C4 Fist Against Fist

Meng Yang's gaze sharpened as he turned to face the newcomer.

A horse-faced young man was eyeing him with blatant contempt.

The contrived expression and mocking sneer in the youth's eyes caused Meng Yang's brows to arch involuntarily.

The tone, seemingly inquisitive yet filled with certainty, was particularly unsettling.

"It's me..." Meng Yang responded, his face devoid of emotion.

Though he was unsure why this individual knew his name or what he wanted, Meng Yang sensed it was nothing positive.

As expected, upon Meng Yang's acknowledgment, the youth's demeanor shifted, his gaze intensifying with hostility.

With a frosty countenance, he spoke sharply, "You're the new guy, so you probably aren't familiar with the rules yet."

"I'm aware of the Lin family's rules."

Meng Yang had no desire to create conflict, so he answered evenly.

But his response only served to infuriate the horse-faced youth further.

His already narrow eyes took on an even more sinister and ugly cast as he glared.

"I'm referring to the Sparring Courtyard's rules."

Meng Yang remained silent in the face of the horse-faced man clutching a pen, understanding the implication.

As a training partner for the Lin family, he was entitled to a Whispershard at the end of each month for cultivation purposes.

While the core disciples of the Lin family ignored the low-level training partners, the high-level ones did not.

Since becoming a training partner, Meng Yang had not laid eyes on a single soul stone; they were all hoarded by the high-level training partners.

All it took was signing his name on the ledger for the soul stone, and he could have a month of peace.

Refusal meant a beating, though these individuals were adept at controlling their strength to avoid lethality.

Once your wounds had nearly healed, they would return to administer another beating, trapping you in a relentless cycle.

Only by agreeing to pay a 'protection fee' would the harrowing ordeal end, an experience so miserable it could bring one to tears.

With this in mind, Meng Yang's eyes lit up as he saw a brilliant opportunity to practice the flesh puppet technique.

"No need for any trouble; I'll collect the soul stone myself at the end of the month."

"Are you sure?"

The horse-faced man squinted his eyes upon hearing the challenge.

A chill spread across his indifferent face.

His forehead veins popped as a fierce aura of blood and vigor erupted from within him.

His gray robe seemed to inflate with the force of his formidable presence.

"Don't push your luck! I won't repeat myself."

Meng Yang could feel the oppressive purity emanating from the horse-faced youth's Blood to Spirit Transmutation.

His eyes gleamed with an icy, piercing sharpness, sparing no time for idle chatter.

In a flash, he unleashed the Soul Stealing Palm, honed to over a thousand points of proficiency.

"You're asking for it..."

The horse-faced youth, incensed by Meng Yang's contempt, couldn't contain his fury and bellowed.

His blood energy roiled, and he launched a punch that carried the howling wind with it.

Bolstered by spiritual energy, this punch packed a monstrous force of at least five hundred kilograms.

It could shatter a wall, let alone confront a person like Meng Yang, who had not yet achieved Blood to Spirit Transmutation.

He was confident, utterly confident, that this punch would grievously wound Meng Yang.

But then, suddenly.

"Crack!"

Meng Yang, in the midst of executing the Soul Stealing Palm, clenched his fingers into a fist to meet the oncoming blow.

The collision of fists forced the horse-faced youth's eyes wide open as he screamed in pain.

His punch, which felt as though it had struck solid rock, resulted in him breaking two fingers.

"Let's see if your fists are tougher, or if my flesh puppet technique is stronger..."

Before the horse-faced youth could gather his wits, Meng Yang's eyes flashed coldly again.

He advanced swiftly, his fingers loosening just before his leg, swift as a snapped whip, brutally kicked the youth's shoulder.

With a scream, the horse-faced youth was sent flying out the door, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

Stunned and disbelieving, he barely registered Meng Yang's scornful words.

"Blood to Spirit Transmutation is nothing special..."

"Don't ever bother me again, or next time, I'll break your entire arm. Get lost!"

With a fierce shout, the horse-faced youth glared at Meng Yang, eyes burning with rage.

"Meng Yang, you've got nerve. Just wait..."

With those words, he bolted, not even sparing a glance for the pen on the ground.

"It seems that no matter where you go, where there are people, there's always an underworld."

Meng Yang watched the retreating figure with a dismissive smirk. He had no time for such insignificant fools.

In the Disciple Courtyard, he could think of no one else capable of such antics besides the high-level training partner disciples.

The aura of the horse-faced young man, in particular, didn't seem to match what one would expect from a high-level training partner disciple.

Certainly, he didn't hold a candle to the other two in his room. He was probably just a lowly messenger.

"Ten days? That's more than enough. I, Meng Yang, am eager to see if this soul stone is as extraordinary as the tales suggest."

"If it turns out to be real, then not a single one of you high-level training partner disciples will get away..."

A spark of determination flickered in Meng Yang's eyes as he turned and entered his room.

He focused on the proficiency of his Soul Stealing Palm and Water Serpent Style reflected in his pupils.

After shutting the door and steadying his breath, he resumed practicing the Soul Stealing Palm and the Water Serpent Style.

From yesterday's morning session, Meng Yang had discovered a neat little trick to save time and effort.

To enhance proficiency, the key was to execute the most effective attack with the minimal movement.

Overexertion and haphazard effort had left his arms and legs sore the day before.

Now wiser, he practiced the Soul Stealing Palm first, followed by the Water Serpent Style, allowing his limbs time to rest in turn.

The Soul Stealing Palm was executed successfully, increasing proficiency by 1.

Current proficiency: 1323/10000.

The Water Serpent Style was executed successfully, increasing proficiency by 1.

Current proficiency: 1324/10000.

Another successful use of the Soul Stealing Palm, proficiency up by 1.

Current proficiency: 1325/10000.

As the proficiency updates flashed before his eyes, Meng Yang settled into the monotonous grind of cultivation.

......

Time passed until Meng Yang, parched and soaked with sweat, heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer.

He immediately ceased his movements, ready to inspect, when the door burst open. A guard entered, casting a brief glance at Meng Yang before signaling to someone outside. To his shock, Meng Yang saw the square-faced man and the dark-skinned man, who had left that morning in good health, now being carried in on a stretcher. Their faces, blackened with bruises and swollen beyond recognition, bore no trace of their former vitality. The square-faced man's broken nose, bleeding mouth, and vacant gaze shocked Meng Yang, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The dark-skinned man's condition was even more pitiable. His arms dangled off the stretcher, bent at unnatural angles. Despite his unconscious state, the sweat beading on his forehead was enough to make Meng Yang's teeth ache in sympathy. "Such a vicious attack..." he muttered.

After the two were placed on the bed, the guard left without a second glance. Meng Yang, moved by compassion, looked at the square-faced man struggling with pain and the unconscious dark-skinned youth, feeling a sense of injustice. After a moment's contemplation, his expression hardened with resolve. He approached the spare bed by the door and unleashed the Soul Stealing Palm.

With a loud crack, the bed splintered into pieces. Meng Yang selected two of the bed legs and ripped the sheets into strips. Crouching beside the dark-skinned man's bed, he examined the extent of the injuries and gasped in horror. The man's elbow bones were completely shattered; even with healing, his arms would likely be useless.

Meng Yang's frown deepened, and a profound unease about the future filled him. Biting down on his resolve, he spoke to the unconscious man, though unsure if he could hear, "Hang in there." Then, with a grim determination, he straightened the contorted limbs. The sound of grinding bones and the surge of pain made Meng Yang's skin crawl, and the dark-skinned man's scream of agony before passing out again was chilling.

Without hesitation, Meng Yang continued his grim task, straightening the man's other twisted arm.