In truth, everyone had initially wanted to issue their challenges the very next day, but their bodies were so racked with aches and exhaustion that they simply could not bear it, delaying until the third day.
The reason the group collectively challenged An Jing was not because of the One-Eyed Instructor's praise calling him the "foremost talent."
Over the past half-month, everyone had seen An Jing's capabilities plain and clear.
To put it simply, he was accomplished in both letters and arms.
Those more learned than him were not as skilled in martial arts, and those more skilled in martial arts... Well, no one was actually more skilled than him.
If nothing else, during a manor drill, a large youth named Zhan Feng had clashed with another boy. Though only twelve, Zhan Feng stood eight chi tall, while his opponent, despite looking dark and gaunt, possessed astonishing strength. When the two traded blows, gusts of fierce wind whipped around them, keeping everyone else from getting close. Yet An Jing had pinned each of them to a table with one hand, leaving them immobilized and crying for mercy.
Thus, even if it had only been tacit acknowledgment at first, after half a month, everyone accepted that An Jing was, in truth, the Eldest Senior Brother.
The outcome of the endurance test had also proven that An Jing possessed the finest physical stamina of anyone present.
Yet that acknowledgment had been built on a foundation devoid of material stakes.
On the evening of the test, An Jing's dinner had come with an extra bowl of braised pork ribs and a bowl of greens-and-tofu soup.
The steaming ribs gave off an intensely rich aroma, their brown sauce carrying a hint of spicy medicinal fragrance that stoked deep cravings. The greens-and-tofu soup seemed ordinary at first glance, but it had clearly been simmered from bone broth, rich and fragrant enough to pass for the work of a master chef in the world outside.
Suspended Fate Manor provided ample food—millet and meat broth, bean rice, and the occasional serving of egg and tofu—not luxurious, but steady.
Yet that was all.
A large bowl of braised pork ribs, with its glistening grease and savory sauce, instantly threw the entire dining hall into unrest the moment it appeared.
An Jing did not even turn around, but from the ragged breaths around him, he knew that practically every pair of eyes fixed on him was burning green with hunger.
In truth, his own eyes were burning green as well.
Without the slightest hesitation, An Jing devoured the meat before him as fast as he could.
That night, a thoroughly satisfied An Jing heard twice as much grinding of teeth in the dormitory as usual. Every bit of sleep-talk revolved around "roast meat" and "ribs," and the nearly palpable resentment almost kept him from sleeping—out of sheer amusement.
He knew very well that he would not have a moment's peace in the days to come.
Yet An Jing felt not the slightest dread.
Try to steal his meat?
Ha, what a joke!
No matter who came, he would not lose!
An Jing enjoyed three days of pork ribs. Once everyone had recovered, under the instructors' supervision, ten of the thirteen trainees who had completed the full course demanded to challenge An Jing.
"Consecutive battles?"
Hearing the rules announced by the instructor, Gu Yeqi's already large eyes opened even wider as she stood behind An Jing.
Puzzled, she asked, "Instructor Li, isn't that a bit unfair? Brother Jing... Does An Jing have to defeat all the challengers in a row just to stay Eldest Senior Brother?"
This girl, who hailed from the same region as An Jing, was quite lively by nature. Every time she saw him, she would cheerily call out "Brother Jing," and after training, she would bring him a bowl of water. To An Jing, who had never had a younger sister, this was a novel feeling. Consequently, he was glad to look after her and offer tips on her martial techniques during daily practice, so the two enjoyed a good relationship.
Of course, An Jing also knew that if he truly had a sister of his own, she would never be as heartwarming and trouble-free as Gu Yeqi.
"That's right," Zhang Ying said indignantly from behind An Jing, a bruise still lingering on his forehead. "And wouldn't that give an enormous advantage to those who fight later? Even if someone wins that way, no one would accept it!"
"If his stamina gives out, it merely means his training is lacking. If others are unconvinced, they can naturally challenge again next ten-day cycle."
The one-eyed instructor, surnamed Li, looked at An Jing with an amused glint in his eye, clearly intending to test the boy's limits. "For apprentices like you, a bout takes hardly any time to decide. You can't drag it out, nor do you have the skill to; a single mistake settles the contest.
"If you truly have the skill, defeating ten people in a row won't take even an hour.
"Becoming Eldest Senior Brother and claiming the title of 'foremost' in this cohort is no easy feat."
Instructor Li was right. An Jing did not find this unfair at all; if anything, it was a fine opportunity.
A fine opportunity to subdue every last person who refused to yield to him!
Weapons were permitted in this challenge. Everyone could select whatever training implement they favored, whether wooden stave, wooden saber, or wooden sword. After all, martial arts flourished across Great Chen; immersed in it from a young age, a good many youths were familiar with weapons.
An Jing chose a short wooden stick to wield like a mace, intending to use it primarily to parry the challengers' weapons.
The first challenger wielded a saber, his technique likely passed down from a butcher's family, and his strikes were sharp and ruthless. It was not that he bore great malice; rather, he understood An Jing's strength all too well, knowing that if he held back instead of fighting with all his might, he would be taken down in an instant. He did not truly believe he could win, but for the meat, he was ready to stake everything!
After exchanging salutes, he struck first. Stepping forward, he swept his long saber in a sharp arc, cutting into An Jing's inner guard from a tricky, rising angle. But An Jing saw at a glance that the boy's form was meant not for a long saber, but for a pointed butchering knife—which was why he had to close the distance for infighting. Yet the blade in his hands was long enough that rushing forward only hampered his swings, throwing his center of gravity off-balance.
Seizing the moment, An Jing struck, parrying the challenger's saber aside with a single sweep of his stick. Taking a forward stride, he shoved the off-balance youth, sending him tumbling backward onto the ground.
The second challenger's family had most likely been woodcutters. He handled his axe remarkably well and had chosen a weapon that suited him, swinging it with imposing vigor. A strike from that axe would surely shatter bone and tear sinew; if An Jing took a direct blow, the wind would be knocked out of him on the spot.
The only problem was that An Jing was neither firewood nor a tree.
He could move.
An Jing slipped past the ponderous, crushing swing with ease, then drove his stick into the boy's flank beneath the armpit, sending him stumbling until he yielded of his own accord.
The third and fourth challengers proved no tougher. One used a sword, the other a short spear; after a brief exchange, An Jing seized upon their openings and defeated them in turn.
Though they possessed good stamina and fine natural talent, surviving the Frost Calamity had mostly been due to their parents' protection or pure luck. Even if they had killed before, that too had mostly been luck; their martial skills amounted to little more than "knowing the basics."
An Jing, however, had practiced martial arts since childhood. Out on the Northern Frontier's desolate plains, he had killed horse bandits alongside his mother, and he had slain mad, ravenous refugees four or five times over, in both ambushes and pitched fights. In real combat experience, the gulf between them was simply too vast.
An Jing even had to remind himself constantly to pull his blows; otherwise, his stick would instinctively thrust toward the chest or strike toward the throat.
That was why he had chosen only a short stick. Defeating challengers to legitimately claim the title of Eldest Senior Brother and eat meat was one thing; accidentally killing a peer was another matter entirely.
"Too wide a gap."
Watching An Jing dispatch his fifth and sixth opponents like slicing through melons and vegetables, Instructor Li could not help but shake his head. "I wanted to test this kid's mettle, but I never expected the disparity to be this great."
He looked toward the remaining four challengers, even more dissatisfied. "None of them will do."
Among the four, only one possessed decent martial skill; the others could only bully small children. Even so, compared to the level An Jing had just demonstrated, they were behind by at least three or four tiers.
Moreover, judging from the look of sheer awe on that girl's face, she had already recognized An Jing's skill and lost all will to fight; when her turn came, she would likely surrender on the spot.
By this point, An Jing had already defeated the seventh challenger. This time he had not even used his weapon, catching the incoming wooden staff bare-handed before delivering a kick that sent his opponent tumbling back ten feet, coughing and waving his hands in surrender.
Barely a quarter of an hour had passed. Forget an hour; the ten challengers would hardly last twenty-odd minutes.
Instructor Li furrowed his brow. He had come with an assignment. While An Jing's high skill was certainly a good thing, crushing everyone's spirits completely ran contrary to his objective.
His gaze swept across the grounds. Among the more than two hundred Children of Calamity, there were certainly those whose natural talent was not inferior to An Jing's. Yet precisely because of that high talent, they had long realized their own lack of practical combat experience and knew they were no match for him.
Those who did possess real combat experience and decent strength could also clearly see the gulf between themselves and An Jing.
Instructor Li looked over several promising seeds he favored, but none showed the slightest desire to fight. Only after scanning the crowd once more did he spot a youth who was not intimidated by the fighting, but instead clenched his fists in excitement—someone of solid strength who might actually pose a threat to An Jing.
"You."
Instructor Li walked straight up to the youth, clapped him on the shoulder, and pointed at An Jing. "Go knock him down."
Chapter 8