Xiao Chen’s aura erupted like a tempestuous ocean, waves of energy coalescing into the visage of clashing dragons and tigers—a spectacle of unparalleled martial mastery.
The air itself seemed to bow to his authority, the very ground trembling beneath his feet.
This technique was born from two legendary tales of ancient Huaxia, stories etched into the annals of martial history:
The Flame Saber and the Six Meridians Divine Sword
Centuries ago, the Tibetan monk Kumarajiva, revered as a national preceptor, journeyed to Dali’s Tianlong Temple in pursuit of the Six Meridians Divine Sword Manual. Within the temple’s hallowed halls, his Flame Saber clashed against the temple’s sacred sword formation. Sword energy tore through the air, piercing the heavens like celestial arrows. Amid the chaos, the young prodigy Duan Yu deciphered the manual’s secrets, his mind illuminated by the swirling azure mist of battle.
Qiao Feng’s Defiance
The heroic Qiao Feng, driven by loyalty, stormed the Gathering Heroes Manor alone to rescue his beloved A’zhu. Armed only with the Taizu Long Fist—a foundational technique dismissed by many as rudimentary—he humbled countless warriors. His strikes roared with the fury of tigers and resonated like dragons’ cries, shaking the heavens themselves.
Inspired by these , Xiao Chen had fused the essence of the Taizu Long Fist, the searing palm force of the Flame Saber, and the ethereal sword intent of the Six Meridians Divine Sword into a single, devastating technique:
“Roaring Tiger, Soaring Dragon—Sword Qi Through Azure Mist!”
His left fist descended like a primordial beast, tearing through the air with bestial ferocity.
His right palm blazed crimson, as though summoning flames from the depths of hell.
Golden sword qi erupted from his fingertips, weaving an intricate phantom tapestry of Dragon and Tiger in Combat—a dance of primal forces frozen in mid-air.
Zuo Feng’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.
The frigid chill of Xiao Chen’s palm wind crystallized the moisture in the air, while the sword qi radiating from his fingertips scorched like molten steel.
Crash!
Under the dual assault, Zuo Feng’s Earthquake Fist disintegrated.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
The stone beneath his feet erupted into a spiderweb of fractures, dust and debris spiraling into the air.
Zuo Feng’s face turned ghostly pale.
His fists, trapped in an invisible quagmire of energy, refused to obey.
He gaped soundlessly, the crushing pressure flattening his lungs.
Snap!
The crisp crack of snapping bone echoed across the deathly silent arena.
Cough!
Zuo Feng vomited three arcs of blood mid-air, his arms contorting at unnatural angles before he plummeted to the stage.
His back carved a gruesome trench into the stone—a half-foot-deep furrow that split the solid granite like soft tofu.
The crowd erupted into chaos.
Students scrambled backward, screams tearing through the air. Shreds of Zuo Feng’s robe fluttered like macabre confetti above the blood-soaked trench, a funeral procession for the defeated.
Silence descended—a silence so profound one could hear a needle drop.
Zuo Feng, a seventh-layer Qi Martial expert capable of tenth-layer prowess, lay shattered.
Even seasoned tenth-layer warriors would struggle to counter his Earthquake Fist.
Yet Xiao Chen had annihilated it with a single strike.
“Impossible!”
The crowd’s collective gasp rippled like a shockwave.
Class Three students trembled, their faces drained of color. Those who had tormented Xiao Chen now shook like reeds in a storm, teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Qin Zhen’s eyes narrowed. “Great Perfection of the Qi Martial Realm!”
Zuo Feng’s fate was sealed—a consequence of his arrogance. Yu Liang’s face darkened to the hue of charcoal. The “trash” he had mocked now radiated a terrifying aura, his breathing steady as though the battle had been a trivial warm-up.
Qin Zhen smirked coldly. “Class Four—care to test your mettle?”
Class Four students recoiled, eyes darting to the floor.
Xiao Chen’s strike had rivaled Spirit Martial Realm power. Even their awakened Martial Souls, already weakened by the earlier celestial phenomenon, dared not challenge him.
“Disgraceful!”
Yu Liang spat, storming off with his cowed class in tow.
Class Three erupted into jeers, whistling mockingly as their rivals slunk away.
Yet their eyes betrayed lingering fear when they glanced at Xiao Chen.
Xiao Chen scanned the crowd, his voice calm yet cutting. “Any other insects wishing to be crushed?”
Not a soul met his gaze—save Zuo Heng, whose eyes burned with viperous hatred：
Humiliating my kin before all? The Zuo Clan will bury you!
His jealousy ignited as he glimpsed Wu Qiyue’s awestruck expression, her gaze fixed on Xiao Chen’s commanding figure.
“You dare harm a Zuo? Die!”
Zuo Heng lunged like a vengeful specter, a miniature mountain materializing in his palm—the Zuo Clan’s forbidden art: Mountain-Crushing Palm.
“Stop!” Wu Qiyue’s cry came too late.
Xiao Chen’s instincts flared.
The palm strike warped the air, its pressure screeching like a blade drawn across stone.
Strongest foe yet.
Yet he remained unshaken. The mark on his shoulder pulsed—a dormant power that could end this in an instant.
Unfazed and unafraid, he raised his right hand to concentrate his finger strength, rings of pale red light coalescing around his fingertips.
But before he could act, Qin Zhen intervened.
An azure dragon phantom coiled behind the usually reserved instructor, lightning crackling at his fingertips.
Boom!
Zuo Heng’s palm shattered.
He staggered back, face twisted with rage and humiliation.
“Qin Zhen! You dare strike me?!”
Qin Zhen’s voice turned glacial. “Dishonoring the academy’s sanctity? Does the Zuo Clan seek war with Tiancong?”
His gaze flickered to Xiao Chen’s poised fingers：
To counter Zuo Heng’s Mountain-Crushing Palm with pinpoint precision... Such insight belongs only to a seasoned master. How?