Chapter Forty-Seven: The Class Competition Begins

Li Jingtian looked at him and shook his head.
“I haven’t lost yet,” the pale-faced youth said, struggling to stand.
“Destruction Strike!”
With a thunderous shout, he clenched his right fist, and an overwhelming surge of power poured forth, gathering entirely at his fist.
In that instant, his fist began to tremble, emitting cracking sounds. Power seemed to blaze atop it like fire, radiating wild, violent, and destructive energy. He hurled the punch at Li Jingtian’s body.
Li Jingtian’s pupils narrowed slightly. He gave a powerful shout, sending a torrent of force surging from his body. With a fierce gesture of his sword-shaped fingers, he struck out. A sharp, cutting edge slashed through the air, colliding with the youth’s fist.
A deafening rumble resounded as shockwaves spread from their clash, violent currents sweeping in all directions, forcing the spectators below to scatter and dodge.
With a crash, the pale youth was thrown heavily to the ground, two cracks appearing on his fist as he coughed up several mouthfuls of blood. He was immediately helped off the stage.
Li Jingtian’s clothes were torn where the punch had grazed him, but he was uninjured. After standing on the stage for a moment, he too jumped down.
“Li Jingtian is the victor. Today’s selection tournament is concluded,” Zhang Ning announced.
“Li Jingtian is really impressive. But his opponent was strong as well.”
“And Sun Hui is quite formidable too—he finished his opponent in a single move.”
“This time, our class should place pretty well.”
The students of their class discussed animatedly below, exchanging their thoughts.
“I hereby announce the representatives for our class: Li Jingtian, Sun Hui, Zhao Yang, Liu Feng, and Wang Mao,” Zhang Ning declared the results of the selection.
She then gave them a few words of advice. “I’ve heard those from other classes are very strong. During the matches, you must not let your guard down.”
“Yes, Instructor, rest assured. We’ll give it our all,” the group replied in unison.
“All right, go and prepare yourselves. The competition begins tomorrow,” Zhang Ning said, rising to leave.
The other students of the class dispersed, each going their separate ways.
Li Jingtian glanced at Liu Feng and the others, nodded slightly in greeting, and left as well.
“Liu Feng, do you feel confident about tomorrow’s match?” Zhao Yang asked with a hint of concern.

“We’ll only know once we fight. As long as I do my best, winning or losing doesn’t matter,” Liu Feng replied calmly.
Zhao Yang nodded thoughtfully.
“All right, don’t dwell on it,” Liu Feng said, patting Zhao Yang on the shoulder before striding away.
He went to the dining hall for a meal, then resumed his cultivation that afternoon.
The next morning, numerous students at the Qi Gathering stage gathered, assembling on the vast plaza in front of the teaching building.
There stood a platform over a thousand square meters in area and about five meters high, paved with giant blue stones and appearing orderly and level.
Around the stage were four grandstands, spacious enough to accommodate over ten thousand spectators for the matches.
At this time, Liu Feng also arrived, looking toward the stands.
He saw many people seated on the west, south, and north stands, but none on the eastern side.
“The Headmaster has arrived!”
Everyone in the stands rose, turning to look in one direction.
Liu Feng saw a man in blue robes approaching, about forty years old, tall and imposing, his features warm as jade, and his entire presence as steady as a mountain.
“I hadn’t expected it to be him,” Liu Feng murmured, recognizing the head of the academy as one of those who had fought the demon wolf before.
The Headmaster looked over the assembled students and gestured for everyone to sit. He walked to the eastern grandstand and seated himself.
“The instructors from each class are here too,” someone called out.
Liu Feng turned to see four figures walking side by side.
Among them were Zhang Ning from Class One and Zhang Ying from Class Three; the other two must have been the instructors for Class Two and Four.
One was tall and rugged, exuding a fierce, intimidating aura.
The other was of medium build, his face chiseled and sharp, his features angular, and an intense, piercing energy seemed to radiate from him, as if he harbored the power to pierce the heavens.
Following these four were several other instructors from each class, each emanating commanding presence, clearly masters of their arts.
They approached the eastern grandstand, nodded to the Headmaster, then found seats.
“All right, the class tournament is about to begin. The winners will receive generous rewards,” the Headmaster announced in a strong voice. “Instructor Zhang Ning, please explain the competition process.”
Zhang Ning stood up, her voice clear and pleasant. “The contest will take place over three days. On the first day, Class One will face Class Two; Class Three will face Class Four. On the second day, Class One will face Class Three; Class Two will face Class Four. On the third day, Class One will face Class Four; Class Two will face Class Three.”

After a brief pause, she continued, “Each victory earns one point; no points are awarded for a loss. At the end, class rankings are determined by total points.” With this, she sat down once more.
“The matchups will be determined by drawing lots. Contestants, please come forward to draw your numbers,” announced a man in his thirties, holding a box filled with slips for the draw.
Liu Feng and the others came forward, drew their own numbers, and sat on the eastern grandstand to await the matches.
The man continued, “I am the referee for this competition, Zhang Guang, instructor of the Formation Arts Department. Now, would Number One from Class One and Class Two please come to the stage.”
Upon hearing this, Zhao Yang stepped onto the platform, as did another student from Class Two.
“Be careful. Just do your best—don’t try to force anything,” Liu Feng called out to Zhao Yang from behind.
“Zhao Yang.”
“Huang Yongbo.” The two announced their names, then focused intently on each other.
Huang Yongbo struck first, clenching his right fist as true energy rapidly gathered, sending a violent force surging toward Zhao Yang’s chest.
Zhao Yang responded with his own right fist, a wild burst of energy erupting as his punch collided with Huang Yongbo’s.
There was a resounding bang as the two fists met, the tremendous force sending both of them back a step.
Zhao Yang tapped the ground with his toes, darted forward again, his fist gleaming with light as a mighty fist aura condensed, a raging force striking down.
Huang Yongbo raised his palm, true energy converging as a giant phantom palm appeared out of thin air, carrying fierce power as it clashed with the incoming fist aura.
A thunderous crash sounded as palm and fist collided, the phantom palm dissipating under the blow, Huang Yongbo’s body trembling from the shock.
Zhao Yang seized the opportunity, launching another iron-fisted blow like a massive hammer, swift and unstoppable.
Huang Yongbo hastily tried to defend, but was forced back under the onslaught.