Volume Three: Rising Fame Chapter Seven: Martial Cultivators

Qing Yuan didn’t waste much time before knocking Qing Anqi unconscious with a single palm strike.

There was a time limit on the arena to prevent competitors from stalling indefinitely. In the past, some participants who were acquaintances both wanted to win but felt awkward about fighting each other, so they would agree that whoever lost patience first would concede. When the rules were later revised, this issue was taken into account, especially as some of the larger tournaments could drag on for months. Thus, the current challenge and defense system was established.

Depending on the scale of the martial contest, the number of rounds a challenger needed to defend was decided. As long as the required number was met, it counted as a success. Once the number of finalists was reached, the tournament would conclude. This forced everyone to keep up a brisk pace in their matches.

Otherwise, if your own side was just one match away from qualifying and someone else won first, it would be truly frustrating.

As soon as the referee declared the match over, Li Yu couldn’t wait to leap onto the stage.

“You’ll die a miserable death!” Li Yu’s gaze was cold as ice.

“I’ll be waiting to see,” Qing Yuan replied with a wave of his hand, utterly indifferent.

A fifth-rank cultivator being threatened by a sixth-rank, and even being cowed by it? That would be a joke!

Li Yu didn’t waste words. He carried Qing Anqi to the nearest infirmary.

“How is she?” He waited anxiously outside for a while before a female doctor emerged.

“They’re all external injuries. They look serious, but it’s mostly pain. With some rest, she’ll be fine,” the doctor explained hurriedly before rushing off. Several matches in this tournament had gotten heated, resulting in broken arms and legs, so she was extremely busy.

“Is this what you call holding back?” Li Yu entered the room and saw Qing Anqi wrapped up like a mummy. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing within them.

He kept vigil by her side for a long time, but Qing Anqi showed no sign of waking. Xiaocui came looking for him.

“Master, the second round is about to start!” Xiaocui stood at the doorway, speaking in a low voice.

She, too, was puzzled by how rushed the tournament was this year. In previous years, contests of this scale would last a week, but now it seemed they meant to finish in a single day.

To facilitate this, they had even supplied a large quantity of elixirs to ensure every participant could recover quickly enough to face the next match.

“I’ll be right there,” Li Yu said after one last look at Qing Anqi, her face bruised on one side. When Xiaocui was about to speak again, he finally looked up. “I’m going now. You stay here and look after Anqi.”

Xiaocui nodded.

The Qingshan Army patrolled outside the infirmary, making it quite safe.

Seeing there was little risk, Li Yu left directly.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Two boys passed by outside and bumped into Li Yu. One of them apologized repeatedly.

“It’s fine. Just be careful next time.”

Li Yu didn’t mind and waved them off before heading toward the arena.

The two boys walked straight on.

Back at the arena, the others were already gathered. Li Yu glanced around and was surprised to see that Qing Xiumin, the fire-attribute cultivator, had advanced. If memory served, her last opponent had been a sixth-rank as well.

“Hiding her true strength,” Li Yu observed her a bit longer.

Aside from Qing Yuan, another familiar face caught his eye—it was the young man from the platform earlier, the one who had warned him: Qing Yunwei.

There were two others whom he didn’t recognize.

A referee approached and announced, “Same old rules. Take a draw—whichever color you get, go to the corresponding arena. You have five minutes to prepare. No using weapons or forbidden items that don’t belong to you; violators will be disqualified!”

Li Yu saw there were only three arenas left this round, colored yellow, blue, and purple, each significantly larger.

He drew purple again.

Last round, unfamiliar with the rules, he hadn’t brought any armor or weapons. Now that he knew, he still chose not to bring any.

“Let’s hope it’s you,” Li Yu’s gaze landed on Qing Yuan. He went straight to the purple arena, closed his eyes, and waited for his opponent.

Li Yu was eager to know—to see what heights he could reach if he went all out.

Before long, his opponent entered the ring.

“Qing Pengcheng, sixth-rank martial cultivator!” announced the young man, clad in heavy armor. Li Yu sensed no spiritual energy from him—only a surging vitality, fierce and powerful like a wild beast. This was his first time facing a martial cultivator.

“Li Yu, sixth-rank spiritual cultivator,” Li Yu replied. He felt no hostility toward this stranger and returned the salute with equal respect.

“You’re the first to show me respect here! Even if my opponent is only a seventh-rank spiritual cultivator, they still look down on me,” Qing Pengcheng rumbled. “If I happen to win, I won’t go too hard on you.”

Spiritual cultivation and martial cultivation—these were the two great paths of humanity in this world.

To reach sixth rank in martial arts was enough to be a pillar in an ordinary family. But this was the House of Qing, a vast and powerful clan, a local lord in its own right. Even the outlying branches routinely produced sixth-rank bloodlines. A mere sixth-rank fighter attracted little notice, even if he was barely past twenty.

“No need to go easy on me. You’re my first martial opponent, after all.”

Li Yu shook his head, interested in Qing Pengcheng. It was often said that martial cultivation was inferior to spiritual cultivation: that martial arts offered nothing but brute strength, lacking the mystique of the spiritual path. Many books described it so.

Yet Li Yu had never seen it for himself, and his curiosity was piqued.

The referee came over—both were fifth-rank cultivators. One of them asked,

“Li Yu, are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Qing Pengcheng, are you ready?”

“Ready.”

Both nodded in reply.

“Begin!” barked the referee, retreating to the side.

“Here I come!” Qing Pengcheng bellowed, the plates of his heavy armor clattering. He charged forward, every step driving a crater into the ground.

Li Yu wanted to test things out. He didn’t dodge, but braced himself—only to be sent flying the moment they collided.

“He’s like a bulldozer,” Li Yu muttered, shaking out his arms; they were numb from the impact.

Even on Earth, getting hit by a freight truck wouldn’t hurt as much as that did.

“Impressive strength, but with big openings,” Li Yu murmured.

If this was all the power Qing Pengcheng had, and his speed couldn’t keep up, then Li Yu had countless ways to deal with him. Even ordinary cultivators could probably handle it.

‘It seems vitality and spiritual energy have something in common?’ he noted with interest.

“Let’s go again!” Li Yu focused, spiritual energy surging through him. He beckoned at Qing Pengcheng, eager to test their strength anew.

On the projection screen, their contest of strength was displayed for all to see.

Spectators began to take notice, voices buzzing.

“Is that real? A spiritual cultivator can match strength with a martial artist now?”

“Is Li Yu a spiritual cultivator or a martial one? He looks like a wild bull to me!”

“He’s chasing the wrong path. Even children know spiritual cultivation is far superior to martial. I’ve never seen a spiritual cultivator lose to a martial one—it’s pointless to even try!”

Meanwhile, outside the makeshift infirmary, Xiaocui confronted two men:

“What are you doing, loitering around here? Where are the Qingshan soldiers? Come here!”