Zeng Fei couldn’t believe his luck either: it was like the one question he’d tirelessly practised during his revision had just come up on the exam paper.
Was it the will of the heavens for them to clash, the original’s karmic connection that he’d inherited ever since taking over this body, or had someone deliberately set up this grudge match for reasons unknown?
The few Outer Sect Disciples who knew of Zeng Fei spoke with audible confusion. “Is that really Zeng Fei? He’s not as skinny or wan as I remember him being… and wasn’t he at first layer Qi Refining when he beat Dong Ju a month ago?”
Their comments set off other disciples who didn’t know Zeng Fei but had heard the rumours from that fateful day. “Oh, you mean the kid who fights by summoning demon beasts. Maybe that’s why they let him into the tournament with such a low cultivation.”
“Right. If he can beat Dong Ju while being two minor realms lower, surely he also has a chance at beating Dong Fu while also two below?”
“Are you kidding me? The heavens are clearly picking on this Zeng by pitting him against that demon boy!”
Although some of this caught Zeng Fei’s ear, he ignored the chatter and made his way into the arena.
Besides getting revenge on his bully, he had another reason for entering the tournament.
During his training-arc month, he’d thought long and hard about how to get around the Heavenly Demon Emperor’s condition - that he couldn’t hide his identity as the successor - and eventually he’d realised there was nothing in it to prevent him from acting timidly and taking attention off himself; this would prevent people from caring about him in the first place.
Indeed, even if he were to assume that, irrespective of what actions he took, Interpol would come knocking for Demon Emperor Junior eventually, the point still remained that he could delay their arrival by keeping low.
Better yet, he could use that extra time to get stronger in secret… but how?
This was where the strategy of ‘hide and bide time’ fell apart.
After all, it’s not like he was a regressor or that this world was based on a book he’d read, cases in which he would have been able to use his knowledge of the future to keep a low profile while simultaneously farming valuables before anyone else.
He was merely genre-savvy, and even then, it had already become clear that this trait could just as easily bite him on the butt as it could benefit him.
In the stories, transmigrators always received a gift of power from a goddess before getting reincarnated in another world; if he were to think of what best fit that description in his situation, it would be the Heavenly Demon Divine Art itself: an unwillingly received gift, yet a valuable one nonetheless.
So what if he threw caution to the wind and displayed his capabilities in full?
It would give him less time to prepare for the Emperor’s old foes, no doubt, but revealing his potential would also open the way to explosive growth by giving the rich and powerful a reason to invest in him.
Ultimately, there were too many unknown variables to pick an optimal strategy between the two extremes. But Zeng Fei knew which one fit his style better: he didn’t want to play the expert hidden in the background, which would involve a continuation of people looking down on him and having to handle every task by himself.
Therefore, this tournament could be viewed as a stage for entrepreneurs like himself to market their potentials to the panel of hard-nosed venture capitalists in the audience; for as long as they impressed the Elders, they’d be gifted with wondrous elixirs, pills, and tools far beyond anything they could scrounge up themselves.
Already, it was working: since his curiously low cultivation had captured everyone’s attention, he’d felt multiple divine senses scan his body the second he appeared in the open - most were from nearby seniors, but the most intensive ones came from Elders who were scrutinising his quality as a product they could invest in.
Or at least this was what Zeng Fei told himself while bearing with the sensation he was getting groped up by countless invisible molesters; contrary to his internal discomfort, he performed a fist-and-palm salute towards the Elders and bowed deeply.
“This humble disciple greets his seniors and the esteemed Elders.”
“Never in a million years did I think a bitch boy like you would dare to join the tournament,” Dong Fu hailed from the other side of the arena, roughly 30 metres away, suddenly shattering the illusion. “Ha, were you really that eager for another arse-whooping from this uncle?”
Although Zeng Fei felt a tic tighten his facial muscles, he forcibly relaxed them then under the knowledge this idiot’s barbaric lack of manners only made him look better in comparison.
As such, Zeng Fei coolly met his bully’s gaze and bowed towards him too. “Ah, Dong Fu. This junior greets you too.” Raising his torso back up, he showed a gentle smile. “Please provide me guidance, Senior Brother.”
Unfortunately, this was where theory divorced from reality as, unbeknownst to Zeng Fei, his inner maliciousness was so great that even his respectful gesture and controlled smile failed to contain it.
The combination ended up being so chilling, facial muscles too strained as though the skin didn’t fit, that even Dong Fu paused his shit-talking to make a double-take.
The Elders who had so far viewed Zeng Fei as a polite, humble disciple also changed their minds, now spotting guile in him that did not match his youth.
Even some of the disciples who’d previously been saying how pitiable Zeng Fei was couldn’t help but gulp for Dong Fu now, and they were all too vocal in their thoughts.
“That Zeng Fei has to be a devilish cultivator in disguise! Look, there’s no way somebody on the side of righteousness would grin like that!”
“Good point. There was also that creepy-ass smile he had on when he walked out too, not at all the face of someone about to confront his bully. I reckon he’s a skinwalker from the Occult Flesh Palace.”
“Man, that sicko must have laid out multiple traps to humiliate Dong Fu or worse, then. I’m worried!”
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Hearing this, Zeng Fei glared in the direction of the commentators.
“Eek!”
“He’s marked you as his next sacrifice, no doubt.”
“No, his next meal - look at those hungry eyes! You’re done for, Little Bro.”
Thankfully, these comments were in the earshot of Elder Ma, who stepped in: “Those making baseless accusations, continue doing so and I will regard you as deliberately interfering with the match and punish you. Disciples Dong and Zeng, you may begin when you are ready.”
This finally hushed the rowdy viewers and returned the focus to the two in the arena.
Although Zeng Fei was confused how his charm offensive had failed, it wasn’t the end of the world since he’d resolved to speak with his fists from the start.
He pointed ahead and yelled with dramatic flair. “I summon you, Pingu!”
The spectators gasped on seeing the odd-looking demon beast appear from the white mist; only those with higher cultivations were able to glean that it bore the same qi signature as Zeng Fei, suggesting it was actually a summoned spirit beast despite its realistic corporeal form.
Many others, meanwhile, couldn’t have cared less whether he was a fire or water type P***mon; enamoured by Pingu’s good looks, they - especially the girls - gushed over him, feeling jealous that Zeng Fei had such a cute and cuddly companion while they didn’t.
As for the one in the eye of the storm, Pingu looked relaxed facing all this commotion like he was a long-time celebrity and this was business as usual. He threw the fawning paparazzi a bone and showed them his good angles (which was actually just him intrigued to find out so many of his master’s species existed, and that they were huddling altogether in a colony, yet keeping a distance from his master whose hygiene habits they were evidently disgusted by).
His gaze stopped roving when it came across the other human in the arena, the very same one who’d beaten the living daylights out of his master (and who he was not surprised to find out also had exceptionally poor hygiene).
Overcome by emotion, Pingu cast his head low, releasing a trumpet-like sound as he then stretched his head to the skies.
In contrast, Dong Fu, who’d been made uneasy by Zeng Fei’s creepy smile, was relieved to see his opponent’s tactic was the exact same as before; he released his tension through a harsh note of laughter. “Oh, Little Zeng, you big fool. You must have believed you could face me after raising your cultivation, but let me tell you something: I didn’t use any of my techniques last time!”
Zeng Fei snorted - of course he knew this, having seen the original’s memories.
Unlike the younger brother who cultivated Orange Stripes, White Teeth - a technique that was ferocious and aggressive in battle - Dong Ju practised a cultivation technique which provided prodigious defensive abilities instead.
Years ago, when people first uncovered that the brash loudmouth Dong Fu cultivated Small Turtle’s Supreme Shell, they had teased him endlessly and challenged him to teach him a lesson. Nobody had expected him to trash not only these losers but also the seniors who they’d called up as back up.
What appeared to defy logic on first glance made perfect sense, however: as a body refiner, the damage others could do with their qi, he could achieve with his bare hands, so picking an aggressive cultivation art on top would have made a glass cannon out of him, similar to his younger brother.
Whereas the reason he’d stomped seniors several minor stages above him was because although they possessed the advantage in qi and speed, what use was that when they couldn’t get through his defences? In contrast, they were goners the second he got his hands on them.
“Unyielding Carapace!”
Every inch of Dong Fu’s visible skin became imprinted with a hexagonal shell motif, the lines which then, due to his seventh layer cultivation, projected outwards an inch to become three-dimensional.
Covered in this translucent green shell, Dong Fu beckoned towards Zeng Fei and Pingu. “Come on, then. This uncle will entertain you.”
Pingu did not need any further encouragement; he showed off his agility increase and speed-waddled forwards (about twice as fast as a normal waddle) without falling over!
As the penguin approached, Dong Fu raised his arms in defence and released a roar, “Ha!”
Pingu, too, let out a shout. “Sqwuak, sqwuak!”
“Pure Yang Phoenix Fist!” Zeng Fei translated for the crowd, who suddenly sat up; although none of them had heard of this exact martial technique, they could sense the qi concentrating into the tip of Pingu’s flipper, licks of fire flickering down his feathered wing.
This flaming fist tore towards Dong Fu.
“Brace!” An influx of qi flowed into the projected shell, causing it to flare brighter.
The collision between the two caused an explosive sound and inky black smoke, yet what followed was Dong Ju’s foot as he raised his leg and kicked forcefully into Pingu’s belly.
“Peep!”
As the penguin toppled over, Dong Fu lowered his arms. The faint smoke dispersed to reveal that the qi shell was charred where it’d been struck, but no further.
Dong Ju turned towards Zeng Fei. “Not bad. But let me show you how a real man pu—”
He didn’t get a chance to as the supine penguin kipped up from the ground in a flurry of movement, launching towards Dong Fu with a flying kick before he could react.
Congratulations! Pingu’s Kung Ho has advanced to Level 4!
The audience winced at the crisp smack, a solid hit, but Pingu wasn’t finished. Multiple Pure Yang Phoenix Fists came through in quick succession, mixed in with a collection of stinging slaps and merciless blows.
Congratulations! Pingu’s Pure Yang Phoenix Fist has advanced to Level 5!
Congratulations! Pingu’s Kung Ho has advanced to Level 5!
On the defensive, Dong Fu’s projected shell shook under the intense barrage, cracks cropping up across the projection.
Suddenly Dong Fu shrunk back, one arm held up to protect his face while the other arm fell; but Pingu refused to let him get away that easily and gave chase with a wide swinging blow.
It was only spectators on the side of the fallen arm who caught the influx of qi into it and how sand materialised out of the skin.
In a practised motion, Dong Fu abruptly reversed direction and lurched his torso forward, his fist surging out from beneath the penguin’s field of view in a devastating uppercut, sand granules exploding out in every direction.
“Crumbling Castles to Sand!”
The blow was so vicious it launched Pingu into the air for a brief moment.
The penguin plopped to the ground, tried to rise to his feet, then floundered back down onto his wings, his head spinning dizzily in half-moon circles.
Dong Fu, meanwhile, gathered his phlegm and casually spat a bloody mouthful to the side. Although his shell still held, it had collapsed in multiple areas, his face and neck scorched in spots where the Phoenix Fist had landed and bloodied where Pingu’s strikes had cleaved his skin.
Despite enduring damage that would have made another disciple yield, Dong Fu looked to be in good humour, baring his teeth in a bloodstained grin. “Zeng Fei, even though I taught you last time the biggest weakness of cultivators who fight with beasts, your dumbass refused to learn a single fucking thing. So this time, I’ll make sure the lesson stic—”
Zeng Fei interrupted him with an evil cackle, tilting his head up so that he looked down on Dong Fu.
He spoke in a voice far deeper than before. “Settle down, Small Dong, you little fool.”
The audience watched with their hearts in their mouths, caught by surprise by each development so far; already this qualifier bout had exhibited a grudge fight worthy of a finale, so many had been wondering if it could really get any more exciting than this?
The answer lay bare to see in Zeng Fei’s cocky expression, in his audacity to whip out Dong Fu’s hated insult from the past, in the way his eyes were locked on Dong Fu like a serpent watching a small mouse hopping about in front of it.
The real fight was just about to start!