Chapter 79: The Most Powerful Move

Chapter 79: The Most Powerful Move

Inside Ziyun High School’s lounge area, Le Muran had already climbed back onto Lian Tianji’s shoulders. Watching Bai Zhenzhen rush toward the arena with a phone in hand to explain its usage to the referee, she mused aloud, “Bai Zhenzhen can shop using Zhang Yu’s phone? She knows both his phone and payment passwords?”

“These two must be inseparable friends.”

As Zhang Yu slowly returned to the lounge, Le Muran patted Lian Tianji’s head. “I remember you’re friends with Zhang Yu, right?”

…

Back in the lounge, Zhang Yu downed a series of potions he’d purchased before the match—elixirs to restore his strength, spiritual power, and focus. Feeling his energy surge, he relaxed slightly. The organizers had granted a half-hour break before the final, and Zhang Yu calculated this would be enough to recover eight or nine-tenths of his stamina and spiritual reserves.

Bai Zhenzhen stood nearby. “Did you remember everything I just told you?”

Zhang Yu nodded, prompting her to continue, “Then I’ll stop here. Rest well and prepare for the fight ahead.”

After Bai Zhenzhen left, Zhang Yu’s phone vibrated. It was Lian Tianji recommending a friend request.

“Le Muran?”

Puzzled but compliant, Zhang Yu accepted. Moments later, a message popped up: Let’s meet. I need to talk to you.

In a quiet corridor outside the arena, Zhang Yu found Le Muran waiting. The Ziyun High School prodigy stood with icy elegance, her beauty and aloof demeanor naturally drawing attention wherever she went.

Without preamble, she stated, “Two hundred thousand yuan. I’ll pay you to lose. How about it?”

Zhang Yu blinked. “You want to buy a championship title?”

Le Muran shrugged. “Wealth is power. Money is strength. The Martial Arts Competition determines the strongest—why shouldn’t I use money to win?”

Zhang Yu narrowed his eyes. “You’re not confident you can beat me?”

She shook her head. “I just calculated that fighting you might cost me more than two hundred thousand. Paying that for a guaranteed victory seems efficient.”

Seeing Zhang Yu’s silence, she added, “Not enough? Four hundred thousand then. But that’s my final offer.”

Zhang Yu swallowed hard. He couldn’t deny it—this four hundred thousand yuan Le Muran had just thrown at him felt more devastating than any technique he’d faced in these consecutive matches.

What could four hundred thousand buy? Advanced cultivation techniques? Rental time for a Spirit Root? Countless talismans or cultivation tools? It could even surpass the value of the tournament’s five-thousand-yuan prize and the Expert-Rank martial art awarded to the winner.

In the Kunxu Realm, money meant potential, talent, and progress. Even gods served those with wealth.

Zhang Yu said, “Fine. Transfer it directly to my account.”

Le Muran spread her fingers, summoning a violet jade talisman codex. “Sign a contract under the gods’ witness, and I’ll transfer the funds immediately.”

When Zhang Yu remained silent, she frowned. “You’re hesitating over four hundred thousand?”

She sounded genuinely baffled. “Lian Tianji told me you’d work as a security guard for a few hundred yuan. You people fight daily over hundreds or thousands—why hesitate at four hundred thousand?”

“You’re not from a background that could get you into the Ten Great Sects’ Apex Academy. How important could this tournament title really be for you?”

Her tone held no mockery—only genuine confusion.

Shaking her head, she turned to leave. “Decide before the final starts. But don’t expect me to raise the offer.”

Watching her go, Zhang Yu messaged his sister: Sis, if I don’t win first place, only second, how much will that affect my chances of getting into the Ten Great Sects’ Academy?

The path we’ve paved for you depends on strong grades and high competition rankings. First place is far more convincing than second.

Zhang Yu understood. Taking the money wouldn’t bar him from the Ten Great Sects—just lower his odds.

Yet as this thought surfaced, his cursed Contractual Ritual flared violently.

“I knew it.”

“You really fear I won’t get into the Ten Great Sects, Broken Pathway?”

A sharp pain pierced his chest as the four hundred thousand yuan slipped away—more agonizing than battling Lian Tianji or Song Hailong.

“This… is what losing a fortune feels like?”

Gritting his teeth, he activated the Heavenly Martial Cultivation Heart Sutra, severing all distractions.

One thought burned in his mind:

He would drag Le Muran, that filthy rich brat, onto the arena floor and crush her.

…

The final began.

Le Muran and Zhang Yu stepped onto the stage.

The Martial Arts Competition had reached its climax.

Blue-white sword qi erupted from Le Muran in a storm, slashing toward Zhang Yu. Her Celestial Array Sword Art unfolded in relentless waves, precise as a battlefield formation, leaving no gaps to exploit.

Watching Zhang Yu dodge and weave, using Formless Cloud Qi to block her strikes, Le Muran sneered. “Are you trying to exhaust my spiritual power?”

She laughed. “Do you really think you can outlast me?”

Her sword qi surged, and her spiritual power swelled like an endless river, surpassing every competitor present.

A female voice echoed from within her.

“Welcome to use the Purple Cloud Replaceable Core.”

“Remaining spiritual power: 8,000,000 yuan.”

Le Muran touched her abdomen, meeting Zhang Yu’s gaze. “This core holds eight million yuan worth of spiritual power.”

A line of text appeared on her wrist, counting down from eight million.

With every second, thousands of yuan’s worth of spiritual power drained—but the number barely budged.

Each second of combat cost her thousands, yet her reserves remained vast.

Flicking her fingers, she unleashed sword qi like a hurricane, forcing Zhang Yu backward. “You needn’t worry about my meridians. My combat Spirit Root, Faluo, protects them all. I can sustain this output indefinitely.”

The audience erupted.

This spectacle of wealth—eight million yuan in spiritual power—dwarfed even Song Hailong’s ten-million-yuan insurance. This was Le Muran’s own money, not an insurer’s.

“She’s magnificent,” one spectator sighed. “Spending money like it’s nothing!”

“Rich people have it so easy,” another groaned. “So blessed!”

“I’m robbing my parents for funds tonight,” a third vowed. “I’m advancing on the Xian Dao if it kills me!”

Le Muran frowned at the noise. “Hear that? They’re right. Money is the foundation of cultivation.”

She slashed another sword arc. “If you’d taken my forty thousand, you might’ve closed the gap.”

“Yet you threw away the chance to grow stronger.”

Her gaze turned curious. “I’ve wondered—why do you refuse wealth, knowing you’re poor?”

Zhang Yu almost laughed. Is this rich girl studying the poor now?

He scoffed. “You priced me at forty thousand because you think that’s all I’m worth?”

“Precisely,” she said. “I calculated. Defeating you costs no more than forty thousand. Anything beyond that is waste.”

A sword cut through Zhang Yu’s Formless Cloud Qi, slicing his palm.

Zhang Yu’s voice chilled. “What about the price of this poor man’s blood?”

Blood dripped into his Vitality Qi, staining the Formless Cloud Qi crimson.

Yet instead of panic, Zhang Yu flung his bloodied hand toward Le Muran—deliberately.

For the first time, Le Muran moved. She sidestepped, avoiding the blood.

The Celestial Array Sword Art faltered.

Zhang Yu darted forward, weaving through the collapsing sword formation.

Bai Zhenzhen’s words echoed in his mind:

“Le Muran’s first weakness… she might have a phobia of dirt.”

“Try spitting on her. She’ll dodge, and won’t waste sword qi on saliva.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end