Han Yu’s move was completely unexpected. No one in the audience, no elder, no disciple—hell, not even the heavens above—could have predicted that he would spit on Murong Xie’s face. And not just any spit. This was a nuclear saliva missile, laced with the infamous Scorch Gut Pepper, a chili so hot it once sent a grown man into spiritual seclusion.
But that was rely the appetizer.
The main course of pain was still cooking.
While Murong Xie was too busy screaming and trying to rub lava out of his eyeballs (a futile gesture akin to washing away sin with a wet napkin), Han Yu charged up his finishing move—the one, the only...
Bolt God Fist.
Air cracked around his fist, like lightning warning thunder it was coming in hot. A palpable aura of destruction flowed through Han Yu’s arm, drawing gasps from both disciples and elders alike. The very atmosphere around the ring thickened as if holding its breath.
Xu Qing’s eyes went wide.
’This power... he might actually kill Murong Xie!’ she thought in shock.
The energy Han Yu was summoning far surpassed anything soone of his cultivation stage should be capable of. It felt less like a punch and more like a declaration of war.
But before anyone could stop him—
"Bolt God Fist!"
BOOOOM
The air howled as Han Yu’s punch tore forward with the sound of a warhamr smashing a cathedral bell. Even without making contact, the sheer force of the attack sent dust flying, ruffling the clothes of everyone within a ten-ter radius. Children shrieked. An old man clutched his chest.
And then—
CRACK!
The mont fist t flesh, the crowd collectively winced.
Han Yu’s punch struck Murong Xie square on the nose, shattering it like cheap porcelain. The impact traveled downward, knocking loose his upper teeth, which launched into the air like startled pigeons.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh!
Murong Xie flew back like a possessed ragdoll, spinning twice in the air as everyone’s jaws dropped lower than the ring ropes.
THUD THUD THUD!
He bounced off the ground three tis—yes, three—before skidding to a stop five ters from the edge of the ring, his body limp like a sack of regret.
Then—silence.
Pin-drop silence.
Murong Xie didn’t even groan. He had passed out the mont the pepper and the punch tag-tead his senses. The concussion was almost guaranteed. The therapy bills? Imasurable.
"Ow! Ow! Ow! OW!" Han Yu cried, hopping in place as pain surged up his arm.
DRIP DRIP DRIP
Blood pattered onto the ground from his hand. His knuckles were raw, the skin torn clean off.
"FUCK!" he scread, clutching his mangled fist like a man who had just punched a wall and imdiately regretted his life choices.
Despite the Vital Energy that had strengthened his arm, the recoil of the Bolt God Fist was brutal. The sa power that wrecked Murong Xie had also ripped through Han Yu’s own skin.
His howls snapped everyone out of their stupor.
"Wait—he knocked out Murong Xie?!"
"What the fuck!? The brat actually won?!"
"Is this so kind of prank?! Did a spirit possess him?!"
The disciples were flabbergasted. To them, Murong Xie was a walking certainty, like taxes or sunrise. The idea that so street rat had laid him flat? Utter nonsense—and yet... it had happened.
"He did it?" Xu Qing muttered, still staring in disbelief.
She had expected Han Yu to lose. Badly. Painfully. Comically, even. The difference in their cultivation realms was not small—it was Mount Everest wearing stilts.
Even she couldn’t say with confidence that she’d beat Murong Xie at Han Yu’s level.
Elder Nie Jing stared, his jaw almost hitting the floor.
"A prodigy of a martial clan... defeated by so random street kid?" he whispered, wondering if the sun might rise from the west tomorrow and pigs might learn to fly sword formations.
anwhile, Han Yu looked around, still cradling his hand.
"...So is soone going to announce the result? Or do I need to yell it myself like a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts?"
"No!" the disciple who had escorted Murong Xie into the arena shouted. "You cheated!"
Han Yu raised an eyebrow. "Did I?"
"You spat in Murong Xie’s face and used a weapon!" the disciple fud.
Han Yu shrugged. "First of all, I don’t think spitting is against the rules, is it? If it was, half the disciples here would’ve lost from coughing up blood dramatically."
The audience chuckled nervously. He... kinda had a point.
"You still used a weapon!" the disciple insisted, eyes wide.
"Since when is food a weapon?" Han Yu asked, his face the picture of righteous innocence.
"Then what about that—that Scorch Gut Pepper?!"
Han Yu held up his burned lips with pride. "My snack."
"You—WHAT?!"
"I like my food extra spicy. Xu Qing said the food here’s too bland, so I brought so from ho," Han Yu said, as if that explained anything.
"That doesn’t explain why you were eating it in the middle of a fight!" The disciple looked bewildered.
Han Yu looked equally confused. "Have you never heard of adrenaline? It’s nature’s battle booster. The pepper kickstarts it. I was simply... enhancing my performance."
The disciple opened his mouth, clearly preparing a rebuttal.
But Han Yu cut in first.
"And before you say that’s against the rules, let stop you there. It’s not an alchemical pill. It’s not so weird cultivation enhancer. It’s literally just spicy food. If you want to ban snacks, fine—but until then, I’m within my rights to set my mouth on fire."
The disciple raised a finger...
...and slowly lowered it.
Han Yu’s logic—while completely unhinged—was sound.
"He... he’s right, isn’t he?" murmured one of the outer court disciples, still watching in awe.
"It certainly isn’t against the rules."
"And chili peppers don’t count as stimulants."
"Spitting isn’t against the rules either. I still rember Senior Brother Jun Fan spitting onto Senior Brother Sen Ran’s eyes in the fight last week too." Soone added.
"I got spat in the face so many tis too."
"I wish Senior Sister Xu Qing spat on my face." Soone spoke in the crowd.
"WHO SAID THAT!?" Xu Qing roared, her sword already in her hand.
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