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

When Zhao Heng was carried off the stage, Jiang Lan was drinking water in the waiting area.

He didn't see the process, he only saw the stretcher.

The person on the stretcher was curled up, one arm hanging outside, the forearm bent at an incorrect angle—not a dislocation, but a broken bone. The cuff of his training uniform was soaked with blood, turning black. Zhao Heng's face was as white as paper, his jaw clenched, and he didn't utter a sound.

Before the match, Zhao Heng arrogantly provoked his opponent, but when it came down to it, he was outmatched and lost his arm.

Liu Changqing stood beside the stretcher, his face flushed red. He wanted to curse but didn't know who to curse. In the end, he could only squeeze out a sentence through gritted teeth: "Damn it, that's really ruthless."

Two martial arts performers nearby were whispering among themselves.

"Zhao Heng's arm is probably beyond repair."

"Even if he's brought back, he won't be able to practice martial arts. His bones are shattered like that, and his tendons are injured too."

Jiang Lan put down the bowl and glanced down at her number slip—A4.

He tucked the signature into his sleeve without saying a word.

Huo Yuanlong stood under the locust tree on the east side of the drill ground, tapped his pipe on his thigh, and turned to Song Kui, saying, "Go tell Old Wu, the call-caller, to switch Jiang Lan's A4 and C7."

Song Kui was taken aback: "Who is Bing Qi?"

"Tu Gang".

Song Kui blinked, not quite understanding.

Huo Yuanlong added, "The Zhao family hired a rogue cultivator surnamed Wei, named Wei Qi, a master of the Seven Acupoints, specifically to target Jiang Lan. Let them run into each other like dogs, saving us the trouble of taking action."

Song Kui understood this time. He nodded, turned around, and left.

"Give Old Wu two taels of silver," Huo Yuanlong added, "Don't let anyone know."

Wei Qi arrived shortly after the third round of the draw.

The man walked silently. He was tall and thin, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. He wore a gray cotton jacket with a front opening, but no belt around his waist, and didn't look like a martial artist. But Jiang Lan noticed his fingers—the knuckles were thick, and there were calluses on the base of his thumb, indicating that he had practiced palm techniques for many years.

Wei Qi stood next to Jiang Lan, without exchanging pleasantries, bowing, or even turning his head. His gaze was fixed on the competition taking place on the stage, and he asked, "What's your number?"

Jiang Lan glanced at him: "Fourth Grade."

Wei Qi's lips twitched slightly, as if he had made up his mind about something. He didn't ask a second question and turned to leave. From beginning to end, he never even glanced at Jiang Lan.

Jiang Lan frowned as she watched his retreating figure.

It was Jiang Lan's turn to take the stage for the last session of the morning.

His opponent was an apprentice from the Hundred Refinements Hall. Although he also had five acupoints, his boxing skills were crude. Jiang Lan used less than twenty moves to push him out of the white line with a single palm strike to the back of his shoulder. The proctor called a halt, and the apprentice clasped his hands in surrender.

Jiang Lan stepped off the stage and stood by the sidelines drinking water. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Wei Qi standing in the waiting area, and her gaze followed him.

Like a hunter confirming that his prey is still in his hunting grounds.

Jiang Lan put down the bowl and wiped his mouth. He vaguely felt that Wei Qi's target was him, but he couldn't figure it out—he had only passed the first round of the C-level entrance exam, and in the second round, he had fought two matches, neither of which he won impressively. There was no reason for a rogue cultivator with six acupoints to specifically target him.

Unless... someone sent him.

The horn call began.

The minor official stood by the arena, holding the list in his hand, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"First Class – Zhao Sheng from the North of the City! vs. Liu Tong from the West of the City, a member of the Liu Family Fist!"

"Second-tier – Qian Dayong from Bailian Hall! vs. Zhou Liang from Cangsong Martial Arts School!"

"A3—"

The clerk paused halfway through reading, looked down at the list, and then looked up at the audience.

"A-4 – Rogue cultivator, Wei Qi! Matchup –"

He deliberately dragged out the sound.

"—Category 7, Tujiawan, Tu Gang!"

Someone in the crowd gasped.

Wei Qi stood in the waiting area, his expression first stiffening, then he suddenly turned his head and stared at Jiang Lan.

Jiang Lan was also taken aback. He looked down and pulled out his lottery number from his sleeve—C7. When did it change? He clearly remembered drawing A4.

He looked up and met Wei Qi's eyes.

His eyes were filled with anger. Wei Qi gritted his teeth, his cheek muscles bulging twice, and then he turned around and walked towards the arena.

Tu Gang was already standing on the arena. He saw Wei Qi come up and tilted his head.

The two looked at each other for a moment and recognized each other.

Tu Gang spoke first: "Weren't you going to deal with that kid from Guangchang?"

Wei Qi didn't answer, but simply pulled his hands out of his sleeves, spread his fingers, and struck a pose.

Tu Gang smiled.

That smile sent chills down the spines of those watching from below the stage.

There was no gong sound, no shout to start. Wei Qi moved first.

His palm techniques were just like his appearance—insidious, ruthless, and leaving no room for retreat. The first palm struck straight for Tu Gang's throat, the second slashed at his wrist, and the third struck his chest. The three palms were unleashed in quick succession, as fast as a snake's tongue.

Tu Gang didn't dodge. He blocked the first palm strike with his left arm, but took the third palm strike head-on to the chest with a muffled thud and took a step back.

Wei Qi, seizing the advantage, pressed forward and struck Tu Gang in the temple with another palm strike.

Tu Gang turned his head, the wind from his palm grazing his earlobe, leaving a trail of blood. He didn't retreat, but instead stepped forward, his right fist twisting out from his waist, aiming straight for Wei Qi's shoulder.

boom.

The clash of fists and palms was as crisp as bones hitting bones.

Wei Qi's shoulders slumped, and he took two steps back, his face pale. Tu Gang was also not in good shape; the slap in his chest throbbed, and his breathing became heavier.

Neither of them stopped.

Wei Qi changed his footwork, circled around to Tu Gang's right side, and slashed at his ribs with a palm strike. Tu Gang twisted his waist, blocked with his elbow, and at the same time swept his left fist horizontally, hitting Wei Qi in the back.

Wei Qi grunted and staggered forward. He then slapped Tu Gang in the lower back with his backhand.

Tu Gang gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, but he didn't back down. He grabbed Wei Qi's wrist before he could pull it back.

Five fingers gripped it like iron clamps.

Wei Qi tried to pull his hand away, but couldn't.

Tu Gang began to twist. Wei Qi's face turned from white to green, his forehead covered in sweat, but he didn't cry out. He raised his other hand and slapped Tu Gang's elbow joint on the arm that was gripping him.

Click.

It wasn't the sound of bones breaking; it was a dislocation.

Tu Gang's arm went limp, releasing Wei Qi. But instead of crying out in pain, he smiled.

"Your hand is ruined too, isn't it?" he said.

Wei Qi looked down at the hand that had just been grabbed—his wrist was swollen and had turned purple. His left arm was already injured from Tu Gang's elbow and he couldn't lift it; now his right hand was also injured.

Both of them were injured.

Tu Gang braced his dislocated left arm against the ground, twisted his body, and with a snap, the joint returned to its original position. He shook his arm and moved his fingers.

Wei Qi's eyelids twitched as he watched his movements.

Tu Gang charged forward again.

There were no tricks, no footwork; it just charged straight at you, like a wounded wild boar, the more it hurt, the crazier it became.

Wei Qi dodged to the side and struck Tu Gang on the back with a palm. Tu Gang staggered a step but didn't fall. He turned around and delivered an elbow strike.

The elbow struck Wei Qi in the chest.

Wei Qi felt a sudden darkness engulf him, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. He stumbled backward, his feet landing on the blue bricks at the edge of the arena, almost crossing the white line.

He steadied himself, bent over, and gasped for breath.

Tu Gang wasn't in much better shape. He stood there, his back burning with pain, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth and dripping onto his collar.

The proctor stood up.

"Enough!" The proctor's voice boomed down from the platform. "Both sides are injured; the game is declared a draw! Stop!"

Tu Gang stopped.

He glanced down at Wei Qi, said nothing, and turned to walk off the stage. His left foot dragged a little as he walked, indicating a serious injury to his back.

When Wei Qi was helped down, he was trembling all over. Not from fear, but from pain. His right wrist was swollen like a bun, and the elbow that hit his chest had fractured at least two ribs.

Jiang Lan stood at the sidelines. While the two fighters on the stage were locked in a bloody battle, he turned his head and glanced at another match on stage number three. There was another fight there, but it was fought very conventionally, nothing particularly interesting.

He looked for two seconds, then turned back. The fight on the stage was over.

Liu Changqing stood in the crowd, his face initially clouded with worry—Zhao Heng's crippling was a devastating blow to Guangchang Martial Arts School. But when he saw Tu Gang and Wei Qi fighting each other to the death, his expression changed.

He was stunned at first, then the corners of his mouth slowly turned up.

He whispered to the disciple beside him, "People from the Zhao family beat people from the Zhao family; they deserve it."

The disciple next to him was taken aback at first, then lowered his voice and laughed.

"Was that Wei Qi hired by the Zhao family?" the disciple asked.

"The Zhao family specifically hired a rogue cultivator to deal with us," Liu Changqing said in a low voice. "But the contract was tampered with, and Wei Qi ran into Tu Gang—Tu Gang is also a dog of the Zhao family. In the end, it was just dogs fighting dogs."

The two exchanged a glance and said nothing more, but they couldn't suppress the smiles on their lips.

After the competition, Jiang Lan found Huo Yuanlong under the locust tree.

He slapped the number 7 on the board in front of Huo Yuanlong.

"Did you do this?"

Huo Yuanlong was putting tobacco into the pipe bowl when he glanced at him but didn't deny it.

"The Zhao family paid Wei Qi to cripple you." He pressed the tobacco down firmly. "I won't touch your contract. Today, it's you lying on the stretcher, not Zhao Heng."

Jiang Lan was silent for a few seconds: "How did you know Wei Qi would face off against Tu Gang?"

"I've switched you two, Jia Si and Bing Qi." Huo Yuanlong struck a tinderbox, lit a cigarette, and said, "Bing Qi is Tu Gang. Wei Qi was hired by the Zhao family, and Tu Gang is also a member of the Zhao family. Let them fight each other, so we don't have to lift a finger."

He took a drag of his cigarette, and the smoke billowed from his nostrils, only to be dispersed by the wind.

"You—" Jiang Lan paused, "Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"

"If I tell you, your reaction will become unnatural," Huo Yuanlong said. "You can't fool someone like Wei Qi. The less you know, the more he'll believe you're really Jia Si."

Jiang Lan took the number back and didn't ask any more questions.

Huo Yuanlong took a couple of puffs of his cigarette and added, "Tu Gang and Wei Qi are both injured. Even if Tu Gang's dislocated arm is set, he won't be able to use it for three to five days. Wei Qi is in even worse shape; he has a fractured rib and will need at least a month to recover. The Zhao family won't be able to deal with you for the next few days."

He put away his pipe and patted Jiang Lan on the shoulder.

"Prepare well for the next round."