Chapter Three: Meeting a Worthy Opponent

A group of youths from the Elite Martial Arts School immediately bristled with indignation. The students from the Academy of Cultivation were equally displeased. Was that even a thing one should say? What did he mean by only he could beat them up? If they weren't outmatched, they would have torn him to pieces by now!

With a single sentence, Song Yue managed to offend both sides, yet he remained utterly indifferent. He lounged carelessly, gazing at the group of youths from the Elite Martial Arts School across from him. "Enough. Words are useless between fighters. Let's settle this with our fists. Who's first?"

As he spoke, he suddenly knit his brows and turned to Gentle, asking, "What time is it?"

Gentle was momentarily taken aback, glanced at her watch, and replied softly, "It's ten fifty..."

"Oh, then you all have only ten minutes left. I have to be home for lunch by eleven. Fighters, you understand—skip a meal and you go hungry," Song Yue explained with utmost seriousness, his tone almost negotiating. "So, to save time, why don't your best come out directly? Once we're done, I can go home for my meal, alright?"

His attitude only further stoked the fury of the Elite Martial Arts School's youths. Was this arrogant brat not even sparing them a second thought? Had he never heard of the Elite Martial Arts School?

One youth stepped forward, sneering coldly, "Lunch? I'll make sure you lose your appetite!"

Song Yue suddenly slapped his forehead, turning again to Gentle: "By the way, I forgot to ask—who was the bastard who made you cry?"

The crowd fell silent.

Gentle pressed her lips together, at a loss for words. She was naturally gentle; in situations like this, how could she say anything in public?

The youth who had stepped forward raised his brow with a mocking grin: "Bastard? That would be your grandpa—me! So you’re her brother? I just pinched her cheek a moment ago. Damn, it was soft! Smelled real nice too."

Song Yue exhaled and turned back, a half-smile on his face. "Nice, was it?"

"Yeah!" The youth craned his neck defiantly, brimming with belligerence. "If you’ve got the guts, come at me!"

He moved to stand before Song Yue, adopting a ready stance, but before he could say another word, Song Yue lifted his leg and kicked him square in the stomach, sending him flying to the ground.

"I'm a civilized and polite person," he declared.

Then, in a flash, he snatched off one of his slippers and dashed over to the fallen youth, raining down a merciless flurry of slaps across his face with it.

Everything happened so fast that no one even had time to react.

The youth's cheeks swelled rapidly, but Song Yue flipped the slipper over, pressing the bloodied sole against the youth's nose, demanding loudly, "How does this smell? Is it nice?"

The youth was utterly stupefied, his mind blank, unable to register what had just occurred.

The rest of the Elite Martial Arts School's contingent stood frozen in shock.

They had never encountered someone so utterly unconcerned with the rules.

Song Yue, full of contempt, retrieved his slipper and, spotting the blood on it, tossed it disdainfully onto the youth's face, content to stand barefoot.

The youth curled up like a shrimp, clutching his stomach, his face bloodied as he howled in pain, coughing and dry retching. Mucus and tears mingled with blood, streaming down his face.

The sight was so pitiful it was almost unbearable.

The Elite Martial Arts School's group was now wholly enraged.

"You sneak-attacking little wretch!"

"Shameless!"

"Despicable!"

Song Yue feigned innocence. "Aren’t we fighting? Isn't the point of a fight to see who can hit faster, more accurately, more ruthlessly? Or did you think this was a friendly sparring match?"

The students from the Academy of Cultivation, who had been weighed down with mixed emotions, burst into laughter.

Utterly satisfying!

That youth had been so arrogant before. Now, seeing him like this felt better than anything.

Trying to talk rules with Song Yue? Too naïve! They’d suffered too much under his hands before. The Song family’s son had never played by the rules. Expecting him to? Dream on!

In the past, they had always been left seething with injustice and anger. Today, the tables had finally turned!

It was the thrill of the oppressed finally rising in song.

On the Elite Martial Arts School's side, a handsome youth of eighteen or nineteen restrained his companions, who were all eager to rush forward, and narrowed his eyes at Song Yue. "I must admit, I underestimated you. You really do have some skill."

Song Yue chuckled, modest and sincere. "No, not really. I’m just average. Dealing with you lot is manageable, but anyone stronger and I wouldn’t stand a chance."

The older youth: "..."

Was this humility?

He stepped forward, keeping a distance of about three meters to avoid any sneak attacks, and looked at Song Yue. "I’m the one pursuing Gentle; these are my brothers who came with me. You’re her brother and stood up for her by beating up my man, fair enough. But I have to get back at you for him. And if I beat you, you can’t get in the way of me pursuing her any longer!"

This one is interesting, Song Yue thought.

Unlike the hot-headed, straightforward youths, who were easily provoked, this one seemed calculating.

He didn’t like scheming fighters. If you solved everything with your fists, what need was there for cunning? Leave that to me!

"Whether you beat me or not has nothing to do with pursuing Gentle," Song Yue said, meeting his gaze. "I came because you bullied her and made her cry. Young man, it’s fine to pursue a girl, but not like this. If the biggest fists always got the girl, I'd already have a harem by now!"

Everyone: "..."

The older youth’s face was dark. Who was he trying to impress with this act?

He was considered calm for his age, but faced with this insouciant, cocky youth, he had the urge to smash a fist into his face.

"Come, your energy is restrained, almost at the Grandmaster level—a true expert. Let’s see how strong you really are," Song Yue remarked casually. But inwardly, he was wary and impressed. The Elite Martial Arts School truly deserved its reputation as the top school in Hangzhou—its foundations were deep.

This young man seemed about the same age as him, but his cultivation... it was almost on par!

Against such an opponent, carelessness would be costly.

With a foe like this, the best tactic was to anger him, make him lose his composure—that would create more openings.

Meng Xudong couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. Even if the boy had seen through his true level, he was still an expert in his own right. But so what?

He’d just won gold at the under-twenty world championships! Among his peers, he had never met his match.

So what if this youth was strong? A true fighter needed to believe he was the best in the world—otherwise, he might as well focus on cultivation instead.

Meng Xudong adopted a ready stance, but unlike the previous youth, this one’s opening was layered with multiple variations, leaving Song Yue no chance for a sneak attack.

As he moved, crackling sounds like beans popping emanated from his body.

Snap, crackle, pop—his energy burst forth, and his spirit transformed, fierce as a tiger unleashed from its cage!

The students from the Academy of Cultivation turned pale, finally realizing that he hadn’t even been serious before. Otherwise, they’d be in worse shape than bruised and weeping.

Song Yue maintained his nonchalant air and said to Meng Xudong, "Go ahead. I’m in a hurry to get home for lunch!"

Lunch, your grandmother!

Meng Xudong’s eyes flared as he let out a low roar and lunged at Song Yue, swift as a leopard.

His fist swung with a hum, as if the air itself thundered.

Song Yue raised his own fist to meet the blow.

It seemed an unremarkable punch, but when the two fists collided, the sound was a deep, muffled thud!

Boom!

Song Yue swayed but did not retreat; Meng Xudong, however, staggered back two steps.

His expression grew more cautious. The man before him truly was a master in hiding.

His opponent's strength was every bit his equal—perhaps even a touch greater.

Yet Meng Xudong was not discouraged. He had seen plenty of powerful fighters, but martial arts was a vast world—raw strength alone was not enough. Only cultivators of the highest level could look down on fighters.

In the next instant, he accelerated, darting left and right, probing for weaknesses in Song Yue’s defense.

His attacks showcased the academy’s advantage—so varied were his techniques! Monkey fist, tiger pounce, whip kicks...

As fierce as a lion, as cunning as a fox, as sinister as a snake!

His martial skills were solid, not relying solely on brute force—a prodigy in martial arts.

Most impressive was his raging energy. Once unleashed, he became almost unstoppable.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Brute force clashed with ferocity.

Each searched for a weakness in the other.

Their movements grew ever faster.

At first, the Elite Martial Arts School's group could follow the exchanges, but soon, their eyes could no longer keep up.

Shock and disbelief appeared on every face.

In Hangzhou, who could possibly defeat their senior brother? He was a world champion! Who was this boy? Why had they never seen him before?

Song Yue had sparred with many before, but never so enjoyably.

Those martial artists who came at his parents’ behest treated him like a child, never fighting for real.

He’d thought of challenging the martial schools, but his teacher had advised him to wait until his mind was truly settled—then he could make his rounds without being swayed by victory or defeat.

Otherwise, winning would make him arrogant, and losing would make him dispirited.

So, it wasn’t until today, facing Meng Xudong, that Song Yue finally felt he’d met his match.

He was elated, even forgetting the all-important lunch at eleven.

The Elite Martial Arts School’s group was in disbelief—shocked, stunned, incredulous.

The Academy of Cultivation’s students, meanwhile, were left pale and trembling, feeling weak and helpless.

Now they understood—every time Song Yue had come looking for trouble, it really had just been that, him picking on them at will. If he had ever fought them seriously as he was now...

They dared not imagine it.

It was almost too much to bear.

Meng Xudong felt he was giving this opponent his all, yet as the fight went on, he still felt outmatched.

What shamed him most was that Song Yue was wearing slippers—no, one slipper, the other foot bare!

And he, in his perfectly-fitted training shoes.

To outsiders it might mean nothing, but to a lifelong martial artist, a star in the world of fighters, he knew exactly what it meant.

If his opponent had been wearing shoes like his, he’d probably have been defeated already.

Even so, Song Yue was still pressing him, exerting immense pressure.

But the benefits of such a duel were clear to both sides, and Meng Xudong was sure Song Yue understood as well.

In the blink of an eye, they had traded blows for over five minutes—a superhuman feat for most fighters.

Ordinary people, in a fight, lose their stamina within a minute.

But Song Yue and Meng Xudong continued at full speed and power for five minutes!

Both deliberately avoided each other’s vital spots—Meng Xudong out of respect for the rules.

As for Song Yue, he bore no real grudge against this opponent, who wasn’t as foul-mouthed as the previous youth.

And, with this growing mutual respect, he naturally avoided striking at vital points.

At the seventh minute, Meng Xudong’s energy began to wane.

Normally, Song Yue would have seized this moment to teach him a harsh lesson—let him remember not to chase girls instead of training hard.

But the insights gained from this battle were invaluable, so as Meng Xudong exposed a fatal opening, Song Yue merely knocked him aside with his shoulder and stopped.

His hair, already damp, now looked as if he’d been caught in a downpour.

Sweat poured from him, soaking his tank top front and back, clinging to his muscular frame.

"Exhilarating!" Song Yue shouted.

"You are a true expert! I am no match for you!" Meng Xudong bent slightly, gasping for breath, a trace of pain on his face from the aches throughout his body, especially from that final blow.

But he knew Song Yue had held back.

So rather than being angry at defeat, as he caught his breath, his gaze grew fervent. "Brother, would you be interested in joining the Elite Martial Arts School? I could have you made an instructor straight away!"

Song Yue rolled his eyes. "Not interested. And stay away from my sister in the future—you’re not worthy of her."

Meng Xudong: "..."

———

There will be another chapter today!