The crowd's excitement flared up once more.
Skinny was busier than ever, yet he still found the time to ask Sun Fuling, "Are you betting?"
He Lingchuan frantically shot him a warning glance, but it was already too late. Sun Fuling produced another tael of silver. "Put it on!"
She was still backing the long shot.
"My dear lady, this fellow looks even less reliable than Wild Boar!" *Why are you still throwing money away?* He Lingchuan clamped a hand over the back of hers. "Don't you want to reconsider?"
"I know that," Sun Fuling said, blinking innocently. "That's why I only wagered a single tael this time."
"..."
Her eyes curved into crescents of laughter. "A little wager is harmless fun. It doesn't matter."
Half a ke later.
Sun Fuling clutched He Lingchuan's arm, her head drooping in dejection. "My money..." Down the drain.
He Lingchuan found it hard not to chuckle. "A tael of silver could have bought hundreds of steamed buns."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he felt her grip tighten, shifting from a clutch to a sharp pinch.
A wise man knew better than to say *I told you so* at a time like this. Instead, one ought to say, "Never mind. That scoundrel Meng Shan will get what's coming to him sooner or later."
"No day like today, and sooner or later is worse than right now," another voice chimed in from the side.
He Lingchuan turned his head. To his surprise, it was Xiao Maoliang!
Hu Min laughed in pleasant shock. "Boss, what took you so long!"
"I was stuck in meetings until just now. I nearly missed the fun." Xiao Maoliang looked toward Arena No. 7. "Is Meng Shan holding the ring today?"
"Aye, that scoundrel has already battered down four challengers," Hu Min said, shaking his head. "Looks to me like Arena No. 7 will wrap up early today."
Arena No. 7 was an open ring where ordinary citizens could watch every contest from start to finish. As a widely beloved spectacle, it opened once a week, with extra sessions added depending on the circumstances.
Panlong City offered little in the way of entertainment, and Xiao Maoliang was not one to miss out on such amusement.
If nobody stepped forward to challenge Meng Shan and the lull lasted past half a shichen, Meng Shan's defense would be declared successful, bringing the day's matches in Arena No. 7 to an early close.
Skinny bustled over, bowing and scraping as he greeted Xiao Maoliang. As a patrol guard, he naturally showed the utmost deference to a commander of the Gale Army. Still, he muttered regretfully, "If only two more went up." He hadn't made nearly enough coin today.
Xiao Maoliang turned and flashed a smile at He Lingchuan.
He was normally a man of few smiles, and He Lingchuan's chest suddenly tightened. *Why is Commander Xiao smiling at me?*
"Broken Saber, do you want to head up?"
"Me?" He Lingchuan pointed at his own nose. "Right now?"
"You've challenged Meng Shan six or seven times. You're the opponent he least wants to face." Xiao Maoliang's remark made He Lingchuan rub his nose. What Boss Xiao really meant was that he was an unkillable cockroach, wasn't it?
"I've watched your bouts twice as well. You're not entirely without a chance." Xiao Maoliang pointed toward the raised platform. "An opportunity like this doesn't come often today. Care to give it a try?"
The two Gale Army soldiers behind him had also fought in the river valley battle. Both recognized He Lingchuan and had crossed paths with Meng Shan, so they promptly chimed in.
"Right, right! Go on up, Broken Saber, and vent some spleen for the rest of us!"
"Let that fat bastard see that there's always someone better!"
Skinny's eyes lit up, his head bobbing like a pounding pestle. "Splendid, splendid! Broken Saber, your odds are remarkably high as well. I'll definitely bet on you this time!" If by some miracle he won, Skinny would truly be swimming in silver!
He Lingchuan rolled his eyes at him. *Call that a comrade?*
In the South Courtyard, fighting Meng Shan in the ring carried no shame even in defeat; after all, the spectators were all seasoned martial artists. But below this platform stood a sea of ordinary townsfolk.
Xiao Maoliang patted He Lingchuan's shoulder. "Why train the martial path for a thousand days? To face trials like this. You have to go through it sooner or later."
Sun Fuling, who had been listening all along, suddenly spoke up. "If you go up there and fight, I'll wager an entire year's wages on you."
Her almond eyes shone with dazzling vibrancy and life.
Looking into her eyes, He Lingchuan suddenly felt his reservations melt away. Or perhaps Xiao Maoliang's words had struck a chord deep inside him.
He looked at Sun Fuling and said, "I have a condition. Agree to it, and I'll go up and fight."
Sun Fuling did not hesitate. "Name it!"
He Lingchuan exhaled softly, leaned close to her ear, and whispered, "Win or lose, you have to give me a kiss."
Amidst the surrounding din, virtually no one could overhear them.
Sun Fuling's gaze froze.
Yet the moment the words left his mouth, He Lingchuan felt a wave of embarrassment. He didn't know why the request had rolled off his tongue so smoothly without passing through his brain. Now he had hit a wall.
"Forget it, forget it. Treat it as nonsense; the condition doesn't count." He waved a dismissive hand. "I'm heading up."
To his surprise, Sun Fuling suddenly thrust out her small fist toward him. "Fine, I agree. But only if you win!"
Overjoyed, He Lingchuan bumped his fist lightly against hers. "A deal's a deal."
Over in the corner of the ring, Meng Shan had strolled over and stretched his jaw in a massive yawn.
A quarter of an hour had passed with no challengers. Another fifteen minutes, and his defense would be marked a triumph.
Dull. Terribly, utterly dull!
Just as he was drowning in boredom, another figure leaped up from below the platform.
Applause erupted all around, cheering on this fearless newcomer. Every challenger battered down by Meng Shan had been left grievously wounded, hanging on by a mere thread of breath. For someone to dare step onto the stage under such circumstances, the sheer courage alone warranted a round of applause.
Meng Shan sneered inwardly:
*Good. Let Grandpa see which reckless fool swallowed a bear's heart and a leopard's gall to come offer himself as... huh?*
*Eh?*
*How is it—?*
Meng Shan's face darkened, for the man stepping forward greeted him with sickening familiarity: "Yo, Meng Shan, haven't seen you in half a month!"
Broken Saber!
"You're still coming to throw your life away even now?" Had this brat harassed him seven times before, or was it eight? Though Meng Shan had beaten him off the stage every single time, he knew in his heart of hearts that Broken Saber was growing harder and harder to handle.
The last time he knocked him down, Meng Shan had sustained injuries himself and had been forced to recuperate at home for many days.
In the vast expanse of Panlong City, the person Meng Shan least wanted to cross paths with—aside from General Red—was this sticky candy of a pest before him.
"I placed a bet; I have to win my silver back." He Lingchuan extended a hand toward him. "After you."
Even though he was prepared, the moment he stood upon Arena No. 7 facing thousands of fanatical spectators, that sheer enthusiasm transformed into an overwhelming, mountain-crushing pressure!
The stares of thousands, the pointing fingers of thousands, the collective fury of thousands—all of it could coalesce into an aura as tangible as iron.
He had once read in a book about an extraordinarily handsome youth who drew crowds every time he stepped outside. On one occasion, the mob grew so vast that their relentless staring literally killed him. Well... what was that fragile fellow's name again? It didn't matter.
He Lingchuan had always treated the tale as a joke, but right now he couldn't laugh.
To lose upon Arena No. 7 meant losing face before the entire populace of the city. He would become the gossip and laughingstock over tea for every aunt and uncle for the next half-month.
The pressure was immense.
He took a quiet, deep breath.
He had walked the razor's edge between life and death countless times; why should he fear a bit of noisy spectacle? Xiao Maoliang was right: sooner or later, he would have to face it.
Meng Shan grunted and walked over to the weapon rack. He picked out a four-foot mace studded with wooden spikes, along with a round hand-shield.
Those familiar with his fighting style let out murmurs of surprise. Meng Shan wasn't picking a heavy weapon?
Xiao Maoliang remarked with curiosity, "The fellow is quite shrewd." It hardly matched his brutish appearance.
Skinny laughed. "He's suffered at Broken Saber's hands before. He doesn't plan on relying purely on brute force."
He Lingchuan also walked to the weapon rack, reaching out to take down a wooden saber. He weighed it in his palm and inspected it carefully. Yes, the balance was passable, and there were no cracks.
Even on Arena No. 7, the quality of the weapons remained as shoddy as ever. Fortunately, the wood was decent enough; otherwise, he truly feared it might snap after a couple of strikes.
Both men wore light leather armor, but against a brute of Meng Shan's size and raw power, a wooden saber stood virtually no chance of breaching his defenses without ingenuity—it was far more likely to burst into woodchips.
Having clashed six or seven times already, each knew the other down to the marrow. There was no need to probe. Meng Shan charged with sweeping strides, swinging his mace in a vicious arc, followed instantly by a ground-shaking stomp.
Normally, no one dared meet his swing head-on; most would leap backward, at which point his seismic stomp would shatter their balance.
The moment He Lingchuan revealed the slightest flaw, the hand-shield would slam into his face.
While not as heavy as a towering pavise, this round shield remained devastatingly effective for crushing bone.
Yet He Lingchuan knew his repertoire intimately and refused to fall into the trap. As the studded mace came crashing down, he did not retreat; instead, he surged forward with an explosive burst of speed, hurling himself and his saber straight into Meng Shan's chest!
The maneuver was extraordinarily nimble and swift, known in the Returning Swallow movement technique as Fledgling Swallow Dives into the Forest. To the onlookers, only an afterimage flickered past before the tip of the wooden saber jabbed straight into Meng Shan's belly!
It was a gamble fraught with extreme peril. Had he been half a second slower, Meng Shan's massive mace would have shattered his skull.
Below the stage, Xiao Maoliang let out an astonished gasp.
He had clashed with Meng Shan head-on in the Yan River Valley, and he knew well that once this brute picked up momentum, a powerful aura surged around him, capable of dragging or stalling an opponent's movements. This was Meng Shan's greatest trump card against agile foes.
Agile, flexible fighters were mostly lean and light, easily pulled off-kilter by that surging vortex. Not only would their strikes lose much of their power, but their footwork and positioning would distort, and Meng Shan would promptly show them what it meant to have a mountain collapse upon their heads.
Yet He Lingchuan understood this trick inside out; after all, every shred of that knowledge had been bought with his own blood.
No matter how strong an aura was, it had ripples and fluctuations. Having trained his saber amidst the river's torrents earlier that day, feeling how water possessed form yet lacked fixed rigidity, he keenly caught the uneven seams in Meng Shan's aura. There was always a vacuum gap to exploit, and he had sliced in right along its periphery.
He Lingchuan struck with pinpoint precision, aiming directly for the diaphragm, intending to make Meng Shan taste the agony that Wild Boar had suffered earlier.
Meng Shan had been exhaling a thunderous roar, his abdomen swollen tight. The sudden jab threw his upper body backward, causing him immense discomfort, yet his horse stance remained rock-solid; he did not yield a single step.
Still, He Lingchuan's strike did not fully succeed. The man's belly was inflated like a drum, whether packed with true qi or dense lard, proving extraordinarily springy and resilient. The wooden blade could find no purchase to drive home.
In that fleeting moment, He Lingchuan dearly missed Fusheng; Meng Shan's thick padding of fat would never have repelled that razor-sharp tip.
Alas, this was a dream arena. He wouldn't even consider using his ghost shadow cicada slough—
It was simply too expensive!
Yet almost no one noticed that from the wooden saber's tip, over a foot of sharp gangqi burst forth.
Meng Shan swept his arms inward in a vicious bear hug.
His brute strength surpassed even that of Wild Boar. If he locked He Lingchuan in his grasp, he could squeeze the very bile out of him. He Lingchuan had seen Meng Shan snap a man's spine in half with his bare arms.
Chapter 291