Chapter 274: Martial Arts Peak

Rumble—

The thunder grew louder.

The night was deep and heavy rain was falling, yet a massive crowd still milled beneath the Celestial Steps.

A Heavenly Gate Challenge was a spectacle seen perhaps once in a century; missing it would mean a lifetime of regret.

Besides, they wanted to see the man on the Celestial Steps lose.

The golden reputation of Third Lake Prefecture's Minhu Martial Capital was being slapped to pieces, leaving many of them with burning faces.

If the challenger had been a local of Third Lake Prefecture, only the Thirty-Seven Martial Arts Gyms would have truly cared. Many other locals might have even applauded.

But the situation was completely different.

The man standing on those steps was not just an outsider—he was someone Third Lake Prefecture had once exiled!

If Liu Fu won, wouldn't it prove that Third Lake Prefecture had eyes but no pupils?

That could absolutely never be allowed to happen!

The spectators waited in the rain with this mindset, yet a vague sense of foreboding gnawed at them.

The Thirty-Seven Martial Arts Gyms had already been completely defeated. Over a dozen Grandmasters had even spilled their blood. Who was left to stop this man?

"What's the next pass?" someone asked.

"The first pass was the Martial Gym Pass. The second is the Martial Gate Pass."

A knowledgeable onlooker answered through gritted teeth.

"Don't worry. There's no way he'll make it through the Martial Gate Pass."

The Old Man looked at the First Gym's Grandmaster lying dead before him, his face showing neither joy nor sorrow.

Back then, he had challenged sixteen martial arts gyms consecutively without killing a single person.

Today, he had killed thirty-six people in a single breath.

He had finally won the battle he lost all those years ago—the one he had brooded over for so long—yet it somehow felt completely unremarkable.

Heavy rain poured down around him.

He suddenly felt a little cold.

He picked up his military overcoat from the ground, draped it over his shoulders, and slowly walked up the steps.

As the freezing raindrops fell, he thought of that palm-sized, smoke-filled shack in Bianliu County's Mud Alley. He thought of that drafty courtyard in Paima County, swarming with mosquitoes. Both of them somehow seemed warmer than here.

He just needed to hurry up and finish this.

Once he was done, he could go home.

"The second pass: the Martial Gate."

The Old Man stood atop the steps. Looking down at the Old Man who had drawn much closer, he spoke:

"The peak figures of a hundred martial gates have all left their projections before the War-Quelling Drum. You will fight them using their respective sects' techniques.

If you can clear sixty gates, you will pass.

Defeat does not matter. You may rest and try again, but you cannot consume external aids, nor can you withdraw from the Heavenly Gate Challenge before clearing sixty gates.

This continues until your oil is exhausted and your lamp dried—until your body dies and your path vanishes.

With every gate you conquer, the War-Quelling Drum will soothe your fatigue and heal your wounds. Until you win, you rely only on yourself."

"Do you understand?"

"I understand."

The Old Man nodded.

He came to a halt on a step shimmering with golden light and said softly, "For the first gate, I choose the Bagua Sect."

The moment he spoke, the War-Quelling Drum below erupted with blinding light. A golden projection leapt out from the drumhead, landed on the steps, and stood opposite the Old Man.

It was a man whose features were blurred. Only his long queue was visible—not a thin rat-tail braid, but a thick, sturdy braid, with the front half of his head shaved entirely bald.

He held no weapon. Empty-handed, he looked at the Old Man and spoke in a deep voice:

"The Bagua Sect favors weapons such as the Bagua Saber, Bagua Combat Body Spear, Wind and Fire Wheels, Sickle Spear, Hooked Sickle Sword, and Meridian Mandarin Duck. But at its very root, there is only one core foundation: the Bagua Palm. It encompasses body movement, footwork, and palm techniques. It emphasizes twisting, spinning, flipping, turning, and borrowing the opponent's strength to strike back. Today, we compete only in this."

As the figure spoke, he showed no hostility toward the Old Man. He acted more like a teacher, imparting his own understanding of his sect.

"I understand."

The Old Man nodded and cupped his fist toward the man.

After the salute, neither rushed in. Instead, their footwork shifted. They circled each other as if wading through mud to cross a river, their eyes locked, burning like torches.

The Old Man on the steps frowned as he watched the crowd below preparing to cheer again. With a sweep of his large sleeve, a golden barrier fell over the Old Man and the projection, isolating them inside.

Then he spoke, his voice booming like rolling thunder, his demeanor like that of a wrathful Exiled Immortal:

"Two experts at the Martial Arts Peak are clashing! Instead of humbly observing and learning, you only care for superficial vanity! What are you doing?!"

"Ask why the Martial Guild is declining these days, and there are a thousand excuses! Now, with true skill and genuine mastery placed right in front of you, you neither watch nor learn! What is the meaning of this?!"

"A bunch of useless trash! The Thirty-Seven Martial Arts Gyms combined cannot match a single man! Fools! Dead wood! Pedantic garbage! A pack of stupid pigs!"

The Old Man had never been an educated or refined man, and his anger only spiked as he cursed. The ordinary people on the ground were fine, but every Martial Instructor who heard his words felt their qi and blood surge. Their internal organs trembled violently. The higher their cultivation, the stronger the backlash they suffered. A Great Grandmaster even began bleeding from his seven orifices. Were it not for his martial cultivation, he likely would have perished on the spot.

For a time, no Martial Instructor dared to make another rash move. They all focused their attention on the sky.

Though they didn't dare argue against the Old Man's claim of "Martial Arts Peak," most of them were entirely unconvinced.

Cultivation aside, Third Lake Prefecture possessed a dedicated review committee and a strict system to classify a martial practitioner's martial realm.

Entry Level, Martial Practitioner, Martial Instructor, Master, Grandmaster, Great Grandmaster, and Martial Arts Peak. Although the Old Man had just fiercely battled over a dozen Grandmasters, the crowd still firmly believed he was absolutely not at the Martial Arts Peak. At most, he was at the level of a Great Grandmaster.

Someone like Xu Chengyi, the newly promoted genius Great Grandmaster this year—who also happened to be the Old Man's junior martial brother from back in the day—could very well fight him to a standstill.

At the very least, Xu Chengyi was much younger.

Yet, when they watched the exchanges between the Old Man and the projection in the arena with this mindset, cold sweat began to bead on the foreheads of every martial practitioner at or above the Master rank.

The Old Man's strikes were so clean, his movements so decisive. His control over his own strength, his anticipation of the opponent's moves, and his counterattacks were so flawless that, within a hundred exchanges, he had not lost an inch to the projection opposite him.

It had to be known that anyone capable of leaving their martial projection on the War-Quelling Drum was the absolute pinnacle of their respective sect in all of history.

If a stronger expert emerged later on, they would apply to the Martial Guild's higher-ups to activate the War-Quelling Drum and duel the historical projection. The winner would leave their projection behind; the loser would scatter into nothingness.

This meant that right now, the Old Man was fighting the person with the highest martial realm in the entire history of the Bagua Sect, using their most specialized style, and had forcefully fought them to a draw for a hundred moves!

The terrifying implications of this were simply indescribable.

Fortunately, as everyone watched with their hearts in their throats, the Old Man was ultimately defeated.

The opponent's hand bypassed the Old Man's grappling hands and stopped squarely just inches from his chest.

The Old Man closed his eyes in a gesture of surrender, and only then did the projection halt its strike.

Many people finally breathed a sigh of relief.

But sensing the mindset of those people, the Old Man on the steps grew even more furious.

"Idiots! A pack of idiots! You are still obsessing over victory and defeat!"

Enraged, he swept his large sleeve again. The Martial Instructors who still had not grasped his meaning began vomiting blood. They felt an unshakeable force crashing down from the heavens, nearly crippling their foundations.

Only then did those Martial Instructors finally begin to panic.

If their foundations were damaged, regardless of who won or lost today, they definitely would not be able to survive in Third Lake Prefecture anymore.

For a moment, the injured Martial Instructors looked up at the sky in terror, completely oblivious to what they had done wrong.

This clueless display only stoked the Old Man's wrath further. Singling out a few individuals he had found an eyesore for years, he pointed a finger. Golden light erupted, instantly crippling their foundations on the spot.

Agonized screams rang out across the ground. The blood-spitting Martial Instructors were utterly terrified, nearly falling to their knees in submission. However, a few of the more intelligent ones glanced around and noticed that the Martial Instructors who had escaped the Old Man's punishment were all deeply engrossed in the memory of the recent clash, seemingly savoring it in detail.

Only then did they gradually understand the Old Man's intent. Forcing themselves to let go of their prejudice against the Old Man in the arena, they began racking their brains to recall every detail of that fight.

A few minutes later.

The Martial Instructors who had been the first to calm their minds and meditate on the battle opened their eyes. They looked up at the heavenly arena with blazing intensity.

They had comprehended a great deal from that exchange. Even though it was not their own sect's martial art, it offered immense benefits to their own martial realms. Looking up at the arena now, they felt it was not nearly enough. They eagerly anticipated the Old Man's next clash with the projection so they could absorb even more.

At the exact moment they opened their eyes, the Old Man—who had already rested and taken his stance—cupped his fist toward the projection, signaling he was ready to begin.

Only then did the two commence their second bout.

The Old Man on the steps noticed this detail, a brilliant light exploding in his eyes. He tried hard to steady his breathing, hoping he had not seen wrong, while the hand hidden behind his back trembled slightly.

Soon, the second clash concluded. The Old Man lost once again.

Only this time, they had exchanged two hundred and twenty-three moves—a full eighty moves more than the last round.

Just like before, the Old Man closed his eyes, and the projection stopped its attack.

Then, the Old Man began to rest, preparing for the next round.

And so, the cycle repeated again and again. On the ground, the Old Man's punishment of those foolish onlookers continued.

As the clashes wore on and the punishments fell, more and more martial cultivators gradually became immersed in observing the duel. The surroundings, originally somewhat noisy due to the massive crowd, grew increasingly silent.

Those who had been slow to focus and observe were now deeply regretful after tasting the benefits.

Whether by coincidence or design, every time the Old Man began a new bout, it perfectly synchronized with the exact moment the first batch of observing Martial Instructors finished digesting the previous fight. Those who had been slower could only painfully abandon their incomplete comprehension to keep up with the Old Man's next exchange.

But without having fully digested the prior lessons, comprehending the next ones became increasingly difficult.

As the saying went: one step slow, every step slow.

As the number of clashes between the Old Man and the projection multiplied, a massive gap formed between them and the first batch of observers.

This widening gap only finally came to a halt during the twenty-seventh exchange.

Because on the twenty-seventh exchange, the Old Man won.

His fingertips hung suspended just one inch from the projection's neck. This time, it was the projection that closed its blurred eyes.

Then, the projection took a few steps back, cupped its fist toward the Old Man, and bowed deeply.

The Old Man cupped his fist and returned the bow in equal measure.

This meant that in the realm of the Bagua Sect's Bagua Palm, the Old Man had already reached the Martial Arts Peak.

Martial Arts Peak! In all of Minhu right now, the number of such experts could be counted on two hands!

The Martial Instructors on the ground felt their mouths go dry and their minds reel. Watching the Old Man's back as he walked step by step higher into the rain, they felt as if they were gazing upon a god.