Chen Liu stepped back, smirking. "Just a friendly spar—no need to fear losing too badly, Master Chen."
Long Chen's cold gaze pierced him. He sensed the mockery beneath Chen Liu's fake politeness. Without yesterday's transformation, he'd be lower than this outsider in the Yang Clan's eyes.
But now, both strength and resolve had changed. Newfound power burned in his veins—this first battle would define his path.
"Spare the theatrics. You want a fight? Then bring it—but if I 'accidentally' kill you, don't blame me."
Chen Liu stiffened at the hardened tone. Before he could retort, Long Chen's figure blurred. True qi surged as he thrust a fist forward, aiming straight for Chen Liu's chest!
"Dragon Meridian Realm? Pathetic. Let me teach you humility!"
Chen Liu, entrenched at Level 2 for two years, unleashed a punch to counter. The fists collided—qi exploded, and both reeled back.
Chen Liu's shock echoed his disbelief. "Level 2? You hid this well!"
Long Chen stabilized, mind racing. His qi matches mine, but experience favors him. Retreat spells defeat. Failure now will haunt my cultivation—death is better than dishonor.
His red-rimmed eyes locked on a fist-sized stone nearby.
"You've got some skill, but I'm stronger. Try my fist again!"
He feinted another attack. Chen Liu, confident, channeled full qi into a retaliatory strike.
BOOM!
Long Chen staggered, bloodied, but his hidden left hand whipped the stone at Chen Liu's face!
"What—?!"
Chen Liu raised arms instinctively. The stone struck—pain, not injury. But in that split-second vulnerability, Long Chen's leg lashed out, striking Chen Liu's abdomen. The impact sent him crashing into a willow tree, blood splattering the earth.
"A 'Level 2 expert'? Crushed by my trump card."
Chen Liu, trembling, threatened through gritted teeth, "My cousin Yang Zhan will end you!"
Long Chen spat. "Mouthy trash. For spitting at me, for mocking me—this is justice."
He gripped Chen Liu's collar, fury flashing. "You called me a dog? Then let this be your lesson."
A punch shattered Chen Liu's teeth. Screams echoed as he writhed, regret searing his soul.
But movement stirred behind. Long Chen whirled—Yang Zhan and his father, Yang Yun Tian (Second Elder), stood five meters away. They'd witnessed the clash.
Yang Zhan advanced, qi roaring. "You dare?"
A hand clamped his wrist. Yang Yun Tian rebuked, "Enough. He's clan blood."
To Long Chen, he added, "Level 2? Go claim your technique. But disturb the Patriarch's meditation, and punishment awaits."
They departed, Yang Zhan's fury unspent.
Long Chen exhaled, vowing vengeance. This humiliation fuels me. Strength commands respect—I'll carve my path.
He entered the Scripture Tower, ignoring Chen Liu's groans. Inside, shelves held Yang Clan techniques.
Level 2—only Yellow-rank Initial techniques.
He scanned titles, picking Tiger Fist. Fifteen minutes later, he scoffed. "Too simple."
The jade in his Sea of Consciousness must amplify his perception—texts felt crystal clear, intuition razor-sharp.
Am I a genius? Or is this the jade's doing?
He tested Falling Star Fist—a Yellow-rank Mid technique. Its description clicked: "Body as starry sky, fist as meteor—weight of Mount Tai, speed of lightning."
Its reputation precedes it. I'll copy this.
Half an hour later, he transcribed it. "Comprehension complete. Time to train."
As he exited, a wizened voice warned, "Destroy techniques after study. Leakage means death."
Long Chen bowed. "Yes, Patriarch."
In his hut, the old man muttered, "Ambitious, choosing Mid-rank. Pity—could've been great like Qinglan…"