Chapter 432 - 154: Secure Second, Strive for First
They had originally thought this match would be a one-sided rout, that Yang Jing wouldn’t last ten moves against Zhao Chong’s Sky-Splitting Fist before being forced to surrender.
But the scene unfolding before them utterly overturned everyone’s expectations.
Not only was Yang Jing not being overwhelmed, but he was fighting Zhao Chong on even ground. He even managed to launch a few attacks during the lulls in their exchanges, subtly taking the initiative.
"My heavens! Yang Jing can actually go head-to-head with Zhao Chong and not lose ground?"
"That fist power is terrifying! And Zhao Chong’s Sky-Splitting Fist is famous for how domineering it is!"
Cries of shock rippled through the crowd.
...
On the Cyan Qilin Platform, Yang Jing raised an eyebrow, his mind racing with calculations.
He could clearly sense it. ’Although the power in Zhao Chong’s fists is ferocious, his stamina is already starting to falter.’
’If I keep clashing with him head-on like this, I’m confident I can defeat him, but it would consume a massive amount of my Inner Strength.’
’Zhao Chong is a top-tier expert of the Inner Strength Realm, on par with Yuwen Mingjue. A drawn-out fight with him would be a Pyrrhic victory—injuring the enemy by a thousand while losing eight hundred myself.’
’Even if I won, I’d be severely weakened and in no condition to face the final showdown with Yuwen Mingjue.’
At this thought, Yang Jing’s expression suddenly sharpened. He knew he couldn’t let this drag on any longer.
In the next instant, Yang Jing sank into his stance and unleashed his power. His footwork suddenly shifted as he fully executed his Raging Wave Leg technique, which was on the verge of reaching the Peak of Transformation. His speed instantly increased by a huge margin.
The figure that had been clashing head-on with Zhao Chong a moment ago suddenly transformed into an elusive white blur, weaving effortlessly between the afterimages of fists.
Zhao Chong’s expression changed drastically at the sight, his pupils contracting sharply.
Yang Jing’s strength had been unexpected, but it was this impossibly unpredictable speed that truly made him wary.
When two Martial Artists of comparable strength fight, speed often plays the decisive role.
Yang Jing’s gaze remained locked on Zhao Chong. His movements, like waves crashing upon a shore, were dazzlingly fast.
His figure flickered unpredictably across the Cyan Qilin Platform, one moment striking at Zhao Chong’s openings, the next evading his opponent’s Heavy Fists. He had seized complete control of the battle.
After that initial period of head-on clashes, Yang Jing had made his decision: he could no longer afford to let Zhao Chong drag this out and wear him down.
In any other match, he wouldn’t have cared about the energy consumption. He might even have welcomed the chance to fight a strong opponent to hone his martial arts and solidify his foundations.
This time, however, was completely different.
Zhao Chong was too strong. A brief exchange to sharpen his skills was one thing, but a prolonged battle would not be worth the cost.
The final battle against Yuwen Mingjue still lay ahead, and that was the key to determining the champion of the Cyan Qilin Battle.
If he exhausted too much energy in his fight with Zhao Chong and it compromised his performance in the next match, he would be sacrificing the war for a single battle.
To conserve his strength and ensure he was in peak condition for the upcoming battle with Yuwen Mingjue, Yang Jing had made his decision.
’I have to go all out and defeat Zhao Chong as quickly as possible. I can’t let this match affect my performance later.’
Yang Jing’s figure blurred into an afterimage, his speed exploding to its absolute limit. He moved like a phantom, leaving illusory trails across the Cyan Qilin Platform.
His footwork was a blur of unpredictability. In an instant, he was in front of Zhao Chong, fists clenched. The Condensed Fist Power of his Mountain-Breaking Seal, wrapped in a fierce gale, ruthlessly blasted toward his opponent.
In a flurry of fists, the two clashed instantly.
Relying on the astonishing speed of his Body Technique, Yang Jing clung to Zhao Chong like a persistent shadow, every strike aimed straight for a vital point.
In a mere six or seven moves, he completely shattered their previous stalemate and firmly seized the upper hand.
Zhao Chong, overwhelmed by Yang Jing’s speed, was thrown into disarray. He could only scramble to block with his fists, falling deeper and deeper into a defensive posture.
...
At the judges’ area to the side of the Cyan Qilin Platform, the several Main Peak Elders were all taken aback, each of them sitting up straighter in their seats.
The square-faced Elder’s brow was deeply furrowed. His expression was grave as he couldn’t help but murmur in astonishment, "Yang Jing’s power is this great? He’s actually overwhelming Zhao Chong!"
The gaunt Elder beside him was equally serious, his gaze locked on the white figure on the stage. "From his previous matches, I only knew this young man’s Body Technique was incredibly fast. But speed alone should be nowhere near enough to defeat Zhao Chong. I never imagined that on top of his superior Body Technique, he was also hiding this much power. He’s actually managing to overpower Zhao Chong in terms of raw strength!"
...
Below the Cyan Qilin Platform, Yuwen Mingjue watched the unfolding scene, his expression growing increasingly grave as his fists clenched unconsciously within his sleeves.
He had originally thought that even if Zhao Chong managed to defeat Yang Jing, it would come at a heavy price.
But now, the reality was the exact opposite of his prediction: Yang Jing was the one overwhelming Zhao Chong.
This intensified his growing sense of alarm, and the look he gave Yang Jing was now tinged with even greater apprehension.
...
The match on the Cyan Qilin Platform continued.
Yang Jing’s strength was already a notch above Zhao Chong’s; now, with the absolute advantage in speed, he was like a tiger that had grown wings—utterly formidable.
The two clashed repeatedly, the muffled thuds of their colliding fists and palms as dense as a drumroll. After just a few dozen exchanges, Yang Jing’s advantage had become increasingly obvious, to the point where he was now completely dominating Zhao Chong.
Zhao Chong’s breathing grew ragged, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His blocks became progressively more sluggish.
On their fortieth exchange, Yang Jing keenly spotted an opening. Zhao Chong’s block was half a beat too slow—clearly, an old injury from a previous fierce battle was affecting his reaction time.