A man of honor and integrity

The light grew ever brighter, enveloping everything like a dense fog. Relying on his Crimson Gold Eyes, Zhang Ling managed to discern his surroundings. The cliffs on either side began narrow, then gradually expanded, the ground beneath his feet felt as level as a plain, though his eyes saw an upward slope. When all returned to normal, only Mo Li and Song Linjie remained at his side.

His internal energy was calm and undisturbed; this was evidence enough of a true illusion formation, though the sensation was vivid and clear. Zhang Ling looked back as far as his gaze could reach; the entire city of Jinyu appeared before him. The three of them now stood atop a high mountain—by their bearings, it was the Sky Yao Mountain behind the imperial city. Turning his eyes forward, he found himself in a tranquil, pastoral setting. The mountain summit stretched beyond a single glance; several courtyards lay scattered, each distinct, neither crowded nor sparse. Below was a plaza paved with blue stone, lacking the imposing grandeur of great sects, instead exuding a serene charm—like a cottage near mountain and water.

As he returned to his senses, the others looked bewildered. Song Linjie asked, “Where are we?”

Three figures approached. Two were familiar—one was Liu Yuan Cheng, who had previously fought Song Linjie to a draw; the other, whom Zhang Ling had never met but recognized instantly, was Wu Zhi. Zhang Ling asked, “Where are the others?”

Wu Zhi peeled a mandarin and popped a segment in his mouth, savoring its sweetness. He tossed one to Zhang Ling and smiled, “Congratulations, you three. From this moment onward, you are disciples of the Academy. The others are safe as well. You must have guessed that wasn’t a killing formation, so rest easy—the Academy is not a place of slaughter, only those who deserve it are ever killed. By the way, fruit trees grow on this mountain; the mandarins and green dates are ripe now, and very sweet. Try them when you have time.”

Zhang Ling accepted the mandarin without ceremony and ate it, then asked, “Isn’t there one more contest?”

Wu Zhi continued, “In fact, the Academy started observing disciples as soon as you all arrived in the capital. Especially the two beside you—they are the most outstanding this time. Dean Song said you should be given special consideration. The two beside me—you already know the spear-wielder, Liu Yuan Cheng; the other, the short fellow, is Tie Hanhan—his boxing skills are formidable.”

Tie Hanhan, upon hearing himself called short, swung a fist at Wu Zhi. Wu Zhi dodged, retreating as the fist exploded with force in the air. Despite his small stature, Tie Hanhan spoke with unexpected maturity and impatience, “Enough talk—who is Zhang Ling?”

Zhang Ling laughed, “Are you looking for a fight?”

Wu Zhi retreated further, grinning mischievously, “Yes, but not with me—with them. Zhang Ling, be careful. Tie Hanhan can spar with first-rank experts. As for other fellow disciples, you will be introduced to them once you formally enter the Academy.”

Wu Zhi, with his excellent lightness skill, quickly distanced himself by several yards. Zhang Ling speculated that Wu Zhi had surely told Tie Hanhan some exaggerated tales about him, hoping to regain lost face by using someone else’s hand. Zhang Ling glanced at the retreating Wu Zhi—I'll settle accounts with you later!

Tie Hanhan looked at Zhang Ling and said, “It’s you, isn’t it? Wu Zhi claimed your boxing is unparalleled—I want to see whether it’s true.”

Zhang Ling raised his sword helplessly, “Hey, look closely—I use a sword, not my fists. Wu Zhi must have made that up.”

Tie Hanhan, oblivious as ever, paid no heed. He stamped his foot, shattering the blue stone beneath, and shot toward Zhang Ling like a thunderbolt, his fist swift and fierce. Yet Zhang Ling, with his mastery of superior lightness skill, dodged easily. Tie Hanhan refused to relent, determined not to stop until Zhang Ling was beaten down.

On the other side, Song Linjie regarded Liu Yuan Cheng as if meeting an old friend. Smiling, he said, “Brother Liu, last time we left things unresolved—shall we continue now?”

Liu Yuan Cheng brandished his Dragon-Serpent Spear and replied solemnly, “It would be my pleasure.”

Their weapons met in a swift exchange, neither pausing.

Meanwhile, Mo Li, who had no opponent, appeared somewhat awkward. However, Zhang Ling, unwilling to face Tie Hanhan’s fists, lured him toward Mo Li. As they passed each other, Zhang Ling suddenly stopped and pushed Mo Li forward.

Tie Hanhan, unconcerned, simply followed instructions—he’d been told to spar with everyone eventually. The diminutive figure launched into the air, channeling the surrounding energy, and swung a fierce punch. Mo Li did not blame Zhang Ling for abandoning him; instead, he flicked out a strand of Vajra Silk, pulling it taut in midair, severing the mighty fist force inch by inch. Tie Hanhan was forced back, thin blood lines appearing on his body, though he felt no pain.

Mo Li stood tall, Vajra Silk wrapped around his fingers. The soft, serrated silk was as sharp as any blade. Step forward, and you'd be flayed alive. Academy disciple or not, he was the Giant of the Mo Family—who feared whom?

Tie Hanhan, having suffered his first setback, looked determined. Energy surged within him. His iron fists had previously only been bested by two elder siblings and the forgetful stick wielder; never before had he lost to a peer. Internal power filled his hands, and the previously dry wounds began to bleed. He was clearly ready to go all out.

He spread his fists and advanced step by step. Mo Li flicked the Vajra Silk—one lash would dismember an ordinary person—but Tie Hanhan didn’t dodge. He seized the serrated silk with his hand; though protected by true energy, his right hand was shredded, flesh and blood indistinguishable, yet he seemed oblivious to pain. Fiercely pulling, he snapped the silk, immobilizing it.

With renewed force, Tie Hanhan pressed forward, his bloody right hand clenched tight. He attacked as Mo Li’s energy stagnated, landing a punch on Mo Li’s abdomen. Mo Li merely smiled, showing no sign of defeat. He caught Tie Hanhan’s fist, and to Tie Hanhan’s surprise, Mo Li’s hand felt unnaturally stiff. The small figure was lifted effortlessly and kicked aside, followed by a conical sleeve dart straight at Tie Hanhan’s leg, staining his ash-grey coat with blood.

Mo Li tore open his embroidered robe, revealing a mechanical iron arm, hands fitted inside and flexing as if natural. Clearly, he wore a similar soft armor, enabling his swift counterattack moments before.

Wu Zhi, watching from afar, looked surprised. He instinctively glanced at the severely wounded Tie Hanhan, who promptly drew a sleeve dart, tore off a section of his garment, and bound his wound. His aura suddenly diminished. To ordinary onlookers, this seemed an admission of defeat. However, Wu Zhi knew Tie Hanhan practiced both external and internal boxing. Most skilled boxers focused on internal techniques, their deep inner power able to break any flashy moves. Tie Hanhan, however, defied convention—after mastering internal boxing, he switched to external techniques, extracting the essence from numerous manuals to create his own style: Barehanded Mountain Breaker.

Covered in wounds, Tie Hanhan pressed forward. His steps wobbled, and before anyone realized, he spun suddenly beside Mo Li. Mo Li was startled—how had he gotten there? Tie Hanhan collapsed against Mo Li, a surge of fist force penetrated Mo Li’s internal armor. It seemed almost theatrical, but Mo Li was knocked back, blood surging uncontrollably, and he spat out a mouthful of blood. His stable energy was finally disrupted.

Zhang Ling, watching intently, exclaimed in disbelief, “That fast?”

Tie Hanhan, truly knocked to the ground, climbed up and staggered toward Mo Li. Mo Li’s fingers flashed with blade edges, throwing a dozen blades at once, but Tie Hanhan’s swaying body dodged them by chance. Before Mo Li could draw his soft sword, Tie Hanhan collapsed onto him, unable to control his steps.

Mo Li steadied himself, hand on his waist—was it time to use that move already?

Tie Hanhan rose again, but halfway forward he crashed down, shattering the blue stone beneath him.

Mo Li glanced sideways. Beside the fallen Tie Hanhan, Zhang Ling smiled serenely, twirling a small bottle between his fingers.