“—Are you thinking of crippling me?”
Liu Xing, lost in his thoughts, heard Yan Zhen’s words, and his face instantly drained of color. He felt a jolt of fright, as if Yan Zhen had pierced straight through his schemes. It was as though he weren’t facing a half-grown youth, but a crafty old fox in his fifties.
“Young Master Yan Zhen must be joking,” Liu Xing replied. “How could I ever do such a thing? Fists and feet have no eyes, though—please take care, Young Master.”
Yan Zhen nodded in agreement.
“You’re right. Fists and feet do have no eyes. Why don’t we sign a milder life-and-death contract? No killing blows, but everything else is fair game.”
Down in the audience, Yan Ruyu heard this and immediately panicked. She opened her mouth to speak, but Yan Meng’er stopped her.
Liu Xing blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Yan Zhen to hand him such an opportunity on a silver platter.
Joy flickered in his heart, though he remained wary, suspecting some petty trick.
Perhaps a Mystic Pill to urgently boost his mystic power, or some devastating Mystic Artifact—but those were strictly forbidden.
“Since Young Master Yan Zhen puts it that way, I have no objections,” Liu Xing said. “But the arena rules must still be followed: no pills, no Mystic Artifacts above Second-Order, and no poisons, bugs, hidden weapons, or other dishonorable tactics.”
Yan Zhen replied flatly, “I’ll naturally follow the City Lord’s Mansion rules.”
Liu Xing’s heart soared with delight. Yan Zhen must have been bottling up his frustrations for too long. Now that he’d turned things around, he was more arrogant than ever, truly believing a mere Four-Star Mystic Practitioner could take on a Seven-Star. What hubris!
With that thought, Liu Xing flashed a sincere smile and cupped his hands. “Then please, Young Master Yan Zhen, instruct me well.”
Yan Zhen slowly clenched his fist as mystic power coursed through him. A wisp of rising flame light flickered in his eyes.
“I’ll teach you in three rounds.”
A terrifying aura erupted from Yan Zhen’s body. Liu Xing’s pupils contracted as danger prickled his instincts.
In that split second of hesitation, Yan Zhen closed the distance. A fist wrapped in flame-like mystic power ballooned rapidly in Liu Xing’s vision.
A fierce gust battered his face, carrying blistering heat like a scorching wind straight from a forge.
In that instant, Liu Xing’s scalp went numb.
Mystic power forming a thin membrane outside the body, even manifesting its flame essence—this was an ability exclusive to Mystic Scholars!
Was Yan Zhen a Mystic Scholar?
Of course not. It was the Gold-Silver Fire.
The Gold-Silver Fire, which perfectly countered metal and stone Mystic Artifacts!
The battle exploded into motion.
In the first round, Yan Zhen combined Gold-Silver Fire with the Eight Extremes Explosion to shatter Liu Xing’s folding fan.
In the second round, he unleashed Tai Chi Shock with high-heat mystic power, repelling Liu Xing’s counterattack.
In the third round… Yan Zhen gripped Liu Xing’s chin with one hand, hoisting him into the air. Mildly, he asked, “Three rounds are up. Did you learn it?”
Liu Xing couldn’t utter a word with his chin clamped like that, managing only gurgling noises.
“Not learned it yet? Very well, I’ll teach you once more.”
Yan Zhen hurled him skyward. Before Liu Xing could hit the ground, a punch slammed into his belly, followed by a shockwave that blasted him off the platform.
Liu Xing spewed a mouthful of blood in midair. He crashed down like a flopping dead fish, unconscious and unable to rise.
The onlookers were utterly dumbfounded. In just three rounds, a Four-Star Mystic Practitioner had crushed a Seven-Star Mystic Practitioner with total dominance—like a father thrashing his bratty son.
Moreover, the flame mystic power Yan Zhen had displayed was unmistakably that of a Mystic Scholar.
A fifteen-year-old Mystic Scholar? If not for his three-year cultivation hiatus, it might have been plausible. But he had regressed…
Shocked gasps and bewildered murmurs swirled through the crowd.
The City Lord’s Mansion deacon at the Mystic Scholar Realm had been ready to break the rules and protect Yan Zhen if he lost. But now…
“Big Brother’s amazing!”
In the stunned silence, Yan Meng’er was the first to clap her little hands, cheering with delight.
Spurred by her, the audience snapped out of it and broke into thunderous applause.
Yan Zhen turned and flashed Yan Meng’er a warm smile.
Yan Meng’er’s heart melted from the unexpected treat, hearts practically bursting from her eyes as she nearly swooned on the spot.
Yan Ruyu watched Yan Zhen with complicated eyes. How had he grown so strong overnight? Back during New Year’s, they’d been evenly matched—he’d only edged her out with despicable tricks.
Wait. Had he been holding back on purpose that time?
No, not quite holding back. He’d deliberately played weak to justify that “despicable” move of spanking her backside.
The way he’d started hadn’t felt like striking at all. It was more like eager, tentative touching.
Just as Meng’er had said: Yan Zhen was totally craving her butt!
Yan Ruyu’s breath caught. She’d uncovered an earth-shattering truth. Half thrilled, half mortified, the way she looked at Yan Zhen shifted subtly.
“Little pervert…”
She muttered under her breath, a mix of scorn and secret smugness.
Yan Zhen caught Yan Ruyu’s odd stare and felt inexplicably uneasy, like she was plotting revenge.
Shaking it off, he turned to the cluster of young masters from the Three Great Families. “Anyone else want to come up and spar with me?”
The young masters went pale as ghosts. Even Seven-Star Liu Xing had been one-shotted, and effortlessly at that. They’d just be free experience points.
“Ao Ge? Care to give it a shot? I remember you wanted a one-on-one last time. No one’s in your way now.”
The named Ao Ge’s knees knocked together, and he nearly pissed himself. He forced out an ugly grin. “Young Master Yan Zhen jests. I’m just at Mystic Disciple 7th Stage—hardly worthy of the City Lord’s Dragon Night Platform.”
Yan Zhen felt a wave of revulsion at that prissy tone and dropped the pretense, his voice turning nasty. “Then get lost! What are you doing, nesting here?”
The young masters scattered like pardoned convicts, hauling away Liu Xing and Liu Feng in their haste.
Ao Ge bolted the fastest.
“With the troublemakers gone, we can resume the arena defense… Happy festival, everyone. Enjoy yourselves.”
The crowd below responded enthusiastically, with a few bold girls shrieking, “Young City Lord, you’re so handsome~!”
Yan Zhen cupped his hands, then stepped down from the platform and left the area with Yan Meng’er and Yan Ruyu.
A chime signaled the task’s completion. Yan Zhen claimed his reward.
“Special Trump Card: He Wants to Fight Ten.” Usable only against a single opponent. Upon activation, it summoned nine shadows with the user’s full strength, turning one-on-one into one-against-ten.
Yan Zhen was speechless. Shadow clones were shadow clones—why name it something so awkwardly cringy!
Well, whatever. He’d stash it for now; it might come in handy someday.
Gazing at the dozen-plus cards in his System Backpack, Yan Zhen felt like he was playing a trading card game. Once he collected twenty or thirty, he could slap them down and bury his foes. That would be pure bliss.
He stowed the cards and took the two girls on a tour of the Three Great Families’ Dragon Night Platforms. The three of them teamed up, smashing through defenses until the hosting deacons begged the little ancestors to show mercy. Only then did they leave, utterly satisfied.
