Chapter Thirty-Seven: An Ally?

After a brief silence, the hall erupted once more with jeers. No one had expected that the person they considered the weakest—yet the most arrogant—would so effortlessly dispatch two martial artists.

Most people, however, attributed this to Zhang Feng and Zhang Lei being all show and no substance. If they had any real skill, how could they have been taken down by Jiang Xiaotian in a single move?

Jiang Xiaotian dusted off his hands and returned to his place, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He truly hadn't exerted himself; now that he had reached the early stage of External Strength, those at the same level seemed no different from ordinary people to him.

Following this display, the rest of his group became noticeably more restrained. No one dared provoke Jiang Xiaotian again, and before long, the final ten from their group were decided.

As soon as he left the arena, Jiang Xiaotian’s gaze wandered, searching the crowd. He failed to spot who he was looking for, so he called Brother Long to ask where the Zhao family was seated—he wanted to observe them in advance.

Unfortunately, Brother Long didn’t know either; he wasn’t omniscient.

Jiang Xiaotian sighed. Oh well.

Frustration churned within him. This so-called Martial Arts Tournament had not revealed the justice befitting true martial artists. Instead, the crowd had sided against him to curry favor with Chen Yu.

He felt no attachment to this place anymore. He only wanted to finish the competition quickly and face Chen Yu as soon as possible.

As for his chances of defeating Chen Yu, Jiang Xiaotian was uncertain. If the old dog was still at the peak of External Strength, he would have nothing to fear. But according to Ling’er, Chen Yu had already become a true Internal Strength practitioner—so how much hope did he really have?

Moreover, Chen Yu was acting so brazenly even knowing about Ling’er. There was no way a cunning man like him hadn’t prepared more tricks.

Soon, the rest period ended, and the fifty advancing contestants were split into new groups. Once again, Jiang Xiaotian narrowly missed being grouped with those two cockroaches.

There were still plenty with ill intentions toward him, and their martial power was clearly stronger than Zhang Feng and Zhang Lei’s. Anyone who had made it this far was no weakling.

But perhaps it was his imagination—whenever someone tried to approach him, they were intercepted by an older man. This elder moved slowly, yet each step was firm and powerful. None of the younger fighters could match him.

His style resembled Tai Chi, focusing on redirecting force. Others attacked with all their might, but he easily deflected each move with a casual gesture. When the opponent’s onslaught waned, the elder would counterattack, catching them off guard.

Seeing how troublesome he was, the remaining fighters avoided him. Since two contestants from each group would advance, they turned their attention to Jiang Xiaotian, who was now the center of attention. Whoever could take him down was sure to earn the big shots’ favor.

But whenever anyone approached Jiang Xiaotian, the old man would intercept them. If two came at once, he would hold both off without fear.

The elder specialized in defense and couldn’t defeat two at once, but he managed to stall them. Realizing the stalemate, his opponents gave up and sought other targets.

The situation in the arena became peculiar: Jiang Xiaotian stood idly with his hands in his pockets, while the old man shielded him from attackers. The rest fought amongst themselves, strangers to one another, with no teamwork to speak of.

Jiang Xiaotian couldn’t make sense of it. He didn’t know the old man, but having someone on his side was certainly a boon.

Before long, only four remained. The two martial artists exchanged glances—they knew continuing to fight would only leave the winner to face the old man and Jiang Xiaotian alone, with no hope of victory.

So, with a silent agreement, they both launched an assault on the elder.

After the grueling contest, the old man’s stamina was flagging, and he was about to be overwhelmed. Jiang Xiaotian intervened decisively.

“You all love ganging up two against one, don’t you? Come on, fight me instead!”

He leapt into the fray, channeling energy into his legs and instantly increasing his speed.

One opponent, having kept an eye on Jiang Xiaotian, wasn’t caught off guard. He retreated several steps. “Good! Come at me!”

Confident in his own strength, he believed Jiang Xiaotian’s speed would be useless in a direct clash. So when Jiang Xiaotian attacked, he didn’t dodge—he met him head-on.

He even smiled, certain that in the next second, Jiang Xiaotian would be eliminated.

But just as his fist—solid as a boulder—was about to strike Jiang Xiaotian’s chest, the latter, in a flash, jabbed a finger into his elbow.

A jolt of numbness and weakness shot through his arm.

His punch landed, but weakly, lacking any force.

The old man looked on with a glimmer of admiration. “Not bad. You learn quickly.”

With a howl, the martial artist was thrown from the arena and lost his place.

Only three remained. The last young fighter glanced at Jiang Xiaotian, then at the troublesome old man, and simply walked away, surrendering.

Jiang Xiaotian advanced once more, stunning the audience.

Yet opinions were divided. Many believed he’d only won thanks to the old man’s help, that his final move was a mere imitation of Tai Chi.

Those who’d always looked down on Jiang Xiaotian only shook their heads—someone helped you, and you even stole their technique.

But Jiang Xiaotian didn’t care what others thought. He was excited; he’d been watching closely, and found Tai Chi truly profound—“using four ounces to move a thousand pounds” was no empty phrase.

“Congratulations on advancing, Mr. Jiang,” the old man greeted him directly, unconcerned about appearances.

Jiang Xiaotian, though unfamiliar with him, was full of gratitude and respect for his attitude. “Your Tai Chi is superb, sir. But why help me?”

The old man chuckled. “I did it at the behest of Master Liu. Rest assured, not everyone stands against you.”

With that, he left the arena.

Jiang Xiaotian stood lost in thought. He didn’t understand why the Liu family would help him, but it reassured him—he was not alone.

Now that someone supported Jiang Xiaotian, differing opinions began to surface.

The martial world was no longer wholly cheering for Chen Yu; a small number had begun to sympathize with Jiang Xiaotian, feeling he was being targeted unfairly.

This so-called Martial Arts Tournament was meant to be a stage for newcomers to prove themselves and seek patrons, and for noble families to showcase their strength.

But this year, the event had been upended by the presence of Jiang Xiaotian and Chen Yu.

In past years, the Liu family was the backbone of the gathering, their strength unmatched. This time, however, the Liu family kept a low profile and didn’t trouble Jiang Xiaotian like the others, making them all but invisible.

As a result, everyone grouped with Jiang Xiaotian tried to take him down—some even teaming up. What kind of tournament was this?

Grumbling aside, those people were all eliminated.

Of the ten remaining, each was among the elite.

Below Chen Yu was another late-stage External Strength fighter; the rest were either at mid-stage or on the verge of reaching it.

Fang Ye had advanced as well. Just seeing Jiang Xiaotian made him giddy, and he couldn't resist taunting him at every opportunity.

But just as the organizers were about to announce the final round’s rules, someone hurried onto the stage, whispered in the host’s ear, and suddenly, all the organizers left the dais. In their place came a grand procession.

Sensing the group, Jiang Xiaotian noticed that the young man at the front had an exceptionally pure aura—just a step away from Internal Strength. Fang Ye, at mid-stage External Strength, was already called a genius, yet this man was a whole level above him!

But the most formidable was not the youth, but the middle-aged man beside him, whose energy was condensed and unassuming. If Jiang Xiaotian was right, this man was an Internal Strength master.

These people must be from the Zhao family.

What happened next shocked everyone.

Upon seeing them, Chen Yu broke into a hearty smile. “Young Master Zhao, long time no see! You seem to be running late.”

The other martial artists were astonished—these were indeed members of the Zhao family, and Chen Yu knew them!

Jiang Xiaotian’s gaze darkened, a sense of foreboding rising within him.

Sure enough, Young Master Zhao nodded slightly. “Some minor matters delayed me.”