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

As the announcement of the winner's name was made, Jiang Lan was stretching her wrists in the waiting area.

"Sixth in the Class A – Jiang Lan from Guangchang Martial Arts School! vs. Zhao Wantang from the Zhao Family!"

He stepped onto the ring, his gaze sweeping over the audience. This wasn't his first time in the ring, but he always made a habit of looking around before going on stage—who was staring at him, whose eyes seemed off.

In the third row of the side corridor, a middle-aged man in a dark green robe was holding a teacup, twirling two walnuts between his fingers. The walnuts spun slowly between his fingers, and with each rotation, his gaze would linger on Jiang Lan.

Zhao Chongyuan, the second master of the Zhao family. One of the key figures in the Zhao family's operations outside the city. It is said that he keeps seven or eight thugs under his command, and Tu Gang was recruited by him from Tujiawan.

Jiang Lan withdrew her gaze.

A young woman walked up from the opposite side, wearing an indigo-blue training uniform. The material was of a higher quality than the coarse cloth short jackets worn by ordinary martial arts performers, with dark patterns embroidered on the cuffs and a brass belt tied around her waist.

He was tall and slender, with a straight back and a touch of heroic spirit in his eyes. He had a pointed chin and thin lips.

Zhao Wantang, the daughter of a collateral branch of the Zhao family, has reached the peak of the Five Acupoints cultivation level. She practices Baguazhang and is said to have started practicing stance training at the age of seventeen, and has been practicing for three years now.

Jiang Lan noticed that she walked with her toes touching the ground first and her center of gravity very low, which was the standard gait of Baguazhang. To reach this level in three years was not genius, but it showed that she had worked hard.

"Zhao family, Zhao Wantang. Please enlighten me." She clasped her hands in a fist salute, her movements clean and efficient, without any hesitation.

Jiang Lan returned the greeting: "Crushing Mountain Fist, Jiang Lan."

"please."

Jiang Lan moved first. His right arm shot out in a whip-like motion, the wind from the punch exploding, his sleeves fluttering, aimed directly at Zhao Wantang's face. He used seven-tenths of his strength in this punch, not his full power, but the force was solid, and a short whistling sound filled the air.

Zhao Wantang stepped out with the Nine Palaces Step, her body shifted to the side, and she slid away, brushing against the wind of the punch.

Her footwork was indeed nimble; her feet landed as lightly as a cat's, and her weight shifted extremely quickly.

With his left hand outstretched, like a dragon reaching out with its claws, he reached for Jiang Lan's right wrist, his five fingers carrying a coiling force.

Jiang Lan's right arm jerked, as if it had been burned, and he pulled it back. At the same time, his left fist twisted out from his waist and slammed into her shoulder.

Zhao Wantang stopped, but without stopping, she moved to Jiang Lan's side and struck him in the ribs with a palm.

The two exchanged more than a dozen moves. The audience gradually realized that Jiang Lan had the upper hand.

His Mountain-Crushing Fist is fierce and powerful. Every swing of his arm carries a heavy force, his arm is like a whip, but the end is like an iron rod.

Zhao Wantang dared not take the blows head-on. Every time a punch came, she had to dodge to the side. Although her footwork was agile, it was already somewhat disordered.

Her Baguazhang technique uses softness to overcome hardness, specifically targeting the opponent's weaknesses. However, Jiang Lan's boxing style is wide and expansive, leaving few openings. After throwing a punch, she retracts her arm extremely quickly, giving her no chance to get close.

Zhao Wantang bit her lip, sweat already beading on her forehead.

She originally thought she could figure out Jiang Lan's strength within ten moves, but now that twenty moves have passed, she can't even keep up with his pace.

His cultivation level should be similar to hers, around five acupoints, but his skill in boxing is clearly deeper than hers—the timing, angle, and force of each punch are just right, neither too much nor too little.

She started to get anxious. Zhao Chongyuan watched from below the stage; how could someone from her Zhao family lose to an unknown kid!

Jiang Lan knew in his heart that he could win.

With his mastery of the Mountain-Crushing Fist, Zhao Wantang's internal organs were tempered by its power, a level below his. If he were to unleash a single Tiger-like strike head-on, both arms striking simultaneously, the sheer force would seal her in the center of the arena, leaving her utterly defenseless.

But he didn't do that, because he noticed the eyes in the audience.

Zhao Chongyuan stopped fiddling with the walnuts and stared at him. His gaze wasn't that of someone looking at a martial artist, but rather like someone looking at a pig—judging how much meat this pig could yield and whether it was worth killing.

Jiang Lan's heart sank; he wasn't ready to confront the Zhao family head-on. He had mastered the Mountain-Crushing Fist, but his cultivation level was only at the fifth acupoint.

He had no confidence against experts with six or more acupoints. Moreover, the Zhao family had more than just Tu Gang; they were wealthy and powerful and could hire many more people.

You have to lose, but you have to lose in a way that makes it seem real.

Jiang Lan mentally rallied herself, then slowed down her pace, ceasing her aggressive attacks and instead focusing on maneuvering against Zhao Wantang. She reduced the force of her punches from seven-tenths to five-tenths, and her footwork became less compact, occasionally deliberately taking an extra half-step to give Zhao Wantang space to attack.

Zhao Wantang thought he was exhausted, and her spirits lifted. She took a deep breath, quickened her pace, and her palms flew, performing moves like "Pushing Open the Window to Gaze at the Moon" and "Playing with the Dragon and Phoenix," one after another, the palm winds becoming dense.

From the Zhao family's side in the audience, some people started cheering: "Well done, Miss!"

Jiang Lan fought and retreated, leading her towards the east side of the ring.

On the east side, near the white line, there is a crack in a blue brick. It leaks water when it rains, and although the surface looks smooth after it dries, it is slippery when stepped on.

They dismantled ten more moves.

Zhao Wantang pushed forward with a palm strike, the force not heavy, but the movement was rapid. Jiang Lan raised her arm to block, and took a half step back to the east—stepping onto the brick.

He lost his balance and slipped.

This slide was no exaggeration; the ball of the foot slid half an inch off the brick surface, the body leaned forward, the center of gravity shifted from the back foot to the front foot, and the whole person seemed to be swayed by their own inertia.

He deliberately slowed his right arm's blocking motion by half a beat, and the residual force of Zhao Wantang's palm hit his shoulder. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to make him lose his balance.

--Perfect!

Jiang Lan mentally gave herself a score. Nine out of ten. One point was deducted because her expression wasn't quite right; she should have shown more panic on her face.

He staggered back two steps, his heel hitting the white line. To add realism, he let out a soft "Ah!"—not too loud, not too soft, just loud enough for the people in the front row to hear. The sound carried three parts surprise, three parts annoyance, three parts pain, and one part he couldn't quite place—but it made up a total of ten.

"Stop!" the proctor shouted. "Zhao Wantang wins! Jiang Lan is out of bounds!"

A low murmur rippled through the audience. The cheers from the Zhao family's side grew even louder, with someone shouting, "Miss Tang'er, what skill you have!" The voices were so loud it seemed to be a declaration of the Zhao family's power.

Zhao Chongyuan's hand, which had been fiddling with walnuts, began to move again, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He turned his head and said something to a man in a gray shirt next to him, who nodded and smiled apologetically, then leaned closer and whispered back.

Jiang Lan didn't hear clearly, but from the look in that person's eyes, he read a sentence: "Guangchang's disciples are nothing special."

Jiang Lan thought to herself: Yes, yes, that's all there is to it. Don't overestimate me.

He dusted off his clothes and clasped his hands in a fist salute to Zhao Wantang, saying, "You flatter me."

Then he turned and walked off the stage, expressionless.

Zhao Wantang stood on the stage without smiling.

She looked down at her palms, then looked up at Jiang Lan's back. Her breathing was still catching in her throat, her chest heaving, and her cheeks were flushed from the exertion. But something was wrong with her eyes—not the joy of victory, but confusion.

She knew perfectly well that she hadn't used any force in that palm strike; she'd only used about a third of her strength. Jiang Lan hadn't been knocked away by her; he'd slipped out on his own.

But based on the lower body skills that Jiang Lan had demonstrated in the previous twenty-odd moves, he was perfectly capable of standing firm. That kind of stance training is not something that can be achieved overnight, and it's impossible for him to trip over a slippery brick.

Could it be that they're letting her off the hook because of the Zhao family's influence?

This thought made Zhao Wantang's cheeks burn, even hotter than during the fight. She would rather be defeated honorably than be won by someone letting her win.

She remembered something her third uncle had said at the Zhao family martial arts school: "Min'er, you must remember, the hardest opponents in this world are not those stronger than you, but those who don't want to beat you. Because if they let you win, you'll owe them a favor."

That's how she feels right now, but not because she owes anyone a favor, but because she feels frustrated.

Moreover, she was let off by a young man from Guangchang Martial Arts School, dressed in old clothes and looking like he came from some poor backwater. When did Zhao Wantang fall so low that she needed others to let her off?

She bit her lip as she stepped off the stage. Zhao Chongyuan greeted her, smiling as he patted her on the shoulder: "Min'er has improved a lot; you won beautifully this match."

"Second Uncle, I—"

"We'll talk about it when we get back." Zhao Chongyuan's smile remained unchanged, but there was something different in his tone, as if he was reminding her not to say anything unnecessary here.

Zhao Wantang swallowed back the words she was about to say and gave a forced reply. In her heart, she cursed, "Progress my ass! They let me have it!" But she couldn't say that; saying it would be a disgrace to the Zhao family.

Jiang Lan returned to the locust tree, picked up the bowl of water, and took a sip. The water was cold, cooling him from his throat all the way to his stomach. He drank two large gulps and put the bowl down.

Sun Gengsan ran over, his face full of disbelief: "What happened to you just now? You could have won!"

"My foot slipped," Jiang Lan said.

"Slipped?" Sun Gengsan was skeptical. "You stepped on eggs at the martial arts gym before and they didn't break, but today you slipped on a brick?"

"That brick is different."

"What's different?"

"It's slippery."

Sun Geng opened his mouth, only to find himself unable to refute. After a long pause, he said, "That 'ah' you made sounded so fake! It sounded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on."

Jiang Lan glanced at him expressionlessly.

Sun Gengsan shrank back, not daring to say anything more.