Chapter Forty-Five: First Place in the Freshman Tournament

Yang Fan landed on the corridor of the second floor in the arena. He stood up and patted the dust off his pants. He felt helpless—having been literally kicked upstairs by his instructor, he really had no grounds to complain. After all, the man was at least a fourth-rank expert.

Standing on the corridor overlooking the ground floor, Yang Fan glanced down. The competitions were still ongoing. Although he had just fought his way through the field, he hadn’t used much force in his strikes. Relying on his mutated eyes, he was able to replay his opponents’ movements in slow motion, identifying their attack trajectories and defensive weaknesses. His attacks appeared overwhelmingly decisive, but in reality, he hadn’t gone all out—knocking them down was enough. As a result, aside from the last frail-looking boy, no one downstairs had suffered any real injuries. Xie Sihua, for example, had only received a few kicks, and before Yang Fan could even enjoy himself, he had already been sent away. The frail boy, however, was the most badly beaten among the nine, having coughed up blood after Yang Fan’s “Ninefold Slash” and later being hammered on the head.

Yang Fan watched for a while before someone called out to him. “Hey, brat! What are you looking at? Get over here!” Yang Fan turned to see Zhou Haifeng standing at a doorway, glaring at him.

Yang Fan now felt a twinge of dread at the sight of Zhou Haifeng. After all, he’d sent his daughter to the infirmary and even burned off all her hair—it was hard to explain that away. He’d wanted to avoid Zhou Haifeng, but who would have thought this imposing leader, this powerhouse, would spend his days on the second floor watching over children’s scuffles? Wasn’t that boring? Didn’t he realize his own strength?

But no matter how he felt, Yang Fan dared not show it. He obediently made his way over to Zhou Haifeng.

Watching Yang Fan approach, Zhou Haifeng’s face darkened further. He recalled visiting his daughter that morning, her tear-streaked face as she sobbed about having lost all dignity. In the end, Zhou Haifeng had to expend his own energy to regrow her hair. Was that really the work of an eighth-rank grandmaster? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. When Yang Fan was close, Zhou Haifeng stepped aside, waving him in first.

Yang Fan had a bad feeling, but there was nothing to be done; he could only bow his head and walk in. The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt his body was no longer under his control. In a flash, he was plastered against the wall opposite the door with a resounding crash. If it could be put in words, it would be: stuck there as if glued, impossible to pry off.

All Yang Fan could think was that one day, he’d stick Zhou Haifeng to the wall like this—so firmly that he couldn’t be peeled off.

He didn’t stay on the wall for long. Zhang Weiguo soon helped him down. Standing on the ground, Yang Fan shook his head, feeling a bit dazed. He glanced back to see a conspicuous human-shaped dent in the once-smooth wall, and felt a surge of indignation. It was just too much—an eighth-rank grandmaster bullying a second-rank martial artist!

Zhou Haifeng, watching Yang Fan’s sullen expression, said, “Kid, still holding a grudge? Go on, I’m waiting for you to get your revenge.” Yang Fan immediately put on a smile. “Of course not, sir! How could a student resent his instructor’s guidance? Not at all—thank you for your teaching!” But his true thoughts were quite the contrary. If he were stronger, he’d have stripped Zhou Haifeng and hung him over the second-floor railing. Alas, that could only be a fantasy for now.

Zhou Haifeng didn’t bother with Yang Fan any longer. He’d already vented his anger, and though the kid wasn’t convinced inside, at least he was being polite. That would have to do—he couldn’t just keep him stuck to the wall all day, could he?

Yang Fan’s inner monologue had barely ended when Xiaoming He’s voice interrupted his daydreams of future revenge against old Zhou.

“Yang Fan, you did well this time. Challenging everyone at your level and winning—very impressive.”

“Thank you for your praise, Principal,” Yang Fan replied modestly, though his heart brimmed with pride. Who wouldn’t be proud after fighting everyone and silencing the entire arena?

Zhang Weiguo chimed in, “Don’t get cocky, kid. This is just the beginning. If you’re really something, fight your way through third, fourth, and fifth rank next!”

Though Yang Fan’s words were humble, his demeanor betrayed his pride, which annoyed Zhang Weiguo. The boy was getting a little full of himself.

Sitting nearby, Zhou Haifeng watched Yang Fan’s cheeky grin, suddenly thinking he’d gone too easy on him. Had the kid already forgotten the pain? Maybe he should have another go, this time with a bit more force—let him stick to the wall a while longer.

Sensing the mood shift, Yang Fan quickly straightened up and put on a serious face.

Xiaoming He continued, “We’ve been observing your performance and after some discussion, we’ve decided you won’t need to compete further. You’re the champion of this year’s freshman tournament.”

Yang Fan was momentarily stunned. Did it really require all these senior figures to call him upstairs and announce it in person? Was his theory correct, that the stronger one becomes, the more bored they get? Was it really “lonely at the top”? But these three hadn’t even reached those heights yet, so why were they acting like they were playing games with mortals?

First place was obviously his. Regardless of whether his challenge was strictly by the rules, he’d defeated all the strongest competitors of his year. If he wasn’t champion, then who was? Did this obvious fact really need to be discussed and announced like this? And to be kicked upstairs, no less! The more he thought about it, the more aggrieved he felt.

Xiaoming He noticed Yang Fan’s lack of excitement and was puzzled. Wasn’t this something to be happy about? First place in the freshman tournament always came with handsome rewards. This year, first prize was three hundred credits and an F-class alloy weapon. Second place received one hundred fifty credits and ten second-grade Bone Tempering Pills. Third place got one hundred credits and five of the same pills. Fourth to tenth places got fifty credits, eleventh to twentieth got twenty, and all participants received five. Calculated in cash, first prize was worth a cool ten million. After just over a month in school, the top freshman was being rewarded with ten million—generous by any standard. Yet the boy showed no enthusiasm.

Zhang Weiguo, however, sensed the real reason. The boy was simply proud—he already expected to be first, so there was no surprise in the announcement. The question was whether he carried only pride or a backbone to match.

But the more Zhang Weiguo observed Yang Fan, the less he seemed proud and the more he appeared roguish. Zhou Haifeng, meanwhile, was entirely preoccupied with imagining new ways to torment Yang Fan.

Expressionless, Yang Fan looked at Xiaoming He and simply said, “Oh, thank you, Principal.” Xiaoming He was left speechless—was that it?

Zhang Weiguo couldn’t take it anymore. “Alright, alright, Yang Fan, you can go now. The credits will be transferred to your account. For the alloy weapon, go to the Resource Exchange Building to redeem it. By the way, that final move you used—isn’t that ‘Ninefold Slash’ from Elder Li? It’s powerful, but your execution is too crude. You need to polish it—keep practicing.”

Yang Fan thought he could leave after the first part, but upon hearing the second part, he nearly rolled his eyes at Zhang Weiguo—though only in his mind. Facing a peak ninth-rank Martial King, he didn’t dare show disrespect. He’d only just started learning “Ninefold Slash” yesterday, and now he was able to use it in real combat—he thought that was already impressive. Yet Zhang Weiguo called it rough and in need of refinement. He wanted to retort, “I know that without you telling me!” He’d only practiced about thirty times—how refined could it be?

Still, Yang Fan replied, “Understood, thank you for your guidance, Principal.” He’d always been taught by the orphanage matron that polite children would always be more liked. With that, Yang Fan withdrew.

A while after Yang Fan left, Zhou Haifeng snapped out of his fantasy and finally thought of the perfect way to get back at the boy. But when he looked up, Yang Fan was gone. Only Xiaoming He and Zhang Weiguo remained, whispering to each other.

“Where’s that kid?” Zhou Haifeng asked.

Xiaoming He gave him a look as if he were an idiot. “He left, ages ago!”

Zhou Haifeng’s emotions surged. He’d spent so long devising a way to vent his anger without appearing to bully someone weaker, and before he could use it, the target had vanished.

“When did he leave? Why didn’t I notice?” As soon as he said it, Zhou Haifeng regretted it.

As expected, Xiaoming He looked at him with even more disdain, and Zhang Weiguo added, “You’re an eighth-rank grandmaster and your mind wandered off? Aren’t you ashamed?”

Zhou Haifeng was left fuming, his anger towards Yang Fan reignited—he was being ridiculed by his own comrade, all because of that kid! Without another word, and ignoring their disdainful looks, Zhou Haifeng leapt up and dashed out the door.

By now, Yang Fan had already reached the arena’s back exit, thinking it would be more discreet. No sooner had he stepped outside than he felt a chill run down his spine. Glancing back, he saw Zhou Haifeng charging towards him, face contorted with rage, looking ready to devour him. Yang Fan turned and ran for his life, but the gap in strength meant he was caught just one second later, dangling helplessly in Zhou Haifeng’s grip.