Teacher by day, Farmer by passion - Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Difference between Silver Ranks.

The crowd roared with excitement as a boy, no older than fourteen, stood on the stage, waiting in silence. His sharp eyes scanned the spectators, daring any challenger to step forward.

The selection process was simple—a free-for-all battle. Anyone could challenge, and the last one standing would be crowned the victor.

It was a brutal, unforgiving method, but their city had long abandoned the idea of nurturing champions. For years, they had no victors. Eventually, the allocation of resources for the competition dwindled, leaving only this crude selection process in place.

Amidst the crowd , a lone kid walked out , standing out like a sore thumb.

Shan Yifeng.

His opponent was a full minor realm above him—a clear advantage in any battle. Yet, Yifeng didn’t falter. He didn’t hesitate.

He simply stepped onto the stage as if victory was already his.

The moment Shan Yifeng stepped onto the stage, laughter erupted from the crowd.

“Hah! Look at that little brat! Did he take a wrong turn on his way to the playground?”

“A ten-year-old? Someone call his parents before he embarrasses himself!”

“Hey, kid! You lost? The foot stalls are down the street!”

Mockery filled the air as the spectators jeered at the sight of such a young challenger. They weren’t here for a joke—they came to watch real fights.

The fourteen-year-old fighter, Nga Sung, smirked at first. A kid? This was insulting.

But just as he was about to laugh along with the crowd, he stopped.

He felt it.

The boy wasn’t just some fool throwing himself into the ring blindly. He was Silver Rank.

Nga Sung’s smirk faded. Was that his confidence?

The shift was subtle, but the crowd noticed. The way Nga Sung straightened his stance, the way his muscles tensed—he was taking this seriously.

Laughter died down. Mockery turned to murmurs.

They thought they were in for a laugh but who would have expected the city’s top talent to actually take a serious stance against a ten year old..

The moment the fight began, Nga Sung wasted no time.

His foot slammed against the stage as he launched forward, his fist shrouded in a faint silver aura.

“Mountain Shatter Fist!”

The air cracked as his attack shot toward Shan Yifeng’s chest. The crowd barely had time to react before—BAM!

The punch connected.

Gasps echoed through the arena. A direct hit! The fight was already over, wasn’t it?

But then—something was wrong.

Shan Yifeng didn’t budge.

He should have staggered, should have coughed blood, should have at least shown pain.

Yet, he stood firm.

Nga Sung’s eyes widened as he pulled back his fist, expecting damage—expecting something.

Nothing.

Shan Yifeng’s body had absorbed the force.

Before Nga Sung could react, Yifeng struck back.

His small fist slammed into Nga Sung’s side. The older boy staggered, surprised by the sudden force behind the counterattack.

But he wasn’t done yet.

With gritted teeth, Nga Sung retaliated, unleashing a rapid barrage of techniques—each one faster, each one stronger.

But no matter how many times he struck, no matter how much force he poured into each blow—

Shan Yifeng absorbed it all.

And each time he took a hit, his counterattacks grew sharper, stronger, and faster.

At first, Nga Sung dominated. The match was clearly in his favor. The difference in experience was obvious.

But by the twentieth second, the tides shifted.

Yifeng’s movements changed.

No longer just defending, he began weaving through attacks, dodging what he once endured.

His strikes came with precision, each one targeting weaknesses in Nga Sung’s stance.

A fist to the ribs.

A palm to the shoulder.

A kick sweeping the legs.

Nga Sung stumbled.

The crowd tensed.

By the twenty-fifth second, Nga Sung was struggling.

By the thirtieth second, Shan Yifeng’s final strike landed.

With a resounding BANG, Nga Sung was thrown off the stage.

Dust rose where he landed. The arena fell into a stunned silence.

And then—

The crowd erupted.

Zhao Yun watched from the restaurant, her eyes filled with admiration.

He had won.

Both fighters were in the same realm, yet one held a minor advantage. And still, Shan Yifeng had dominated—effortlessly.

Maybe… just maybe, he really had what it takes to be one of the dragons.

Hadn’t he said he had only been training for two months?

A thrill of excitement coursed through her, but she quickly remembered the drunkard who had started this mess.

She turned, her expression darkening.

“Pay up. One thousand gold coins.” Her voice was laced with cold authority. “Or I’ll personally chop your head off.”

As she released her Gold Rank aura, the air around her grew heavy.

The commoners might not have known what rank she was, but even the weakest among them understood—she was someone they could never afford to offend.

The drunkard, now painfully sober, collapsed to his knees, his body trembling.

“I—I was stupid! Spare me! This is all I have!” He cried, his voice hoarse with regret.

With shaking hands, he pushed forward a pathetic pile of seventy copper coins.

Not even a single silver, let alone the thousand gold coins he had so confidently bet.

Zhao Yun had already expected this. She never planned on taking his money—she simply wanted to scare him or outright teach him a lesson.

Her eyes narrowed. “If I ever hear of you drinking again, I’ll personally wipe out you and your entire lineage. Now scram, I don’t want to see your face.”

The man paled instantly even peeing himself a little.

His knees buckled as he slammed his head to the ground, bowing over and over.

“T-Thank you! Thank you so much!” Tears streamed down his face—whether from fear or gratitude, even he didn’t know anymore.

Fool.

Zhao Yun scoffed before walking away.

Her focus returned to the real issue.

By now, a crowd had swarmed Shan Yifeng, their curiosity overpowering their restraint.

“What’s your name kid?”

“Which noble family do you belong to?”

“I’ve never seen him before—he must be from a hidden sect!”

Zhao Yun sighed.

She strode toward the stage, flashing an emblem from her robes.

The moment the crowd saw it, they froze.

Then, murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Tch. The Flying Sword Sect… again.”

“They’re always the ones snatching up all the good talents!”

“Hmph. Why bother choosing a city representative if a sect is just going to take them?”

The discontent was palpable. But no one dared speak it aloud.

One by one, the spectators turned away, their excitement for the tournament gone.

They didn’t care who represented the city anymore.

Zhao Yun crossed her arms, her lips curling into a smirk as she glanced at the boy beside her.

“Well, you’ve certainly kicked up a storm now. Do you think we’ll have a peaceful stay after this?” Her tone was serious, yet the teasing glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

Shan Yifeng, still riding the high of his victory, barely paid attention to her words—until a thought struck him. His excitement faltered as he turned to Zhao Yun with wide, hopeful eyes.

“But… but 1,000 gold coins! That’s a fortune, Sister Zhao! Did you manage to get it?”

His voice was filled with urgency, his mind already racing ahead.

“If I had that money, I could give it to Master! Maybe then he’d agree to let Liu Mei’s mother live with us on the mountain!”

“Yifeng, he was a drunkard, he had nothing.”

The drunkard had nothing.

His shoulders slumped, the light in his eyes dimming as disappointment settled in.

Zhao Yun, ever quick to act, reached out and ruffled his hair with a chuckle.

“Leave it to me. I’ll get your master to take in Liu Mei’s mother, okay?”

Shan Yifeng’s face lit up almost instantly.

“Really?!”

“Really.”

The color returned to his face, and his grin stretched wide once more.

Zhao Yun clapped her hands together. “Now, since you’ve already made a name for yourself, let’s go and enjoy some hospitality.”

Shan Yifeng blinked. “Hospitality?”

“The Hua family mansion, of course. They have delicious food, and since you’ve caused a commotion, we might as well make the most of it.”

His eyes practically sparkled. “Tasty food? Okay!”

And with that, the two made their way toward the Hua family mansion, the promise of a feast driving all other worries from Shan Yifeng’s mind.

As they made their way toward the Hua family mansion, unseen figures lurked in the shadows.

A few shadowy figures trailed them, their movements silent, their presence barely noticeable. Then, after a brief pause, one of them abruptly disappeared, vanishing into the night like a wisp of smoke—off to report back.

The others remained, their gazes locked onto the young boy.

Who was he?

How had a mere child overwhelmed a Silver Rank opponent so easily?

Curiosity, and perhaps something more, kept them stationed there, watching.

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the silent observers, Shan Yifeng practically bounced on his feet as they neared their destination.

“We’re finally here!” he exclaimed, excitement brimming in his voice.

Zhao Yun simply chuckled before pushing open the grand wooden doors.

The moment they stepped inside, they were met by two guards. Their sharp eyes assessed the visitors, lingering on Shan Yifeng for a brief moment before shifting to Zhao Yun.

Recognition flickered across their faces.

Then, without a word, their gazes dropped to the Flying Sword Sect emblem hanging from her waist.

That was all they needed.

With a respectful nod, they stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.