Achieving victory through unexpected means

What young people ought to possess is ambition; what should be worn away is childishness. One must not let ambition fade alongside youthful naivety. When it’s time to fight, fight; when it’s time to be bold, be bold.

Song Yutian was about to turn his head when he noticed his second uncle still staring at the stage. Looking back, Zhang Ling had already leapt onto it, leaving everyone astonished.

Song Linjie eyed him, “Why are you up here?”

“To have a bout,” Zhang Ling glanced toward Song Yutian, “Is that allowed?”

Song Yutian smiled helplessly; Zhang Ling had already stepped onto the stage, as if seeking approval only after the fact. He nodded with a faint smile, while the elders managing the Song family seemed unperturbed by the spectacle. It was clear that the authority of the family head, Song Yutian, outweighed all others.

Zhang Ling turned to Song Linjie and smiled, “You won’t mind if I take advantage of your fatigue, will you?”

Song Linjie nodded, stepping forward in a stride, “Take this blade first, then we’ll talk.”

Song Linjie had been conserving his strength; even the strike he’d just delivered to Song Zhen had only expended half his effort. Zhang Ling didn’t try to evade, knowing that dodging one blow would only invite another, each more relentless than the last.

He reached for his sword, his hands weaving a few deft movements. As the blade neared, he finished his preparations just in time. When sword and blade met, Zhang Ling felt an overwhelming force. He staggered back, forced to the edge of the platform.

He was somewhat relieved; those few subtle sword techniques he’d used to offset the force had spared him from humiliation. Otherwise, losing to a single strike would have been disgraceful. Moreover, he had gauged Song Linjie’s capabilities—not his full strength, but such a powerful blow couldn’t be repeated soon.

Song Linjie pressed forward, his clothing brushing Zhang Ling, who moved away like a drunken shadow. Song Linjie’s blade struck only air.

Multiple shadows flickered; the crowd gasped in surprise.

The elder Song Jingguo, his brow already furrowed deep, asked, “What kind of lightness skill is this? So uncanny.”

Song Yutian, deeply engrossed, smiled after recovering, “Shadow Step—an exclusive martial art of Medicine King Valley, taught only to the heirs of its masters. It seems Zhang Ling’s background is not so simple.”

Song Jingguo frowned, “What if Linjie truly loses?”

Song Yutian replied calmly, “Then he loses. After all, they travel together; it’s good for them to get to know each other.”

Song Linjie turned sharply, “Impressive footwork, but it’s not enough.”

Zhang Ling smiled faintly, took his stance, and beckoned with his hand.

Before his energy could gather, Song Linjie’s blade was already near, crashing heavily to the ground and carving a straight groove. Zhang Ling swayed his body aside, dodging effortlessly. Song Linjie quickly recovered his blade and unleashed a sweeping strike. Zhang Ling’s short sword brushed against the blade, retreating once again.

Below the stage, some scoffed—he didn’t even dare to face his opponent head-on, and yet he had the nerve to step up. Others admired him; compared to the other Song family disciples, Zhang Ling had lasted the longest against the top contender.

Zhang Ling kept dodging, all the while studying his opponent’s moves. Yet the blade strikes came at random, without pattern or form—a style much like the previous challengers, but with none of the rigid structure. True experts act as they please, adapting in the moment, and that unpredictability made each exchange more dangerous for Zhang Ling.

The stalemate did not mean an even match.

Zhang Ling, breathing heavily, found his steps slowing, while the blade-wielding youth showed no fatigue, relentlessly pressing forward with unhurried attacks—intent on exhausting him with superior internal strength. Zhang Ling met each strike precisely, conserving energy, waiting. Outmatched, he could only bide his time and wait for a chance to land a decisive blow.

The chase dragged on, and the audience grew restless, bored of the drawn-out duel. Only Song Yutian watched attentively, believing Zhang Ling still had something up his sleeve—a hunch every leader shares. Only Zhang Ling continued to focus, responding to every attack.

The young swordsman yawned, bored, but suddenly accelerated his strikes, increasing both speed and force. Zhang Ling, already feeling fatigued, stumbled, his defense faltering. A swift blow knocked the short sword from his hand.

Zhang Ling’s steps finally failed him, and the crowd was certain the match would soon end.

The arrogant youth discarded his blade—perhaps to avoid injuring Zhang Ling—and raised his fist, smashing it downward toward Zhang Ling.

Zhang Ling remembered what Zhong Chentian had said: beneath the first rank, if one is unprepared, the Divine Suppression is impossible to evade.

As Song Linjie soared to the peak of his attack, Zhang Ling’s gaze met his. In that instant, a faint but brilliant golden ring flashed around his pupils.

For a moment, even the air seemed to freeze. None below noticed except Song Yutian, and Song Linjie, suspended in midair, suddenly lost all momentum and fell helplessly.

In that fleeting moment, Zhang Ling’s accumulated internal energy surged through his veins, gathering in his hands.

He leapt up, channeling all his power into his right palm, delivering a punch that shattered the clouds.

Song Linjie regained his senses as he fell, but there was no time to recover, no way to gather energy or prepare. He could only watch as the fist landed squarely on his chest.

A blow with full force!

Despite his earlier exhaustion, Zhang Ling’s sudden burst of internal power allowed him to deliver the most complete Cloudbreaker Fist.

Song Linjie felt his chest compress, unable to resist as he was sent flying from the stage, crashing heavily below.

The audience fell silent. Then, suddenly, someone called out in praise, but most remained quiet—after all, they were here as guests, and with the Song family’s head having declared their dominance in Liufeng City, cheering for an outsider risked stirring trouble.

Some of the Song family elders could not sit still. One hurried to Song Yutian’s side to whisper something. Zhang Ling could guess: what was meant to be a contest among Song family disciples had ended with an outsider claiming first place—how could they preserve their dignity?

Song Yutian listened, then waved his hand dismissively. The elder said no more; after all, Song Yutian was the head of the Song family.

Song Yutian approached Zhang Ling, smiling, “I hadn’t expected it! Zhang Ling, you’re an heir of Medicine King Valley. Truly, I did not see that coming.”

Zhang Ling was puzzled, “Medicine King Valley?”

Song Yutian, seeing his confusion, replied softly, “Then who taught you that lightness skill?”

“My elder brother,” Zhang Ling answered.

“Your brother is?”

“Zhang Jingqian.”

“You don’t know his identity?”

“What do you mean?”

Song Yutian’s tone suddenly shifted, becoming hushed, “If he hasn’t told you, it wouldn’t be right for me, an outsider, to say more.”