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Chapter 46: Ziyun Medicine
A sharp, screeching sound of air friction split the air within the arena.
Zhang Yu’s palm rose high, cradling a flying sword spinning at blinding speed—its motion eerily reminiscent of a helicopter rotor.
“You’re it!”
With a sudden surge of Martial Energy, the blade shot upward like a massive disc, slicing through the air in a sweeping arc that cut across the floating signal markers suspended mid-air.
……
Hardened Disciple (View Details)
As Han Xingye focused his Heavenly Eye Charm on Zhang Yu’s head, a string of words appeared before him:
Hardened Disciple | Athletic Talent | Extremely Poor, Songyang City | Loan Slave | Card Slave | ???
Han Xingye’s eyes widened—this was the second time today he’d been stunned.
“Again from Songyang High?”
“Where are they even recruiting these people this year?”
The first two tags—Hardened Disciple and Athletic Talent—were straightforward: disciplined cultivation habits, strong physical prowess. The next three—Loan Slave, Card Slave, and the mysterious ???—spoke only one thing: poverty.
But it was those three question marks that truly unsettled him.
“Question marks?”
“An concealment seal? A disguise charm?”
Of course, if there was a way to reveal hidden traits, there would also be countermeasures—like concealment or disguise seals.
Yet two questions nagged him:
First, how could a destitute boy afford talismans?
Second, why would anyone use such a seal and leave it visibly active like this? It was like shouting, “I’m hiding something!”
“These three question marks… they’re downright arrogant.”
Arrogance and poverty—two words that should never be paired. Yet here they were, both radiating from Zhang Yu’s presence.
Han Xingye’s curiosity deepened.
Then he saw the sword—spinning like a disc, slicing upward through the sky, its vortex of wind carving a perfect arc across the signal markers.
Han Xingye’s gaze sharpened. He watched the blade’s rotation, the way it carved through the air like a crescent moon. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
Then he chuckled.
“Hah… yes, this approach is more effective. With a disc-like trajectory, you can sweep across all signal markers in just a few swings. It compensates beautifully for lack of flying sword experience.”
80 points.
Han Xingye nodded slightly in approval—then froze as a wave of complaints erupted from the crowd. Students shouted accusations: cheating, rule-breaking, unfair advantage.
Han Xingye glanced over with a dismissive smirk.
“Irrelevant. Rare. Irrelevant. Irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant. Irrelevant. Irrelevant. Rare.”
“Irrelevant. Irrelevant. Rare. Irrelevant.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fools.”
“To spin a flying sword like that while maintaining perfect control—no chance of it flying off wildly—requires exceptional precision in Martial Energy manipulation.”
“The original design of this flying sword was meant for straight-line flight. To bend it into a disc, you’d have to adjust the energy flow every single moment.”
“This kid used raw control of his Martial Energy to compensate for lack of experience.”
“An 80? That’s too low. If anything, it’s an underestimation.”
“Probably the judges held back because of sponsorship pressure.”
Han Xingye scanned the spectator stands. Sure enough, none of the three top-tier schools—Ziyun High, Hongta High, or Bailong High—had any students objecting. They all clearly understood the difficulty.
Then, one by one, others tried Zhang Yu’s technique.
All failed.
The swords flew wildly, some even crashing into walls or narrowly missing spectators. Only the vigilant referees prevented disaster.
Gradually, the doubters began to realize: That move wasn’t easy at all.
On his way back to Songyang High’s rest zone, Zhang Yu sighed inwardly.
“This sword still isn’t built for this kind of maneuver. My Martial Energy could push faster—but the sword’s sheath has hit its command reception limit. If it weren’t for that, my score could’ve been higher.”
The spinning technique hadn’t yet reached the peak of his control—developed through his 10th-Level Zhou Tian Cai Qi Fa cultivation—but it had already hit the physical design limit of the sword itself. After all, it was never meant to spin like this.
As soon as he returned, Teacher Yan approached with a proud smile.
“Zhang Yu, excellent work! You used your Martial Energy mastery to compensate for lack of sword handling experience. That 80 was way too low.”
“And don’t pay attention to the whining from those average high schools. They’re just jealous.”
She thought of Zhang Yu’s record—if he could find events better suited to his strengths in the next two rounds, he might just sneak into the top ten.
Only the top ten in the Mana Competition received real prizes, real rankings, and real advantages in university admissions. For schools, that meant prestige, funding, and power.
Just imagining Zhang Yu making the top ten made Teacher Yan’s heart race. Her year-end bonus would skyrocket.
She pointed to a student with the worst score.
“Bai Zhenzhen, go get Zhang Yu a bottle of water.”
“Zhang Yu, stay calm for the next two rounds. Just perform at your normal level.”
Bai Zhenzhen’s eyes shot wide open. She shot a glare at the smirking Zhang Yu—then sighed and got up, trudging toward the event organizers.
“Wait, Zhenzhen—let me take a photo!”
“Are you trying to die, Zhang Yu?”
She hurled the water bottle straight at his head.
Bai Zhenzhen plopped back down, fuming. “Damn it… I should’ve left before the competition started.”
“What kind of garbage Mana Competition is this? Just another rich people’s game.”
“Zhang Yu… you’d better make the top ten. Otherwise, I… I’ll never forgive you.”
Farther away, He Dayou stared at Zhang Yu’s score, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“His Martial Energy control is that good?”
“Good… good he’s still a poor guy.”
Soon, the first round concluded. The host reappeared with a grin.
“Good medicine—choose Ziyun! Ziyun Medicine, wholehearted, all-age, all-trust. One swallow, and all ailments vanish! A heartfelt thanks to Ziyun Corporation for their joint sponsorship of this Mana Competition.”
“Next, all emergency medicines for the second round are generously provided by Ziyun Corporation.”
He began announcing the rules for the second event.
This round tested the ability to neutralize special Martial Energy.
Each contestant would have a Detection Patch affixed to their body. Then, judges would inject a unique, volatile form of Martial Energy. The goal? To eliminate it as quickly as possible. The faster, the higher the score.
If over ten minutes passed—or if the contestant felt they couldn’t endure—their only option was to take Ziyun’s Dispelling Medicine, which would instantly purge the foreign energy.
Beyond the arena, Ziyun Corporation had set up temporary medical stalls, selling all kinds of necessary remedies.
Why?
Because there was one rule: this round allowed medication.
Zhang Yu’s jaw dropped.
“What the hell? Are you people even human? You’re encouraging drug use during the competition just to profit from Ziyun’s sponsorship?”
Around him, students from Songyang High were already pulling out their own supplies.
Painkillers. Sedatives. Focus enhancers.
Zhang Yu blinked. They’d all come prepared.
Teacher Yan turned to him.
“Zhang Yu, did you bring medicine?”
“Take it before the round starts.”
To her, this was normal.
Fear pain? Chew a painkiller.
Weak will? Drink a sedative.
Distracted during cultivation? Pop a focus booster.
To perform at peak level on stage, you had to be prepared off stage.
This was the game.
And the game was drugs.
The Mana Competition was a favorite target for pharmaceutical sponsors. At least one round always allowed medication—provided the drugs were on the approved list. That’s why referees and spirit-attuned assistants would be watching closely.
So yes—taking medicine was part of the competition.
In fact, it was a sign of a school’s strength.
Seeing Zhang Yu’s stunned expression, Teacher Yan sighed, then opened her bag.
“You’re hopeless. You come to a competition without even bringing medicine?”
“Lucky I brought a spare.”
She pulled out a dozen bottles and jars, pouring a few into Zhang Yu’s hands.
Looking into her warm, concerned eyes, Zhang Yu could only force a nervous smile.
“Damn… I can’t take medicine. My body’s already messed up from past pills.”
The original Zhang Yu had ruined his constitution with overuse. The memory terrified him. Even neural fillers—just for sleep reduction—were risky.
And with his immense debt and natural talent, he’d never seen a reason to gamble with his health.
He didn’t know if his current body could handle it—but he wasn’t about to risk it.
“For a competition? I’d rather lose than shorten my immortal lifespan.”
But under Teacher Yan’s gaze, he nodded.
“I’ll… take it later. In the bathroom.”
Meanwhile, the arena had transformed into a full-scale pharmaceutical exhibition.
At Ziyun High’s rest zone, Lian Tianji downed a handful of pills in one gulp, then washed them down with water. His face flushed crimson.
The coach nodded.
“Good. You’re in competition mode.”
He opened a wooden box.
Ten syringes, glowing faintly purple, floated into view.
“This is Tuo Mai Injection—extracted from Ziyun Lab. It temporarily expands your meridians, boosting your cultivation efficiency.”
“One per person. No fighting.”
After all had taken their dose, he roared:
“Now, fight through it all! Our total score is close to Bailong High. We must catch up in this round!”
“HOOOOO!”
The students roared—fueled by medicine and adrenaline.
At Hongta High’s zone, the coach cradled Xiaoxiong Xiong Bu Fan, a small panda-like beastkin.
“More, not just a little. We’re dead last among the top three schools. If we fail this round, my bonus is gone.”
Xiaoxiong Xiong Bu Fan growled, waving a paw.
“Enough!”
“Stop feeding me!”
“Ugh… stop it!”
In Bailong High’s rest area, Song Hailong swallowed a mountain of pills, then stared toward Ziyun High’s zone.
Hearing their thunderous war cry, he sneered.
“Wait till I crush your spirit.”
At that moment, Coach Han Xingye approached with a thermos.
“This is the school’s special Kangling Needle. Inject it into your dantian before the round. Everyone, line up and take one.”
As he opened the thermos, a wave of cold mist surged out. Inside, two rows of glowing syringes shimmered.
Song Hailong grinned. The #1 on his uniform’s chest gleamed. He grabbed the first syringe.
Others followed, taking their numbers in order, then plunging the needles into their dantians.
Around them, students from other schools stared in envy.
“Kangling Needles? Concentrated spiritual essence—can restore Martial Energy instantly. They’re using it during the event—simultaneously neutralizing foreign energy and replenishing their own?”
One whispered, heart aching:
“One shot of Kangling into the dantian… I am the master of my fate! But… will I ever afford this in my life?”
Then, a commotion erupted from the corner.
A student, foaming at the mouth, convulsing, was carried out.
Whispers spread.
“Overdose?”
“Pfft. No such thing as overdose. Just lack of endurance. Keep training!”
“Enough chatter! Focus on the competition!”
As preparations concluded, the second round began.
(End of Chapter)
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