Chapter Forty-Two: Defeat

Jiang Xiaotian coughed incessantly, feeling as if his internal organs were being violently churned.

This was the power of an Inner Strength martial artist—able to kill in a flicker, without the slightest change in expression.

"Hmm?"

While everyone was marveling at Chen Yu’s methods, the Inner Strength expert beside Zhao Zheng let out a soft exclamation of surprise.

In his eyes, there was no way Jiang Xiaotian could have avoided that strike. Chen Yu’s attack had been ferocious and calculated to perfection. Even if Jiang Xiaotian had miraculously dodged, the aftershock alone would have crippled him.

Yet now, Jiang Xiaotian suffered only some internal injuries—not fatal at all.

"Zhao Yan, what’s wrong?" Zhao Zheng noticed his companion’s puzzlement.

"Young master, there’s more to this boy. He’s indeed at the peak of External Strength, but his martial arts are unusually domineering."

Zhao Zheng merely acknowledged with a sound, unconcerned. Even at full strength, Jiang Xiaotian was no match for Chen Yu—now wounded, he was nothing more than a lamb awaiting slaughter.

"You really are... shameless... cough, cough..." Jiang Xiaotian struggled to his feet, having never expected Chen Yu to attack before the match had even begun.

Fortunately, he’d dodged in time—otherwise, the consequences would have been dire.

Even so, the damage from that blow was considerable.

Forcing himself to endure the pain, Jiang Xiaotian faced Chen Yu’s mocking gaze, no longer daring to be careless.

An Inner Strength martial artist’s true terror lay in their unpredictability!

"Chen Yu broke the rules! Aren’t you going to do something about it?" The elderly Taiji master who had previously aided Jiang Xiaotian sprang up, demanding an answer from the organizers.

They looked at each other with innocent faces. "Sir, you must be mistaken. Mr. Chen never even moved. No one knows how Jiang Xiaotian suddenly coughed up blood—maybe he has some hidden illness and wanted to cheat?"

"You people!" The old man sighed, helpless to the extreme.

Even a fool could see Chen Yu was responsible, yet the organizers denied it completely.

Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, Jiang Xiaotian noticed, oddly, that the pain had lessened. He glanced toward Ling’er in the audience—she was looking at him as well.

The usually silly dragon maiden now wore a chilling expression.

If necessary, she would kill these scoundrels without hesitation.

Sensing her intention, Jiang Xiaotian shook his head, as if to say, I’m fine.

"Well? Are you both ready? If so, I’ll announce the start," the organizer said coldly.

Chen Yu nodded. "I’ve been waiting."

Without so much as checking on Jiang Xiaotian’s condition, the organizer declared the match begun.

Chen Yu strolled toward him at a leisurely pace, his Inner Strength like invisible blades swirling around, threatening to strike Jiang Xiaotian at any moment.

But he did not attack immediately—he wanted to savor this, to let everyone see what became of those who crossed him.

But was Jiang Xiaotian the sort to await death?

He understood all too well the gulf between their abilities. Now, with a life-or-death contract signed, Chen Yu would surely go for the kill.

And Jiang Xiaotian—he would have to make every move count.

Jiang Xiaotian quickly adjusted his stance, taking deep breaths, drawing upon his spiritual energy, and unleashing the Dragon Form Fist.

In an instant, his footwork became unpredictable. Chen Yu was surprised to find that, for a moment, his Inner Strength could not lock onto his target.

"You’re becoming more interesting," Chen Yu remarked, raising a hand.

No matter how keenly the others stared, they could see nothing in his palm, but Zhao Yan observed clearly and nodded in approval. "Young master, you chose well. Chen Yu is indeed formidable—to have just entered the realm of Inner Strength and yet wield it with such refinement. He must have a solid foundation."

Though nothing was visible, a careful observer would notice the air above Chen Yu’s palm was subtly distorted.

Sensing the force gathering in Chen Yu’s hand, Jiang Xiaotian felt a chill in his heart.

This was the same move he’d once taken head-on to protect Ling’er, but now it seemed even more terrifying—a repressed beast, ready to rip its prey to shreds once unleashed.

Though Jiang Xiaotian had reached the First Heaven, he possessed little martial technique—only the Dragon Form Fist. Most of the time, he relied on his superior spiritual energy to overwhelm others.

Now, facing an opponent a whole level above, he was hard-pressed.

He had no idea how to counter Chen Yu’s assault—he could only keep dancing away, adjusting his steps to evade.

Soon, the situation became dire. Jiang Xiaotian dashed about like a madman, while Chen Yu followed at a leisurely pace. If not for the mysterious wounds that kept appearing on Jiang Xiaotian’s body, the audience would have thought nothing was happening.

Even the External Strength martial artists, though their level was too low to see the Inner Strength unleashed, could still sense the chilling intent to kill.

At last, forced to the edge of the stage, Jiang Xiaotian could retreat no further.

His body was covered in wounds as if slashed by knives, blood oozing from every cut—a pitiful sight.

Panting, he was shaken. He’d thought he could hold out against Chen Yu for a while, but from the start, he’d been defeated.

Lost in thought, another wave of force struck his shoulder, dislocating his arm.

The pain made him suck in a sharp breath, his lips parched, his face drenched in cold sweat.

"Too weak. What a disappointment," Chen Yu sneered, shaking his head. "Struggle, let everyone see you struggle—then die in agony, so that they’ll remember how ruthless I, Chen Yu, am."

Still gasping, Jiang Xiaotian refused to yield. "I think if you hung a black-and-white photo of yourself at home, people would remember you even better."

Chen Yu’s gaze turned icy, and all the Inner Strength scattered around him suddenly coalesced, striking Jiang Xiaotian like an invisible giant hammer.

Sensing the danger, but too injured to fully evade, Jiang Xiaotian was sent flying once more.

Everyone in the audience watched with bated breath, terrified to miss a single detail.

Chen Yu was far too strong—he had yet to exert himself, only closing in step by step, while Jiang Xiaotian was already battered and nearly powerless.

The once arrogant youth had no chance to fight back.

Even those martial artists who had considered helping Jiang Xiaotian now dared not utter a word, for fear their own fates would be even worse.

Ling’er watched, an odd feeling rising within her—was it...heartache?

She closed her eyes, channeling her spiritual energy. Once more, she turned her attention to the battlefield, unnoticed by anyone.

"Xiaotian, I’m here," she murmured softly, her words wrapped in spiritual energy, drifting to Jiang Xiaotian’s side.

Though all eyes remained fixed on the match, the outcome seemed already decided.

Jiang Xiaotian, trembling on the ground, still voiced his stubborn defiance. "Hurts...it hurts! Chen, you old dog, is this all you’ve got? I’m not dead yet!"

He spoke, struggling once more to rise.

But before he could steady himself, he was knocked down again by a surge of Inner Strength.

This time, things were worse—blood streamed from his nose and mouth.

The Dragon Form Fist, his pride, was useless before Chen Yu.

The audience saw only his suffering, but Chen Yu and Zhao Yan—both Inner Strength masters—noticed something amiss.

Jiang Xiaotian had been at a disadvantage the whole time, unable to fight back, yet he was like an unkillable cockroach. No matter how fierce Chen Yu’s attacks, Jiang Xiaotian’s breathing remained steady—he was never in mortal danger.

Any other martial artist would have died many times over by now, but Jiang Xiaotian could still hurl insults.

As time passed, Chen Yu’s patience wore thin, and his attacks grew ever more ruthless.

But Jiang Xiaotian flitted about like a flea—dodging when he could, taking the blow when he couldn’t, crying out in pain, then scrambling to his feet again.

"You’re truly persistent!" Chen Yu’s expression darkened. He should have dispatched Jiang Xiaotian in the cruelest fashion, yet now he was drawing suspicious glances from the crowd.

Everyone could see he was no longer holding back, yet couldn’t finish off even an External Strength practitioner?

Finally, he lost all restraint, flashing forward to seize Jiang Xiaotian by the throat, lifting him into the air. Inner Strength surged into Jiang Xiaotian’s limbs and bones.

Jiang Xiaotian struggled, but after two seconds, he fell still.

"Useless. Since you’re so fond of Ye Wan’er, go accompany that whore in death!"

As Jiang Xiaotian’s fading eyes reignited with fury, he reached out a trembling hand. "You...are not worthy to speak her name!"

"Ha! Is that so? Don’t worry—once you’re dead, I’ll offer Ling’er to Zhao Zheng. He’s quite fond of your little girlfriend! Too bad you can’t save her. Trash—always trash!"

Gritting his teeth, Jiang Xiaotian gathered the last of his spiritual energy into his fist and, with all his remaining strength, swung at Chen Yu’s head.

"You will not touch her..."

But just as he’d done with Fang Ye, Chen Yu easily caught his wrist and nullified the desperate blow.

"Die." With a squeeze of his fingers, there was a crisp snap—Jiang Xiaotian’s eyes dulled, his arms dropping weakly.

"I win. This life was what that beast owed my disciple!" Chen Yu tossed him aside, scanning the crowd with arrogant pride.

Jiang Xiaotian collapsed, his life ebbing away.

He had never expected his own arrogance would cost him so dearly—pain, fear, helplessness, and no way back.

But then...

"Xiaotian, I’m here," came a gentle call, timely and clear in his fading consciousness.

It was as if someone had pulled him from the abyss, or something within him had been summoned.

Thump-thump—Jiang Xiaotian’s stopped heart suddenly leapt once, then a golden liquid surged through his veins, enveloping his entire body.

Ling’er had hidden dragon nectar within Jiang Xiaotian’s heart!