Chapter Ninety-Six: Encirclement.

Night fell.
Outside Dragon Tiger Mountain.
Inside a private convalescent hospital.
Wang Ai gripped the examination report in his hand, staring at Wang Bing lying unconscious on the hospital bed, wearing an oxygen mask, his entire body wrapped up like a mummy.
He seemed to have aged more than a decade.
The report didn't contain much, but the black words on white paper were unmistakable—thirty-six fractures across his entire body, ruptures in his liver, spleen, kidneys, and other internal organs, facial disfigurement, and multiple internal bleeding points.
"…"
The litany of symptoms was clearly listed.
Every line, every word, was like a series of sharp knives stabbing viciously into Wang Ai's heart.
Even breathing brought a stabbing pain.
"Damn you, Ye Yan, for hurting my Bing'er like this. You just wait—I, Wang Ai, swear I'll make sure you die without a place to be buried."
"…"
Wang Ai ripped the report to shreds. His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging across his temples.
His withered, wrinkled old face twisted together like a fiend freshly crawled from hell, as if ready to devour anyone in sight, making the empty, silent hospital room all the more terrifying.
After roaring like this for a while, Wang Ai finally calmed down completely. He sat by the head of the bed, gazing at the mummy-like Wang Bing.
Sinking into a long, heavy silence.
Time trickled by, and after who knows how long, he slowly rose, walked straight to the window, pulled an old clamshell phone from his pocket, found a number, and dialed.
The call was picked up quickly, and a hoarse male voice came through. The man's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a bone-chilling coldness.
"Boss Wang, about that matter we discussed before—what have you decided?"
"I agree to your terms. I only have one condition: move quickly."
"No problem. We'll arrange for our people to get in as soon as possible. This may require cooperation on your end, Boss Wang. Any issues?"
"Fine. I'll cooperate fully."
"Then here's to a pleasant collaboration."
…
…
The semifinalists were soon determined.

The qualifiers were Ye Liangchen, Feng Baobao, Zhang Chulan, and the highly anticipated Zhang Lingyu.
Zhang Chulan's opponent was Wang Ye. While that match didn't end with an immediate concession like Tang Wenlong's, it still counted as a bit of a thrown fight—altering the style of the contest to let Zhang Chulan slip through.
As for Li Zhiyuan, whose luck had been absurdly good throughout, she finally fell in the quarterfinals.
She became the first of the North China group of four to be eliminated.
This proved that while luck is part of strength, that part doesn't last forever.
Still, no one was particularly surprised that Li Zhiyuan lost. For a dark horse to fight her way into the round of sixteen was already impressive.
Falling in the quarterfinals was still something to brag about.
Besides, Li Zhiyuan didn't have much of a competitive drive anyway. At that very moment, she was holding her phone and happily reporting the news to her family, looking nothing like a loser.
The first match of the semifinals.
Ye Liangchen versus Zhang Chulan.
A North China civil war.
Perhaps because of Zhang Chulan's reputation, people already seemed to have predicted the outcome before the match even began… either Ye Liangchen would concede, or Zhang Chulan would. Most of the crowd was listless, not particularly caring about who won.
Except for those who'd placed bets—they were already jumping around and cursing. Everyone else took it in stride.
Meanwhile, the old gamblers who'd bet on Zhang Chulan were getting excited.
They'd originally bet on him just for the absurd odds, but they never expected the guy might actually have a real shot at the championship. If Zhang Chulan actually won, they'd never have to worry about money for the rest of their lives.
Compared to the tension of the previous matches, Zhang Chulan seemed remarkably calm this time.
"Oh, Brother Liangchen, what a coincidence—you made it to the semifinals too? And we're opponents on the same stage! Then you'll have to show me what you've got."
Despite the fact that they were already thick as thieves, Zhang Chulan was a born performer. The moment he stepped onto the stage, he pretended not to know Ye Liangchen and greeted him like a stranger, making the audience below break out in cold sweat… The hell are you playing at? Everyone knows you North China four run in the same pants.
Ye Yan was speechless at Zhang Chulan's antics, but he still cooperated with the performance, nodding seriously with a straight face and saying earnestly, "Come on, let me witness the power of the Source of Qi."
Zhang Chulan raised his fists into a stance, his expression grave and solemn. "Taiji. Zhang Chulan."
"Fushan. Ye Wen."
Audience: "…"
"Are they actually going to fight?"
Their acting was over the top, but some people were genuinely intrigued by the spectacle, hoping the two would throw down.
After all, this was the semifinals, and Zhang Chulan still hadn't made a single serious move the entire tournament.
His true strength remained a mystery.

The audience below buzzed with discussion, and at the same moment, the two on stage moved.
Zhang Chulan erupted with powerful qi. Then he took off—sprinting, accelerating.
Ye Yan facing him did the same.
"Boom!"
Fist met palm in a thunderous collision. In a flash of lightning, the two swiftly passed each other.
Time itself seemed to freeze at that instant.
Suddenly, Ye Yan's legs gave way. He clutched his chest, dropping to one knee, a trickle of crimson blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
On the other side, Zhang Chulan clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze desolate as he looked up at the sky—a look of lofty, solitary supremacy, as if he alone stood above the world.
"Brother Liangchen, you may be strong, but compared to me, you still fall short."
Ye Liangchen's voice was hoarse, like a wistful murmur to himself: "So this is the legendary Source of Qi? The end of all techniques, truly profound and unfathomable. Having taken that palm from you, I doubt I'll recover without years of recuperation. This time, I concede."
"Well played!"
"…"
The two on stage played off each other perfectly, but the audience below was utterly dumbfounded…
For a moment, they couldn't tell whether Zhang Chulan's Source of Qi was really that powerful, or whether this was just another pre-written script.
Zhang Chulan's pose of looking up at the sky was indeed impressive—it fooled a portion of the crowd.
But there were still some clear-headed people who insisted this was a pre-arranged performance.
"Come on, you actually believe that? It's obviously scripted. Zhang Chulan's opponent, Ye Liangchen—you all know whose alternate account that is, right?"
"You really think Zhang Chulan has what it takes to defeat Ye Yan? Stop joking."
"That's true."
Some people spoke, and naturally some believed.
Soon enough, someone smacked their lips and remarked, "Speaking of Zhang Lingyu, that young Daoist is really unlucky. Three of the semifinalists are from the North China branch. Looks like he's going to have to take on all three by himself."
"He's completely surrounded."