Elderly Martial Saint: Sixty Times the Cultivation Speed ​​at the Start

The passion on the wooden platform faded into the distance, and the rhythm of the training ground began to shift to another dimension.

As the rankings progressed, the martial artists' Qi and Blood levels also rose accordingly. From the peak of the second level of Qi and Blood to the early stage of the third level, and then from the early stage of the third level to the mid-to-late stage of the third level, with each rank advancement, the ruthlessness of the opponents increased by a step.

After collecting the thirty-six waist tokens, Yi Zhanzhi didn't rush to challenge anyone else. Liao Xuchong made a gesture to "step back and rest," the meaning of which was clear—to conserve energy and leave room for maneuver.

The people at Lei Yun Martial Arts School knew perfectly well that the young prodigy had already made it into the top forty, and the next level up would be the territory of the fourth level of Qi and Blood, an opponent of that level who could not be lost.

The focus of attention on the training ground shifted to others.

A candidate for the position of Chief Inspector of the Sky Patrol Division stepped onto the stage. He had a long face, was about thirty years old, and possessed the Qi and Blood Qi at its peak. Judging from his demeanor, he was a direct descendant of a regular army. He attacked with all his might from the very first move, his swordsmanship ruthless and his attacks so dense that his opponent could hardly defend himself. After more than ten rounds, the martial arts disciple opposite him was forced to retreat repeatedly, and finally fell off the edge of the stage.

The applause rang out sporadically, all from those who had grasped the essence of the matter.

Another challenger came up. It was a deputy headmaster of a small martial arts school, in his early fifties, with a full head of black hair, at the late stage of the third level of Qi and Blood cultivation, his eyes carrying the vicissitudes of years of fighting. This guy used his ultimate technique right from the start, his sword movements were unpredictable, and his rhythm of switching between offense and defense was extremely precise. He won quickly and decisively, and many people in the audience gave him the evaluation of "real talent".

The rankings are being updated step by step.

If we push the time back a couple of hours, it would be about an hour.

The martial artists and guards below the stage, who were around the second level of Qi and Blood cultivation, began to get restless. If they waited any longer, the rankings would be pushed higher and higher, and the opponents they could challenge would all be tough foes of the same level. It was better to take advantage of the loopholes while they still had them and go up to grab one.

One of the patrol captains from the Sky Patrol Division couldn't contain himself and stood up to go on stage. His opponent was a martial arts disciple who had reached the second level of Qi and Blood Perfection. The two fought for more than thirty moves, and in the end, the patrol captain won, moving up his ranking considerably.

Just then.

A burly man stood up, covered in unusual tattoos, with winding lines visible on his neck, arms, and back.

This man had a chest as broad as a door, with clearly defined muscles. Every step he took was heavy, and he exuded a triple aura of qi and blood, which could be seen from the oppressive feeling he gave to the other guards.

He was wearing the uniform of a patrol officer from the Celestial Patrol Bureau, marked by the standard Celestial Patrol Bureau sword at his waist and the neat uniform on his chest. However, the uniform had clearly not been worn for long; the hem hadn't been completely worn in yet, and the fabric looked somewhat stiff.

This looks like a new recruit.

This person is named Wu Zhongqin. He was one of the new recruits in the recent months due to the chaos caused by the Nine Evil Sect. He has good cultivation and is also shameless.

Wu Zhongqin stepped onto the wooden platform, looked around, and scanned the faces of all the contestants before finally settling on the most inconspicuous old man standing in the corner of the training ground.

Yiyang.

Ranked 147th, his reported cultivation level is Qi and Blood Level 3.

Age… Wu Zhongqin looked at the old man’s hair, which was a mixture of black and white, and his face, which was full of wrinkles, and a knowing smile appeared on his lips.

"Old man, what's your name?" Wu Zhongqin's voice was loud, and the words squeezed out of his throat carried a hint of rudeness.

Yi Yang didn't react much. His hands were still tucked into his sleeves, and he didn't even lift his eyelids.

"I'm talking about you," Wu Zhongqin pointed, his voice rising. "How about we have a match?"

Some people in the audience laughed.

Low snickers rose from various directions. A young, vigorous guard, leaning against the man next to him, nudged him with his elbow: "This guy is obviously shameless, actually attacking an old man of this age."

Another chimed in, "This is going to be interesting. That old man in his sixties could be sent to his grave with one punch from that tough guy up there."

His words were mostly sarcastic, mixed with a hint of disdain. If Yi Yang didn't go on stage, it would be too humiliating; if Yi Yang did go on stage, his fate would probably not be much better.

Hearing the surrounding discussion, Yi Yang finally looked up. His gaze met Wu Zhongqin's bloodshot but defiant eyes. The old man's lips twitched, but he didn't speak. He simply straightened up slowly and walked step by step towards the edge of the stage.

His steps were slow, even a bit sluggish, but his back was straight and unyielding, giving him a youthful air. The sound of each step Yi Yang took on the bluestone slabs was very clear.

Seeing his opponent step onto the stage, Wu Zhongqin grinned, a smile full of contempt for the old man.

In his eyes, a person in their sixties was at most at the early stage of the third level of Qi and Blood cultivation, and their hard strength might not even be as good as his own. The key thing is that age doesn't care about martial ethics—every year wears down one's reaction speed, strength, and endurance.

This is an easy target; for him, it's like getting the ranking for free and saving him energy.

Wu Zhongqin stretched his neck, making a cracking sound, and clenched his fist, his knuckles making a dry, grinding sound.

"Come on, old man, don't be nervous, I know what I'm doing."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the tattooed man moved. Although he knew what he was doing, he still went all out in his attack.

He lowered his body and charged towards Yi Yang, his steps heavy, each step causing the platform to tremble slightly. This was the power expected of someone at the third level of the Qi and Blood Refinement Realm, where explosive muscle power combined with complete skeletal support resulted in an unstoppable momentum.

Wu Zhongqin throws a punch.

The fist, as big as a hammer, came straight at Yi Yang's face. The wind pressure in front of the fist created a gust of air, and a muffled whistling sound could be heard.

The wealthy merchants watching the commotion on the sidewalk had forgotten to eat their melon seeds; if that punch had landed on their faces, they would have been seriously injured.

But Yi Yang did not confront the issue head-on.

The old man swayed, not by retreating, but by turning to the side, his body almost brushing against Wu Zhongqin's fist. His sleeves clung to his back under the wind pressure, and the fluttering fabric even touched Wu Zhongqin's wrist.

The distance was surprisingly close.

Before Wu Zhongqin could react to what was happening to his body, Yi Yang had already passed by and stood diagonally behind him.

"Come."

Yi Yang's voice was hoarse and deliberate.

Just this one word.

Wu Zhongqin was furious. Like a predator that had missed its prey, he instinctively turned and attacked again. This time, it wasn't a simple straight punch, but a sweeping motion. The fist swept from left to right, attempting to compensate for the missed attack with force.

Yi Yang took a half step back, the force of the punch grazing his chest, causing his clothes to stick to his back.

Another punch. And another missed.

Wu Zhongqin's punches became faster and faster, and his breathing became heavy. His tactics were simple and brutal—to suppress with absolute power and to give his opponent no chance to counterattack with frequent attacks. This method was quite effective at the Qi and Blood Level 3; most opponents of the same level would find it difficult to maintain their rationality and the strength to counterattack under such continuous high-intensity suppression.

But Yiyang is different.

He used a movement technique.

With his agile movements that allowed him to cross rivers on a slingshot, combined with the unparalleled perception of someone at the sixth level of the Qi and Blood Refining Realm, Yi Yang could instantly detect Wu Zhongqin's muscle contractions, breathing rhythm, and weight shifts before each punch was thrown.

You don't need to look, just feel it, and your body will automatically make the best dodging choice: dodge to the left, sway to the right, turn to the side, or stay close to the ground.

Yi Yang always moved away at the last moment, causing Wu Zhongqin's attacks to miss.

Everyone was stunned.

Even Chen Wuyai on the high platform narrowed his eyes, revealing a hint of interest.

The martial artist at the Inner Qi Realm narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on the old man who kept dodging.

Wu Zhongqin fought more and more fiercely, his clothes soaked with sweat, every fiber of his muscles burning, and his blood and qi circulating rapidly. He hadn't expected the old man's movements to be so strange, and he certainly hadn't expected this "simple crushing" to turn out like this.

But he hasn't realized the crux of the problem yet.

The problem isn't with movement techniques, it's with energy expenditure.

Wu Zhongqin's every punch was delivered with full force, each attack mobilizing the maximum potential of his muscle groups. This method of output appeared unstoppable, but in reality, it was constantly depleting his own energy reserves.

Thirty moves.

Fifty moves.

Eighty moves.

Yi Yang stood there dodging, weaving through Wu Zhongqin's fist shadows like a ghost.

He didn't make a move, and there was no need for him to.

Wu Zhongqin finally felt that deep sense of powerlessness. His arms felt heavy when he raised them, his breath burned in his chest, his vision began to blur, the speed of his blood circulation was declining, and the blood reserves that could support his high-intensity output were rapidly depleting.

Wu Zhongqin's punching speed began to slow down, and the force also decreased.

While Yi Yang was waiting, the old man took a step forward, no longer dodging, but taking a step forward.

Before Wu Zhongqin could fully retract his fist, Yi Yang had already stepped in close.

With a physical constitution at the sixth level of Qi and Blood, coupled with the power output of a perfected Marrow Cleansing and Blood Transformation Realm cultivator, Yi Yang's right fist generated power from his waist. The moment it left his body, all the muscles in his arm were fully mobilized. It wasn't a palm strike, nor a finger strike; it was just the most ordinary fist.

One punch, not fast.

It even looks quite gentle, like a master instructor demonstrating a move to a beginner.

Wu Zhongqin wanted to dodge, and his brain gave the instruction to dodge.

But his body did not react; the depletion of his vital energy and blood delayed his reaction, and this delay was fatal.

The fist struck Wu Zhongqin's chest, but there was no loud bang as expected.

Instead, it was a dull, oppressive thud that traveled from the inside out. With just this ordinary punch, Wu Zhongqin was already flying backward when he realized what was happening.

He was completely pushed. His back slammed into the wooden frame of the table, which bent and creaked, and he and the frame tumbled off the table.

It hit the bluestone slabs of the training ground with a loud thud.

Wu Zhongqin lay sprawled on the ground, a piercing pain shooting through his ribs. He coughed up a mouthful of blood mixed with bile.

He no longer had the strength to stand.

The entire training ground fell silent at that moment.

Hundreds of people were watching the old man with his back straight.

Yi Yang stood on the stage, breathing normally, his clothes and hair were neat, and he even slowly lowered the hand that had thrown the punch, looking very calm, as if what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary.

On the high platform, Chen Wuyai stood up.

The martial artist at the Inner Qi Realm glanced at him and twirled the iron staff in his hand.

"Does anyone here know this old man's name?"

Chen Wuyai was asking about the patrol chiefs of the various towns nearby.

No one dared to speak up immediately.

Zhao Gang stood in the patrol line, his lips twitching, and whispered to the person next to him:

"This old man really kept it well hidden."

Yi Xun stood at the back of the corridor, dressed in a well-fitting brocade robe, but his expression became extremely complicated at this moment.

His gaze was unfocused.

At the late stage of the first level of Qi and Blood at the age of fifty-eight, this is Yi Xun's current strength. It is the result of more than forty years and half a lifetime of resources. Meanwhile, his older brother, who was deemed "unworthy of martial arts" by his family, actually stepped on the third level of Qi and Blood and knocked him off the stage in one move.

Yi Xun's fingers rubbed against the pear wood of the armchair, his nails leaving a faint scratching sound on the gilded carvings.

As he watched the old man's back on the stage, an old saying he no longer needed came to mind—"The older he gets, the more cunning he becomes."

Yi Xun's eyes darkened.

Sixty years.

Sixty years have passed since his brother's death, and what happened in between is something that Izumi can't quite understand.

Or rather, I've never been able to figure it out.

He never truly understood this person.

Never.

On the wooden platform, Yi Yang turned around and stepped down.

His steps remained slow and leisurely, perfectly maintaining the demeanor of an old woodcutter.

But the waist tag has been changed.

The ranking has moved up more than fifty places, and it is now in the eighties.

The quarterly exams are far from over; the real show is just beginning.