Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

The second round of the competition is scheduled for the next day.

As dawn broke, the braziers at the four corners of the drill ground were still burning, their smoke being dispersed by the morning breeze.

The arena has been rebuilt, half again as wide as the one used for the initial test. It is paved with blue bricks, marked with white lime, and has black triangular flags with the character "武" (martial arts) embroidered on them at the four corners.

The martial arts performers entered one after another, about half the number of yesterday. Those eliminated in the first round had already packed up and left.

Jiang Lan stood in the queue, with two unfamiliar candidates behind her, whispering among themselves.

"Have you heard? Yesterday someone pulled the nine-stone bow fourteen times, Jia Shang."

Who is it?

"Zhou Jin from the Zhou family in the north of the city didn't take the exam last year, but he came here this year with a burning desire to prove himself."

"Doesn't that mean there's one less spot available this year?"

"There were already few. The powerful families took the majority, and we're fighting tooth and nail for the rest."

The two sighed and fell silent.

Jiang Lan listened without turning around.

He looked down at his hands. All ten knuckles were wrapped in old strips of cloth. He had practiced the Mountain-Crushing Fist for two hours last night, until his knuckles were swollen. He had soaked them in salt water before going to sleep. He had taken the cloth strips off, washed them, and let them dry, but this morning, before they were completely dry, he had wrapped them back up.

Outside the training ground, Sun Gengsan, as usual, peered through the gaps in the fence. This time he arrived early and secured a good spot where he could clearly see the number three arena.

Huo Yuanlong also came, but he didn't sit in the side corridor today. Instead, he stood in the open space on the east side of the arena, with Song Kui standing next to him.

"Uncle, we've found out." Song Kui lowered his voice, "The group assignments for the second round yesterday were changed last night."

Huo Yuanlong's eyes darkened: "Speak."

"Jiang Lan was originally assigned to arena number seven, and her opponent was a martial arts school owner from the west of the city, a six-acupoint martial artist, nothing special. But last night someone passed a note to the examiner, and changed her opponent to—"

"Who?"

"Tu Gang".

Huo Yuanlong frowned.

Tu Gang, a native of Tujiawan, does not belong to any aristocratic family, but he is quite famous in the martial arts world of Fucheng.

This man never holds back in his fights. Last year, during the preliminary rounds of the martial arts examination, he broke three of a candidate's ribs, and only stopped when the examiner told him to.

His father, Butcher Tu, served in the army on the border in his early years. After retiring, he opened a butcher shop. He didn't lose his killing skills and passed them all on to his son.

Tu Gang is twenty-three years old this year. He is a six-acupoint martial artist, one minor realm higher than Jiang Lan.

But the most dangerous thing is that this person is not afraid of getting hurt. He fights like a wild boar, and he becomes even more frenzied when he gets injured.

"Who handed in the note?" Huo Yuanlong asked.

Song Kui shook his head: "I can't find it. The note was sent directly to the chief examiner's desk, and he approved it without thinking much of it, assuming it was a normal adjustment."

Huo Yuanlong remained silent for a moment.

"Keep a close eye on him. If anything seems amiss with Tu Gang—" He paused, "never mind, let's observe first."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the stage, the first few matches were over very quickly.

Some martial arts performers had vastly different skill levels, and the outcome was decided in less than ten moves. One young contestant was pushed off the stage with a single palm strike and lay on the ground for a long time without getting up. When people helped him up, he waved his hand and said he was fine, but his eyes were red.

Jiang Lan stood in the waiting area, watching the fight on stage, her face expressionless.

He put his hands in his sleeves and rubbed the old wounds on his knuckles.

"Next match – Guangchang Martial Arts School, Jiang Lan. Against – Tujiawan, Tu Gang."

Tujiawan.

Jiang Lan had never heard of this name before.

He stepped onto the ring, and another person came up to the opposite side.

Tu Gang was half a head taller than Jiang Lan, with broad shoulders and a thick waist, and the muscles on his neck bulged out. He wore a gray cloth outfit with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his two thick forearms with several old scars.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes looked strange.

It's like an empty space, like everything looks lifeless.

Jiang Lan clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Crushing Mountain Fist, Jiang Lan. Please enlighten me."

Tu Gang didn't clasp his hands in a fist salute. He tilted his head, cracked his neck twice, and then muttered, "Tu Gang."

Someone in the audience whispered, "Tu Gang? That Boss Tu's son?"

"Yes, that's him. The one who broke someone's ribs last year."

Who is Jiang Lan?

"I don't know, it's from Guangchang Martial Arts School, first round, C level."

"Criterion C? That's it, another bloody show is coming."

……

He stared at Tu Gang's stance—his feet were wider than shoulder-width apart, his center of gravity was extremely low, and his knees were slightly bent. It wasn't the standard stance of a martial arts practitioner; it was more like the posture of a hunter crouching in the mud to ambush his prey.

The proctor raised his hand: "Begin."

Before he could finish speaking, Tu Gang made his move.

Unlike Yuan Tong, he didn't charge forward aggressively. Instead, he advanced step by step, like a wild boar slowly approaching, each step landing on the blue bricks with a dull "thump, thump" sound.

Jiang Lan took a half step forward and feinted with her left hand.

Tu Gang was not fooled. He didn't even look at the feint and directly swung his arm horizontally, the movement as sudden as throwing an iron rod.

A strong wind hit my face!

Jiang Lan turned to the side, and the arm brushed against the front of his shirt, the fabric fluttering in the wind.

So fast!

The force was exerted without any warning, like a venomous snake biting someone.

Jiang Lan changed direction, glided to Tu Gang's right, and punched him in the ribs.

Tu Gang did not retreat, but instead twisted his waist and thrust his elbow.

The elbow was aimed straight at Jiang Lan's face!

If that hits hard, the bridge of the nose will break on the spot.

Jiang Lan tilted his head, the elbow whistling past his ear, stinging hot. He changed his right fist into a palm, slapping Tu Gang's elbow joint from the outside, using the force to bounce back and create two steps of distance.

The audience fell silent.

Several knowledgeable martial artists exchanged glances—that strike just now wasn't brute force, but rather a demonstration of "listening to the opponent's force." It was using the opponent's force against them, a technique from the "Crushing Mountain Fist" school of martial arts, known as "neutralizing force."

Tu Gang was pushed back half a step, but he regained his balance.

He looked down at his elbow, then looked up, and his empty eyes finally showed a change.

"That's something," Tu Gang said in a low voice, then grinned.

Tu Gang then pressed forward again.

This time, instead of approaching slowly, he suddenly accelerated, charging straight at us like an enraged bull.

His arms were spread out, then closed like a pair of pliers.

Jiang Lan crouched down, crawled under his arm, bent his knee and punched him in the lower back, near the Shenshu acupoint.

Tu Gang twisted his body to avoid a vital spot, but the fist still struck his side.

Jiang Lan felt as if his fist had struck a thick layer of cowhide, and three-tenths of his force was dissipated.

Tu Gang winced in pain, let out a muffled groan, and slapped her across the face.

The palm was bigger than a fist, with the five fingers spread open and black dirt embedded in the fingernails.

Jiang Lan had no time to dodge, so she had to raise her arm to block.

Snapped!

A crisp sound.

Jiang Lan felt as if her forearm had been hit by a wooden board, and her entire arm went numb.

He gritted his teeth, took a step back, and shook his hand.

Tu Gang did not press his advantage. He paused, touched his side where he had been hit, and looked down at his palm—it was bloody.

It was because his nails were too long; when he slapped himself, his nails cut his palm.

He wiped the blood on his trouser leg and then laughed.

"Again."

Round three.

Jiang Lan adjusted her strategy. Instead of confronting them head-on, she used footwork to move around.

In Bengshanquan (a style of Chinese martial arts), there is a set of footwork called "Circling Trees and Through Flowers," which imitates a monkey moving through the forest. It is called footwork, but it is actually body movement - the waist and hips drive the legs, and the feet constantly change direction, sometimes left and sometimes right, making it difficult for the opponent to grasp the center of gravity.

Tu Gang was clearly getting impatient after being circled around twice.

He stomped his foot hard, making the blue bricks shake.

"Why are you running!"

He stopped chasing and stood still, arms outstretched like a door.

Jiang Lan cut in from his right side and punched him in the temple.

Tu Gang didn't block, but instead lowered his head and bumped into Jiang Lan—his forehead hitting Jiang Lan's chest.

This is an eye-for-an-eye fight.

If you hit my temple, I'll break your sternum!

Jiang Lan abruptly changed her move in mid-air, turning her fist into a palm, then her palm into a claw, gripping Tu Gang's shoulder.

The two collided violently!

Jiang Lan felt as if she had been hit by an oxcart; her chest felt tight and her throat tasted sweet.

He used the momentum to flip over, over Tu Gang's shoulder, and landed behind him.

Tu Gang swept his elbow across the room.

Jiang Lan leaned back, her elbow brushing past his chin by half an inch.

The two parted ways again.

Several white marks from rubbing have appeared on the blue bricks of the arena.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Offstage, Huo Yuanlong looked very grim.

Song Kui whispered, "Uncle, Tu Gang's fighting style doesn't look like that of a martial arts examinee; it looks like he's killing someone."

Huo Yuanlong remained silent. He stared at Tu Gang's feet on the stage—this man's feet almost never left the ground when he walked; it wasn't stance training, but the stealthy footwork of the border troops, and stealth was for killing.

He turned his head and glanced in the direction where the examiner was sitting.

The examiner was expressionless, writing something on a piece of paper.

The proctor next to him raised his eyelids, glanced at the arena, and then lowered his head again.

No one called for a stop.

This means that, in their eyes, there is nothing wrong with this style of play.

According to the rules, as long as no one dies or falls off the ring, it is not considered a foul.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the stage, Tu Gang moved again.

This time, instead of charging headlong, he suddenly crouched down, like a scorpion lying on the ground, pushed off with both legs, and slid across the ground, supporting himself with one hand and sweeping his leg horizontally.

Sweep kick!

Jiang Lan was forced to jump.

Before Jiang Lan could land, Tu Gang used his supporting hand to prop himself up, and sprang into the air, crashing headfirst into Jiang Lan's abdomen.

That was too fast.

Jiang Lan had nowhere to grab onto while in mid-air, so she could only cross her arms to protect her abdomen.

boom!

Tu Gang's head bumped into his forearm.

Jiang Lan was thrown three feet away by the impact, staggered when she landed, and knelt on one knee, her forearm burning with pain.

Tu Gang got up from the ground, touched his forehead, and found a scrape on his forehead with blood flowing down his nose.

He stuck out his tongue and licked the blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

Jiang Lan slowly stood up, shaking her numb forearm, her knuckles clenched until they turned white.

He didn't speak, but simply lowered his hands, letting them hang at his sides, slightly open.

This is the starting stance of the Mountain-Crushing Fist – Tiger's Roar.

Lower your center of gravity, relax your whole body, and store your strength without releasing it.

Several older martial artists in the audience recognized the situation and their expressions instantly became serious. They all leaned forward and stared intently at the arena.

"This kid's getting serious!"

"He's actually mastered the killing move of the Mountain-Crushing Fist!"

Tu Gang also noticed the sudden change in Jiang Lan's aura. The seemingly gentle and restrained power now revealed a devastating sharpness. The playfulness on his face vanished instantly, and his muscles tensed even more.

The two faced off, and the air on the stage seemed to have been sucked out, leaving only the black flag on the flagpole fluttering in the wind. Even the discussions from below the stage completely disappeared.

Tu Gang couldn't hold back any longer. He roared and charged forward again, this time using all his strength to knock Jiang Lan off the stage.

His burly body hurtled towards Jiang Lan with the force of a gust of wind, causing the blue brick ground to tremble slightly under his footsteps.

Just as Tu Gang rushed close, Jiang Lan moved.

He stopped dodging and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He suddenly exerted force from his waist and hips, and all his strength poured out from his shoulders, arms and fists. Without any fancy moves, it was the most powerful core move of the Bengshan Fist - Tiger Pounce!

The fist struck Tu Gang squarely on the old scar on his shoulder as he charged in.

That was an old wound that Tu Gang had sustained during his early years in the army, and it was also the weakest point in his body!

"Click—"

A clear cracking sound echoed throughout the venue.

Tu Gang's ruthless charge came to an abrupt halt, his entire body frozen in place, the fierce expression on his face instantly twisting into excruciating pain.

Jiang Lan immediately withdrew her fist, spun around, and swept a whip kick into Tu Gang's knee, the force penetrating to the bone.

"Thump!"

Tu Gang's legs went weak, and he collapsed heavily onto the blue brick arena, unable to stand up again. His old shoulder wound reopened, and blood instantly soaked through his gray blouse. He convulsed in pain, and his empty eyes finally revealed extreme pain and disbelief.

He tried his best to stand up, but the excruciating pain in his shoulders and knees made him unable to muster any strength. As soon as he managed to prop himself up, he fell heavily back to his knees.

The entire room fell silent.

Everyone stared wide-eyed at the boy on the stage, who wasn't particularly burly but stood firmly in place.

The Guangchang Martial Arts Academy candidate, who was rated C, directly countered Tu Gang's killing move and won!

The proctor paused for a moment, then snapped out of his daze, raised his token high, and announced loudly, "Athle number three, Jiang Lan wins!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the audience erupted in cheers and murmurs. Sun Gengsan clenched his fists outside the fence, his face flushed with excitement.

Huo Yuanlong's tense expression finally relaxed, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes. Song Kui blurted out, "Well done!"

Jiang Lan's fists trembled slightly at his sides, and the pain in his forearms was still clear, but he stood tall and looked calmly at Tu Gang kneeling on the ground, without the slightest hint of pride, only the determination that came after years of hard training.

Just then, a sharp shout suddenly rang out from the high platform to the north: "Stop!"

Not a proctor, but the chief examiner.

The examiner stood up abruptly, his face ashen, his gaze fixed on the east side of the arena, his tone filled with barely concealed rage.

Everyone followed his gaze and saw that the fourth arena was in complete chaos, with crowds jostling and screaming, clearly indicating a huge mess had occurred.