn’t help letting out a shriek.

A low hum of excitement spread from the distant stands. So many voices at once—the fame of Li Shaohua at Yuanjiang No. 1 High School was immense. Aside from Qin Shuang, who’d already been specially recruited by a top imperial college, his abilities were the most astonishing.

It would be impressive enough if he were only strong, but he was also strikingly handsome, with an air of heroic elegance. To top it off, his family was wealthy and influential. He was, in every respect, the perfect boyfriend—no wonder he had legions of admirers.

Inside and outside the arena, everyone was abuzz.

“I heard the Li family’s secret ‘Dragon-Suppressing Sword’ is wild and domineering—one sword in hand, invincible to all. I’ve never seen it with my own eyes,” Wei Yunyun said, eyes shining.

“You’ll probably be disappointed,” replied Xiong Bing grumpily. “I can’t stand his arrogant attitude, but I have to admit—he’s good. Against Huang Ziliang, he won’t need the ‘Dragon-Suppressing Sword.’ He’ll just toy with him a bit. Too bad I’m not the one facing him.”

His gaze burned with competitive fervor.

Xiao Nan watched, thoughtful. If he wasn’t mistaken, Xiong Bing was still concealing his true strength; otherwise, he wouldn’t be so confident, practically itching for a fight like a rooster spoiling for a brawl.

Lin Hao, standing nearby, gave Xiong Bing a scornful look—thinking him overconfident.

Meanwhile, Wei Yunyun couldn’t take her eyes off Li Shaohua. She paid Xiong Bing’s words no mind, dismissing them as empty boasting.

She sighed, not turning her head, “I heard at the start of the year, Li Shaohua’s vital energy value was already close to the 5.0 limit. By now, he must be even more terrifying. Truly, only he can be compared to Qin Shuang.”

...

“Draw your sword. I know you practice the Bleeding Sword Technique and have mastered it to the point of perfection. I’ll let you make the first move,” Li Shaohua said, keeping his long sword behind his elbow, left hand extended, signaling his opponent to begin.

“Thank you for your mercy,” Huang Ziliang replied, relief flashing across his face.

His greatest fear had been that Li Shaohua would attack mercilessly. Unwilling as he was to admit it, he knew there was a vast gap between their abilities. If his opponent attacked in earnest, he might not block even a single blow and would fail the test miserably.

Li Shaohua made no further comment, waiting calmly.

Huang Ziliang chose a two-handed sword, double-edged and slightly curved, resembling a saber. The hilt was long enough for both hands to grip and generate force together.

The gleaming blade was raised upright against his chest. He exhaled sharply and gave a resounding shout.

“Ha—!”

At that shout, Huang Ziliang sprang forward, legs launching him in a fierce rush. His sword flashed like a streak of lightning, whistling through the air in a forceful downward slash.

“Bloodshed Across a Thousand Miles!” someone in the crowd called out the name of the move.

This was one of the three lethal techniques of the Bleeding Sword Style—the simplest and most brutal burst attack. On the battlefield, using this move meant either life or death, pure offense with no thought for defense.

From the look of Huang Ziliang’s execution, he had no intention of dragging things out—he was determined to demonstrate his best, gambling everything on one strike.

He first coiled his body, tensing like cotton wool, then suddenly stretched his limbs—the motion was as powerful as a tiger’s charge, his vital energy and strength clearly unified. Sword drawn in a single breath, the attack was swift and fierce.

Not only did the students below praise his technique, but even Lin Anguo and the others on the podium nodded approvingly.

To have brought the Bleeding Sword Technique to such a level was genuine combat proficiency—one could rightly call him a skilled swordsman. He had clearly passed the test.

“But how will Li Shaohua respond?”

Xiao Nan observed the crowd’s reactions, gradually discerning the standard for passing. Everyone said that mastery of the technique and concentration of vital energy sufficed.

Yet in Xiao Nan’s mind, even within this realm, there were varying degrees of skill. In traditional martial arts, there were many types of integrated force: pushing, vibrating, penetrating. Gathering one’s energy and strength was the method; how one wielded it against an opponent, the technique.

Huang Ziliang, in this case, had used the most basic method—pure pushing force. No subtlety, simply a slashing strike, relying on speed and strength.

Amid the students’ exclamations, Li Shaohua nodded slightly, feet unmoving. As the silver blade bore down on him, his arm flickered.

The sword, which had been resting behind his elbow, suddenly emitted a deep, resonant hum that made everyone’s ears tingle.

A single blur of light—and no one could clearly see how he swung his sword. In the next instant, the charging Huang Ziliang seemed to crash headlong into a wall of steel. His body flew backward, landing with a heavy thud more than six meters away.

His two-handed sword spun out of his grasp, tumbling some ten meters before stabbing into the grass, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd.

A sharp hiss of breath swept through the onlookers.

If Li Shaohua had won with his family’s famed ‘Dragon-Suppressing Sword’—overwhelming his foe with fierce technique and momentum—they could have accepted it. But what had they just witnessed?

“What sword move was that?”

“There was no move! It was just the basic sword form we’ve practiced until we’re sick—a diagonal slash with a step. Wait, he didn’t even step forward. He just swung his sword from where he stood… Huang Ziliang’s ‘Bloodshed Across a Thousand Miles’ couldn’t even warm him up.”

One student, with keener perception, felt utterly defeated. They’d spent their days yearning to master sophisticated sword techniques, only to realize that, for Li Shaohua, such tricks were beneath notice. Even a casual swing was a masterstroke. He suspected it made little difference whether Li Shaohua even held a sword.

A feather-light blade wielded with the force of over a thousand pounds—the mere sight of the sword’s shadow was overwhelming.

That Huang Ziliang was knocked flying, losing both weapon and footing, was both shocking and entirely reasonable—the gap between them was simply too great.

...

Xiao Nan’s eyes narrowed. He understood better than anyone the threat such power posed; in his previous life, he’d only managed to reach a thousand pounds of force by the age of thirty. No matter how hard he tried afterward—using electrical stimulation, banned drugs, or even harmful techniques—he could not break through that limit.

Yet this young master of the Li family had achieved it with ease. The world had truly changed. Unless he raised his vital energy, Xiao Nan knew he’d be in deep trouble against such opponents.

Sensing Xiao Nan’s gaze, Li Shaohua turned his head, a trace of enigmatic meaning in his eyes.

He looked up at the podium, cupped his fists in a traditional salute, and said, “Teacher, I believe I’ve passed, haven’t I?”

“Without a doubt! If this doesn’t count as passing, none of the other students need bother taking the test!” Lin Anguo quipped, thinking himself witty—only to find no one laughing. He awkwardly scratched his nose and added, “Huang Ziliang, you pass as well. Your Bleeding Sword is well practiced—keep striving. Your loss today is only because your opponent was too strong; you can’t be blamed.”

“Thank you, Principal!” Huang Ziliang, covered in grass stains and dust, thanked him with delight.

He’d thought he’d failed.

Hearing this, the students finally relaxed and broke into discussion.

...

“The next group: Chen Yixiang and Zheng Xue…”

A boy and a girl stepped forward. This bout was far more exciting—the two went back and forth for a full two minutes, exchanging dozens, perhaps hundreds, of moves before a winner emerged. Both passed.

As group after group competed, over an hour passed before it was time for Class Five, Grade Three.

The previous four classes had already taken their turn, with most passing the martial skills test. Out of 102 students, only seventeen had been eliminated—those whose martial arts were insufficient, who hadn’t reached the level of concentrated vital energy.

Perhaps some had reached it, but failed to demonstrate it in the test. Lacking proficiency, unable to apply it in combat, mastery was as good as useless.

Whether spectating or waiting their turn, no one was the least impatient—all watched with keen interest. The younger students cheered fervently, wishing they could compete themselves, hoping to excel next year.

Those seniors who’d already failed the earlier mental test stood silently at the side. Watching others perform pained them, but they still couldn’t bear to leave.

Observing this multitude, Xiao Nan felt he’d gained some insight. His mental strength pulsed in waves; the mark on his chest grew faintly warm…

Ever since he’d obtained the golden thread of light, his mental power had been increasing. Now, spurred by the emotions around him, he sensed an impending breakthrough, as if the next realm was within reach.

“Each night I can visualize the star-filled sky, which proves my ‘Starry Sky and Bright Moon Visualization’ has reached deep meditative trance. Now I sense another breakthrough—could I be on the verge of attaining the ‘Oblivion’ realm?”

To truly reach the ‘Oblivion’ state meant, like the homeroom teacher, being able to project one’s mental power to influence an opponent. In real combat, such power was invaluable. Compared to ‘Trance,’ it was a whole different level.

Quietly examining himself, Xiao Nan was filled with joy—he nearly forgot about the ongoing martial skills test until he heard, “Next group: Lin Hao versus Xiao Nan.”

Coming to his senses, he found all his classmates looking at him—with sympathy, pity, and barely concealed gloating.

Lin Hao was first to enter the arena. He reached to the weapon rack and grabbed a long spear, giving it a shake so that it hummed through the air.

“Xiao Nan, just admit defeat. I know you haven’t mastered your sword technique, and you can’t use concentrated vital energy. If you get hurt, it won’t be good,” Lin Hao said, a hint of disdain in his eyes, feigning concern as Xiao Nan selected a narrow-bladed rapier.

...

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