Unparalleled medical and martial arts skills, saving the CEO's fiancée at the start.

Mr. Qiao's birthday banquet started promptly at 7 p.m.

Thirty tables of food were set up in the white marble square in front of the main hall, and the abundance of dishes was astonishing.

It is said that the Qiao family specially selected a team of chefs from the three best hotels in the provincial capital, and the Buddha Jumps Over the Wall dish alone took three days and three nights to stew.

Grandpa Qiao sat in the center of the main table, dressed in a bright red Tang suit with a longevity pattern embroidered on the chest. He was so energetic that he didn't look like an eighty-year-old at all.

He accepted the toasts from the guests with a smile, his drinking capacity putting even the young people to shame; he drank more than a dozen cups of noodles without changing color.

But only a very few observant people could notice that the old man's gaze would occasionally sweep over the table where Ye Chen was, lingering for a moment, his expression so profound that it was impossible to fathom.

Qiao San sat to the left of the old man, his face ashen, and he didn't look at Ye Chen even once.

He was wearing a brand new navy blue robe today, looking quite respectable, but the knuckles of his fingers holding the wine glass were faintly white, clearly indicating that he was trying his best to control his emotions.

Sitting to the old man's right was the eldest son of the Qiao family, a refined middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses. He didn't talk much, but every word he uttered was just right. He was the kind of person who made people feel at ease, yet dared not be underestimated.

Ye Chen secretly made a mental note of this person.

Ye Chen was placed in a central position on the west side, a position that was neither conspicuous nor neglected, a suitable distance carefully calculated by the Qiao family.

At the same table with him were several mid-level business figures from the provincial capital. Their attitude towards Ye Chen was polite but also cautious. They dared not offend the Qiao family, nor dared to neglect Ye Chen. They were very careful with their words and were exhausted from speaking.

Ye Chen, on the other hand, was completely unaware of what was happening. He ate and drank as usual, and even enthusiastically peeled a whole plate of shrimp for Jiang Ruoxi. His technique was so skillful that the shrimp shells were as intact as cicada shells.

"Aren't you nervous?" Jiang Ruoxi looked at the mountain of shrimp meat in her bowl and was speechless.

"What's there to be nervous about? Nothing is more important than eating. Han Song isn't a ghost. He has two shoulders and one head anyway. You need to eat your fill before you have the strength to beat him up."

Jiang Ruoxi couldn't help but smile, but there was still a hint of worry in her smile.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Ye Chen, but Han Song was, after all, the number one expert in the Qiao family, with a cultivation level of Transformation Realm, and his reputation as invincible throughout the provincial capital was not just for show.

He Jianping, sitting at another table, was not so calm.

He didn't touch the delicacies in front of him, but kept twirling his chopsticks in his hand, his gaze occasionally drifting towards Han Song at the main table.

Han Song was sitting at the table behind Qiao San, resting with his eyes closed. There was a glass of water in front of him, and he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol.

His expression was as calm as a stagnant pool, as if the debate between the two sides tonight had nothing to do with him.

The ghost servant sat next to He Jianping and ate with relish.

He picked up a piece of Dongpo pork and chewed it slowly. After finishing, he said something that made He Jianping even more uneasy: "Han Song is gathering his strength."

"What do you mean?" He Jianping asked nervously.

Gui picked up another piece of Dongpo pork: "It's the same with Ye Chen. You see him eating happily, but he's actually relaxing. If it really comes down to a fight, he'll be faster than anyone else."

He Jianping looked at Ye Chen and saw that Ye Chen was holding a crab leg and gesturing something to Jiang Ruoxi. The gestures were exaggerated and funny, making Jiang Ruoxi cover her mouth and laugh.

It looks really relaxing, almost too relaxed.

The banquet continued until 9 p.m. After the longevity peaches were brought out, Mr. Qiao stood up to give a speech, thanking all the guests and wishing everyone good health and longevity.

After finishing his speech, he suddenly changed the subject, smiling as he said, "Master Han Song from our provincial capital and young friend Ye Chen from Jiangcheng want to have a friendly spar at the martial arts arena. Although this old man is getting on in years, I'd like to join in the fun. Why don't we move to the arena, have some tea, and watch?"

Everyone knew the main event was about to begin, so they put down their teacups and followed the Qiao family's servants to the martial arts training ground in the backyard.

The Qiao family's training ground was in the backyard. It was a circular open-air area with a diameter of about thirty meters, and the ground was paved with thick bluestone slabs, which felt solid and stable underfoot.

Eight stone pillars stood around the field, with lanterns hanging from them, illuminating the entire training ground as bright as day.

Three rows of armchairs were set up on the sidelines for guests to sit and watch the game.

In the very front row, right in the center, was Old Master Qiao's seat, a huanghuali wood official's hat chair, with a small tea table next to him, and the tea had already been brewed.

Ye Chen changed into a light black training uniform, casually tied a cloth belt around his waist, and stood on the east side of the training ground, stretching his wrists and ankles.

Jiang Ruoxi stood beside him, silently adjusting his collar. She didn't say anything, but her fingers trembled slightly.

Ye Chen squeezed her hand; his palm was warm and dry, like a silent promise.

On the west side of the training ground, Han Song had already taken off his coat, revealing his well-built muscles.

At 45 years old, he maintains the physique of a man in his twenties, with well-defined muscles and not an ounce of excess fat.

Grandpa Qiao personally served as the referee, his voice booming beyond his eighty years. "First round, fist and foot combat. Both sides shall stop when they have made contact, and no one shall be killed. If one side falls to the ground and cannot get up for ten seconds or voluntarily surrenders, the other side wins. Do either of you have any objections?"

"No," Han Song replied calmly.

"No." Ye Chen grinned.

"Alright, let's begin..." Old Master Qiao raised his right hand and then swung it down suddenly.

The moment the words left his mouth, Han Song moved.

His legs seemed to be equipped with two springs, propelling him forward at an incredible speed, covering a distance of ten meters in the blink of an eye.

His right leg was raised high, then slashed down like a battle axe, the heel whistling as it struck Ye Chen's head.

The speed, power, and angle of that kick were all perfect, and a sharp sonic boom even echoed in the air—the sound that only occurs when the leg speed breaks through the limits of air resistance.

The Twelve-Road Springing Leg Technique, the First Route: Mountain Splitting!

Ye Chen felt the pressure; Han Song's reputation was well-deserved.

When his leg came down, Ye Chen felt as if the air above his head had been sucked out, and an invisible pressure was pressing down from above, as if an entire mountain was crashing down.

Ye Chen did not take the hit head-on. Instead, he lowered his body and slid to the side like a fish.

Han Song's heel brushed against his shoulder and slammed down onto the bluestone floor.

Bang!

With a loud crash, the five-centimeter-thick bluestone slab shattered, sending fragments flying three or four meters away, striking the surrounding stone pillars with a crackling sound.

The onlookers gasped in shock, and several women sitting nearby covered their mouths in fright.

If that kick landed on someone, their bones would shatter into pieces.

Ye Chen dodged the first kick, but Han Song's offensive continued relentlessly.

After his right leg landed, he turned his body and followed up with his left leg, delivering a sweeping kick to Ye Chen's waist with the speed of a black lightning bolt.

The essence of the Twelve-Road Springing Leg lies in its continuous, unending strikes, one after another, giving the opponent no chance to breathe.

Ye Chen knew he couldn't hide any longer.

Fists and feet collided!

boom!

After a muffled thud, even deeper and heavier than the sound of the stone slab being shattered earlier, it sounded like someone had detonated a small bomb in the center of the training ground.

Ye Chen took three steps back, each step leaving a shallow crack on the bluestone slab.

The leg skills of a master of internal energy transformation are indeed no joke.

That kick wasn't just about muscle power; it was a result of internal energy being channeled into the leg, more than doubling its power.

Han Song stood still, but his right foot was trembling slightly.

The young man's internal strength far exceeded his expectations.

"Good lad, you've got some skills," Han Song muttered.

Twelve-step spring kick, seventh step, chain attack!