Chapter Twenty-One: Rising to Fame

A sharp shout pierced the sky.

Chen Yuanhu forced himself to quell the strange discomfort in his mind, gathering power in his palms as his ten fingers thrust toward Chen Yu. At the same time, his right leg lashed out, the sheer force splitting the air with an explosive howl.

A dull thud echoed. The young Daoist, though struggling to defend himself, did not retreat; instead, he stepped sideways, his abdomen swelling and contracting once more. Chen Yuanhu had to adjust his offense, pressing downward, intent on halting his adversary.

He was too late. Instinctively, he trembled twice, his strength seeming to slip from his grasp, ready to dissolve in the wake of those sounds.

A muffled crash—hidden thunder rumbled again. This time, his thoughts remained mostly unscathed, but his heart felt as if squeezed by invisible hands; his organs cried out, pain shooting through him, his teeth nearly shattered.

He dared not take further risks, quickly stepping back to widen the distance.

Chen Yuanhu hunched his tiger-like back, his eyes brimming with caution and shock.

This isn’t Tiger-Leopard Thunder Voice… He was certain, yet what martial art was this? He had traveled the land for decades, yet never had he encountered such a technique.

The spectators were equally bewildered. The exchange between the two was so swift, their movements mere afterimages; ordinary martial artists couldn’t even make out the techniques.

In that moment, the fighters parted almost instantly after contact, but from the scene, it appeared Chen Yuanhu had suffered a setback.

“Did you hear a sort of gurgling sound just now?”

“Sounded more like thunder—could it be rain today?”

“But I thought it came from the arena…”

“Nonsense, all those crackling noises are just their fierce fighting. You probably misheard. Unless you believe that Daoist actually used Palm Lightning? Hahaha!”

The crowd joked and bantered, but the true experts watched with grave expressions.

Not far away, several elderly Daoists gazed at the two combatants with keen interest, their eyes flickering between them.

“Tiger-Leopard Thunder Voice? Brother Li, do you think that brute used it?”

“Brother Yang, I don’t think so. It’s less like Tiger-Leopard Thunder Voice and more akin to spring thunder, with a real sense of rupture. And look at that brute’s reaction—the thunder’s mystery is more than just frightening him…”

Setting aside the confusion and curiosity of the others, Chen Yu on the arena felt firsthand the power of a so-called expert in internal transformation. This was only a second-tier opponent, yet it left him with no opportunity to strike.

Even though he’d caught his foe off-guard with two bursts of thunder, Chen Yuanhu’s formidable self-control and bodily coordination quickly suppressed the effects. Judging by his state, the dizziness lasted barely two breaths.

Chen Yu had seized those brief moments, but was still blocked—Chen Yuanhu manipulated his strength with ease, and with Chen Yu’s current power and flexibility, he couldn’t even break through the reactive force his opponent summoned.

He remembered how, back in Shengyu Village, he’d once scattered the consciousness of over a hundred people in a single move, plunging them into unconsciousness—compared to now, the difference was staggering.

Chen Yu understood the reason, and had anticipated it before making his move, but he hadn’t expected the effect to be so negligible after two attempts.

He had underestimated the willpower of martial artists.

Reflecting, he realized that ordinary practitioners, lacking rare substances like spiritual fluid or essence, relied solely on years of training. The resolve forged from such accumulation was unimaginably strong—not something his incomplete Transcendence Sound technique could overcome.

“Still, it works.”

If it could shake them, it proved he was on the right path. With greater mastery of his mental power and further tempering of his organs, this protective Daoist art would have a promising future.

He steadied himself, drew a deep breath. The previously fractured rib ached, but his constitution—nourished by spiritual fluid—was unlike any other. What would be agonizing for others was already slowly healing within him.

He had one more attempt.

He regulated his breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The first two trials had tested the effects on consciousness and internal organs. Chen Yuanhu was clearly an excellent target: his physical training was exceptional, his internal cultivation substantial, and he’d mastered internal power, allowing some defense of his abdomen.

Thus Chen Yu needn’t worry about causing harm, and could freely validate his theories.

He had another idea to try.

With this in mind, Chen Yu stepped forward. Across from him, Chen Yuanhu, under the gaze of the crowd, actually stepped back half a pace.

A wave of surprise rippled through the spectators.

They didn’t understand the details, only seeing the renowned second-tier expert being forced back by a young practitioner of moderate skill.

It was astonishing.

Even the curved-blade Daoist who had accompanied Chen Yuanhu frowned, his gaze deep as he studied Chen Yu, determined to see through him.

As friends and rivals, the two had sparred over a hundred times, thoroughly familiar with each other’s abilities. He’d thought Chen Yu was a mere junior, easy to handle, yet now he was forced to reconsider.

On the arena, the situation shifted again.

Chen Yu did not rush forward as before, but smiled and said something.

The others couldn’t hear clearly, but Chen Yuanhu started, then straightened, nodding with a complex expression.

What happened next was peculiar.

Chen Yu sat down, his purpose unclear. The crowd murmured as time passed, until after two intervals, he slowly stood.

He dusted off his robe.

The curved-blade Daoist’s gaze sharpened, noticing his robe trembling subtly.

The vibration was rapid; even the dust at his feet seemed to rise as if swept by wind.

After a while, Chen Yu finally spoke.

A low hum—!!

Thunder roared through the arena, drawing all eyes. The chaos was evident.

Many spectators clutched their ears and crouched, their minds ringing. Some panicked and fled in disarray.

Chen Yuanhu, better prepared, merely bled a little from the corners of his mouth. The force he had summoned was disrupted, and his mind snapped like a taut string as the thunder struck.

Yet the injury was not serious.

In fact, it was barely more than a scratch.

Chen Yu noticed this, but his focus was elsewhere. After a brief glance at his opponent, he concentrated inward.

To be honest, after that shout, regardless of how others fared, his own organs nearly suffered a grave mishap.

Still, it was satisfactory.

He rose quickly, surveying the disorder. Some who had been close were still dazed, their eyes vacant.

He didn’t linger, but hurried to Chen Yuanhu, immediately asking about his experience.

As for victory—clearly, he had lost.

Three rounds of Transcendence Technique had left his body unusually limp, his muscles sore, unable to summon power. His mental strength was spent, and his mind felt no lighter than those affected by the thunder.

Chen Yuanhu, however, retained most of his fighting strength.

Having realized why he had entered the martial contest, Chen Yu returned to his original indifference regarding winning or losing.

He had never been obsessed with fame or prestige.

His priority was to talk to the person who had endured the Transcendence Technique directly—these insights were invaluable, whether for refining his protective Daoist art or for future exploration of the spiritual domain.

While Chen Yu thought this way, others did not.

After the rapid thunder, within the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, rumors spread throughout the arena: a Daoist master had defeated a second-tier expert with Palm Lightning. The tale began to seep beyond the grounds, flowing toward the city of Ping.