Chaos begins when one joins a martial arts school

Chapter 58 Advancement (Third Update)

Yang An rolled up his sleeves and began distributing steamed buns to everyone.

He had a strong grip and handled the steamed buns very steadily, handing them over one by one.

The villagers accepted the still-warm steamed buns. Touching their fingertips with the soft texture, many couldn't help but bring their noses to smell them. The aroma of wheat mixed with the heat filled their lungs, making them feel very comforted.

"Uncle Shouzhuo is so generous!" A middle-aged woman exclaimed, holding a steamed bun. "So many white flour buns, how much grain must have been used up!"

The man next to him chimed in, "That's right! Who could be this generous before? Only Yang Jing, now that he's made something of himself, has the confidence to do this. Look at these steamed buns, how big they've risen, so white they're dazzling. We wouldn't even dare to dream of that normally."

The crowd chatted amongst themselves, their eyes filled with gratitude as well as barely concealed envy.

A younger villager couldn't help but click his tongue in amazement: "Everyone said Yang Jing was doing well in the city, and now it seems he's really made it big! Even the bits of flesh that leak out from between his fingers are thicker than our waists..."

Upon hearing this, many people nodded silently, and the steamed buns in their hands seemed to grow heavier.

While the villagers were whispering amongst themselves, Yang Shouzhou was already carrying two steamed buns and walking towards the refugees at the end of the alley.

When the refugees saw someone approaching, they instinctively shrank back, but their eyes remained fixed on the steamed bun in his hand, both greedy and hesitant.

Yang Shouzhou's gaze fell on the two children, a little boy and a little girl.

The little boy was about five or six years old, so thin he was just skin and bones, but his big eyes shone brightly against his dirty face. The little girl next to him was even younger, with dry, yellow hair, huddled in a corner with her knees drawn up to her chest, her lips cracked and peeling, looking very weak.

Yang Shouzhou slowed his pace, walked up to the two children, and squatted down.

His movements were slow, with the composure unique to the elderly. His cloudy eyes were calm, yet they gave people a sense of security.

"Here you go." He handed a steamed bun to the little boy.

The little boy glanced at him timidly, then at Yang An not far away.

Yang An, who had now mastered martial arts, stood there with his back straight, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, his gaze calmly sweeping over the refugees. The unique spirit and energy of a martial artist kept the restless refugees from making any rash moves.

Further on, more than twenty villagers from Yangjia Village, though silent, all looked over. Their sheer numbers were enough to intimidate the crowd.

The little boy hesitated for a moment, then finally reached out his dark little hand, took the steamed bun, quickly stuffed it into his mouth, and began to wolf it down, not even forgetting to lick up the crumbs that fell on his clothes.

Yang Shouzhou then handed another steamed bun to the little girl.

The little girl was more shy than the boy; she just stared at him with wide eyes, not daring to reach out her hand.

Yang Shouzhou didn't urge her. He just held up the steamed bun until the little boy next to him mumbled "Eat...eat," at which point the little girl took it with trembling hands and took small bites. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the dirt on her face and leaving two white streaks.

Yang Shouzhou squatted there, watching the two children finish their steamed buns until they swallowed the last crumbs, before slowly standing up, dusting himself off, and turning to walk back.

An hour later.

The disciples of the Sun Family Martial Arts School had returned to the training ground and were resting under the shade of the trees. Some closed their eyes to relax, while others practiced their moves in hushed tones. The air was filled with a quiet calm that seemed to be the eve of a storm.

Yang Jing stood behind the railing near the seventh arena, his fingertips unconsciously stroking his outer robe, his mind once again reviewing the characteristics of Shen Lie, Qian Feng, and the others' moves.

Liu Maolin, standing beside him, was cracking his wrists, his knuckles making a slight popping sound, his face showing a hint of eagerness.

Before long, the officials began to guide the crowd into the enclosure. The martial artists on each arena stood in order, their eyes scanning each other with scrutiny and wariness.

"clang--"

A long, resonant gong suddenly rang out in the center of the training ground, its sound penetrating all the other noises and clearly reaching everyone's ears.

The third round of competition has officially begun.

The official's voice rang out from the high platform, and an invisible tension instantly enveloped the drill ground, as if even the air itself had become tense.

Everyone knew that from this moment on, every match would be a tough battle, and only a few hurdles remained to reach the top spot in the arena and the final match tomorrow.

Before the echoes of the gongs had faded, all eyes in the training ground were already focused on the officials announcing the names of the contestants on each stage.

On the seventh arena, the middle-aged man dressed in official attire cleared his throat, unfolded the roster in his hand, and announced loudly: "Round 3, Match 1: Yang Jing of the Sun Family Martial Arts School versus Zhao Kui of the Black Wind Martial Arts School!"

Yang Jing was slightly taken aback upon hearing this, not expecting that he would be the first to appear in the third round.

He composed himself and walked steadily toward the arena.

Swish swish.

For a moment, many eyes turned to him.

After the two rounds of competition in the morning, Yang Jing's strength has become known to everyone; he is a low-profile master of internal strength.

It may not be considered outstanding among those with hidden strength, but if a martial artist with visible strength encounters it, unless they are a prodigy, they will basically be eliminated.

When Zhao Kui stepped onto the stage from the other side, his steps were noticeably heavy.

He was in his early thirties, with a stocky build, broad palms and thick fingers, and thick calluses on his knuckles, clearly the marks of years of rigorous training in claw techniques.

As soon as he stepped onto the ring, he felt a faint but palpable pressure emanating from Yang Jing, and a thin layer of sweat instantly appeared on his forehead.

“Hidden strength…” Zhao Kui’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his heart heavy.

He himself was only at the peak of Ming Jin, and there was a huge gap between him and An Jin. Yang Jing looked young, but in fact he was already a master of An Jin. Now that he was facing Yang Jing, he couldn't help but feel uneasy.

He secretly glanced at Yang Jing. The other man's expression was calm, and there was no contempt in his eyes. It was precisely this composure that made Zhao Kui feel even more pressured. The composure of a master is often more intimidating than deliberate arrogance.

"Hoo!" Zhao Kui took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

Fortunately, his opponent was Yang Jing.

He secretly rejoiced. If he had run into Shen Lie, Qian Feng, and Chen Wu, those three well-known veteran masters of internal strength, he probably wouldn't have had the courage to even step onto the stage. Those people were ruthless and experienced; dealing with peak internal strength practitioners would be as easy as slaughtering chickens and dogs.
But Yang Jing is different. I heard that he has only recently emerged and doesn't have a great reputation. It seems that he has only recently entered the Dark Force realm and his foundation is not very solid.
A faint hope ignited in Zhao Kui's heart. He clenched his fist, curled his ten fingers, and assumed the Iron Claw stance with utmost care.

Standing on this stage, even if there's only a sliver of hope, he's willing to give it his all.

Yang Jing stood in the center of the arena, his gaze falling on Zhao Kui's tense shoulders and slightly trembling fingertips, and he knew that the other party was under a lot of pressure.

He did not take the initiative to attack, but waited quietly, his inner strength slowly circulating in his dantian, ready to respond at any time.

The official retreated to the edge of the arena and shouted, "The competition begins!" As soon as the official shouted "Begin!", Zhao Kui moved almost simultaneously.

He stomped his foot hard, causing the blue brick ground to tremble slightly. His body moved like a leopard pouncing on Yang Jing, his claws forming hooks. With a sharp sound as if tearing through the air, he aimed straight for Yang Jing's shoulders. This was the killing move of the Iron Claw Kung Fu, "Dislocating Tendons and Bones," which was specifically designed to break joints and was extremely ruthless.

Yang Jing's eyes narrowed slightly. The opponent's pounce was incredibly powerful. Although they were both at the peak of Ming Jin, the opponent's aura was stronger than that of Zhao Meng, Qian Bao, and the others. No wonder he was able to make it to the third round.

Without dodging or avoiding, he waited until Zhao Kui's claw attack was about to arrive before quietly taking a half step back with his right foot, twisting his waist and abdomen slightly, and seemingly slowly raising his hand. His palm edge was like a knife, precisely slicing towards the tendons on the inside of Zhao Kui's wrist.

With a sharp "snap," Zhao Kui felt a numbness in his wrist, and his clawing motion immediately faltered.

He was startled, not expecting Yang Jing to react so quickly. He hurriedly changed his move, retracting his left claw to protect his chest, and turning his right claw into a fist, striking Yang Jing's ribs with a strong wind.

This punch embodied all of his internal strength, and the surface of his fist seemed to be covered with faint white marks.

Even without using the Surging Wave Kick, the movement and speed of an Inner Strength martial artist are far superior to those of an Outer Strength martial artist. Although Yang Jing has the advantage in movement when facing an Outer Strength martial artist, he will not attract much attention from others.

At this moment, his footwork changed, dodging the punch as if he were strolling in a garden. At the same time, he reached out with his left hand, his index and middle fingers together, and lightly tapped the back of Zhao Kui's fist.

This seemingly light touch actually carries a subtle force, striking precisely at the point where he exerts his power.

Zhao Kui felt the force in his fist dissipate instantly, and his entire arm became numb and sore, as if his bones were about to fall apart.

"What a quick movement!"

Zhao Kui was terrified. He suddenly lowered his waist and his claws flew back and forth, creating a series of claw shadows. He used his Iron Claw Technique to its fullest extent. In an instant, a bloody wind seemed to sweep around the arena, and the claw wind almost covered Yang Jing's vital points.

Yang Jing remained composed, deliberately restraining the power of his hidden force, using only 50-60% of his strength to counter, his steps nimbly weaving through the claw shadows. Occasionally, he would raise his hand to block, each contact precisely neutralizing the opponent's force.

With his third move, he seized the opportunity when Zhao Kui's old strength was exhausted and his new strength had not yet been generated, and with a sweep of his palm, he struck Zhao Kui's elbow.

Zhao Kui staggered back three steps, unable to lift his left arm.

With his fourth move, Yang Jing lunged forward, his fist seemingly thrusting out slowly, yet striking first and landing firmly on Zhao Kui's chest.

This punch, delivered with only 50-60% of its force, felt like a heavy blow to Zhao Kui. He groaned and staggered backward, crashing into the ring ropes and railings.

Yang Jing did not pursue, but simply stood there, looking at Zhao Kui, whose face was pale.

Zhao Kui clutched his chest, looking into Yang Jing's calm eyes, knowing that continuing to fight would only bring him further humiliation.

He took a deep breath, shook his head with a wry smile, and cupped his hands, saying, "I admit defeat."

His voice carried a sense of relief, but also a hint of resentment. In the end, he was still a level below. The difference between Ming Jin and An Jin was indeed too great.

"Thank you for your kind offer." Yang Jing returned the greeting with clasped hands, his tone calm.

Looking at Yang Jing, Zhao Kui knew that being defeated by such a master within five moves was not shameful.

For him, reaching this point was already his limit.

Yang Jing also slowly withdrew his stance. He wasn't deliberately suppressing his strength; he simply didn't want to be too flamboyant before encountering a true opponent. It was best to make his opponent underestimate him as much as possible, after all, the real show was yet to come.

A middle-aged man in official attire stepped onto the arena, holding a scorebook in his hand. He cleared his throat and announced loudly, "Round 3, Match 1: Yang Jing of the Sun Family Martial Arts School wins!"

After speaking, Yang Jingchao nodded slightly to Zhao Kui, then turned and walked off the stage.

Zhao Kui clutched his chest, his steps unsteady. He bowed to Yang Jing and then stepped off the stage.

Among the martial artists watching the battle from below the stage, Shen Lie was playing with the jade pendant at his waist. He glanced at Yang Jing's back out of the corner of his eye, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his lips.

"Zhao Kui is only at the peak of Ming Jin, so his victory is nothing to brag about."

He thought to himself, his fingertips tracing the patterns on the jade pendant. The aura of a martial artist with hidden strength flowed around him, "If I really encounter a tough opponent, I'm afraid I won't be able to maintain this effortless stance."

In his view, Yang Jing's dodges just now, though skillful, were too shallow, and he didn't even reveal the fierceness of internal force. At most, he was just a beginner who had just entered the realm of internal force.

Chen Wu and Qian Feng exchanged a glance, both able to see the calm in each other's eyes.

In their eyes, Yang Jing had only just broken through to the Dark Force realm and was not a worthy competitor. The top spot on the seventh arena would be decided between the two of them and Shen Lie.

The third round of matches came one after another, with the sounds of gongs and fists clashing rising and falling, but much less frequent than before.

After each match, martial artists left the field dejectedly, and the number of people inside the training ground fence visibly decreased. The once crowded open space gradually became somewhat empty.

When the final competition came to a close, and the middle-aged official loudly announced the results of the seventh arena's quarterfinals, only a handful of people remained inside the enclosure.

Shen Lie, Qian Feng, Chen Wu, and Yang Jing, these four martial artists with internal strength, stood in their respective corners, their distance from each other creating an invisible standoff.

The same applies to the surrounding arenas; those who remain are the elite who have survived the test of time, and it is rare to see Ming Jin martial artists anymore.

The weak have long been eliminated and left outside the fence, watching the field with either regret or relief.

The remaining people all exuded an aura that should not be underestimated.

The air inside the fence seemed compressed, so heavy it was hard to breathe, and even the wind felt tense.

The previously audible chatter had almost disappeared. Most of the martial artists closed their eyes to regulate their breathing, or sharply scanned potential opponents, and even their breathing became much lighter.

Everyone knew that the next round, from four to two, would be the real battle for survival, where every move could determine whether they stayed or left, leaving no room for luck.

Finally, the middle-aged man dressed in official robes stepped onto the platform again, the roster in his hand much thinner than before.

He cleared his throat, his voice exceptionally clear in the silent arena, carrying an undeniable authority: "Seventh Arena, Round Four, Four to Two, let's begin."

Outside the fence, pairs of eyes peered through the wooden railing, intently watching the four people beside the seventh arena.

The competition has reached its most crucial moment.

Yang Jing didn't notice that his senior sister, Sun Ningxiang, had arrived at this place at some point and was quietly watching him through the fence.

……

P.S.: Guys, please vote for me with your monthly tickets!

(End of this chapter)