Chapter 31: Are You Even Worthy?

"Vile wretch, cease your villainy!"

The nearest Beggar Sect elder, Chen—nicknamed "Long-Armed Elder"—dashed forward, brandishing a coarse burlap sack. Driven by his internal energy, the sack whistled through the air, expanding to envelop the two figures in the center of the fray.

"Let go!" he bellowed. Releasing the sack with his left hand, he utilized his unusually long arms to deliver a seasoned "Through-the-Back Fist" aimed directly at Zhang Chengyi’s shoulder joint. With his right hand, he caught the sack, swirled it, and scooped up the "hostage," Xu Chongxiao.

His plan was a classic feint: attack the east to strike the west, using a diversion to rescue his companion. The Beggar Sect excelled in external martial arts, and the elders were masters of it; their bones and sinews were tempered enough to shatter stone with bare hands. Chen had practiced his Through-the-Back Fist to a profound level; an ordinary person would be dead or crippled by such a strike. Coupled with the element of surprise, he was ninety percent certain he could rescue Elder Xu.

Alas, as his fist closed in, he felt it sink into something akin to thick mire. His force was neutralized by the swirling, conflicting internal energies of his opponent. Before he could even make contact, his momentum was spent.

Elder Chen was struck with horror. Seeing Zhang Chengyi’s smiling face, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to execute the techniques of the Through-the-Back Fist once more, channeling his energy to drive the strike home.

"Bang!"

A muffled thud echoed, as if he had struck ox-hide or cotton. His opponent did not even flinch.

"Not bad, not bad at all."

Zhang Chengyi looked at Elder Chen, whose arms stretched like those of a great ape, and chuckled as if watching a comical performance. He gently placed his hand on the wrist of the fist that had struck his shoulder, and with seemingly effortless grace, twisted the old man's arm behind his back.

"Hmph!"

Elder Chen attempted to shatter the hold with a burst of power, but his force vanished like a stone into the sea, yielding no reaction. His wrist felt trapped in iron pliers. As the man pulled and yanked, Chen was forced to drop the sack and rotate with his arm. He was a tough man; choosing to dislocate his own shoulder rather than yield, he endured the agony without kneeling, letting out a stifled groan as beads of cold sweat broke out across his brow.

Then, due to the height difference and his body hunching from the pain, a foot pressed down onto his back. With no strength left to resist, he was forced to his knees by an unimaginable weight.

His knees and his one remaining free hand sank deep into the ground. A look of humiliation crossed his face as he struggled, his skin flushing crimson, yet the foot on his back remained as immovable as a mountain.

"Whoosh."

The instigator, Zhang Chengyi, smiled and blew at the burlap sack that had yet to hit the ground. A small, five-colored scorpion crawled out from the opening, drifted a short distance, and landed.

Upon hitting the ground, the little scorpion emerged from the sack, raising its tail stinger to display its weapon to the nearby humans.

Seeing the five-colored scorpion emerge, the surrounding "heroes" retreated in haste, attempting to shield themselves behind others.

"Catch it. The little thing is quite interesting." At Zhang Chengyi’s gesture, Xue Muhua stepped forward, scooped up the sack like a gambler retrieving dice, secured the opening, and stepped back.

The remaining three Beggar Sect elders, along with the unfallen disciples, surrounded him but dared not approach. Firstly, the disciple who had been struck by the "evil art" had passed from wailing into a coma. Qiao Feng was nearby, attempting to use his internal energy to dispel the force within the victims, but with little success—who knew if they would fall under the same spell? Death was one thing, but to be tortured into such a state was true agony.

Secondly, the stranger’s close-quarters combat prowess was clearly leagues ahead of theirs. Even the Long-Armed Elder Chen hadn't lasted a single round. The renowned Master Shenshan, along with five other experts, had been easily defeated and remained incapacitated. Who among the rest would dare to step forward? It would be suicide.

"Look, these people you rely on..." Zhang Chengyi reached out and patted Xu Chongxiao’s cheek, teasing, "Do they have any way to save you?"

Xu Chongxiao’s face cycled from red to white and back again, his breathing ragged, his lips trembling.

The entire scene fell into a deathly silence, the atmosphere becoming stiflingly awkward.

Thankfully, someone finally broke the stalemate. After Qiao Feng failed to neutralize the Beiming internal energy, he strode forward and said in a deep voice, "Brother, a gentleman may be killed but not humiliated. Since you have the upper hand, could you show some mercy? I am willing to—"

"You want to help them?" Zhang Chengyi interrupted, his gaze sweeping over the other three Beggar Sect elders and disciples who had cleared a path. He sneered, "They were just calling for your blood, and now you hope for them to save you?"

Elder Xi flushed, Elder Song looked ashamed, and Elder Wu bowed his head in silence.

Qiao Feng sighed softly. Was he to watch his former brothers meet such a fate?

"And you lot," Zhang Chengyi’s eyes landed on the faces of the wandering heroes in the outer circle. Not one dared to meet his gaze; they shifted nervously, wishing they could bury themselves in the ground like ostriches. He scoffed, "Heroes? Look at them, Brother Qiao. These are the 'great heroes'."

"Great heroes, indeed!"

"Hahahaha!"

His wild laughter echoed throughout Jingfu Temple. It was a blatant insult, yet not a single person dared to stand up for themselves. Pretending to be dead might not guarantee one's reputation, but being the first to step forward meant certain death, or a fate worse than death—the vivid examples were already laid out before them.

The laughter cut off abruptly. Zhang Chengyi’s face, for the first time, turned truly angry. His voice rang out with iron resonance: "Do you even deserve to be called heroes!"

To him, the word "hero" held many meanings. In his previous life, from childhood to adulthood, the thing he admired most was the "hero."

Perhaps he could not be a grand hero who fretted over the nation and the people, but to be a wandering knight who held justice above life and rescued those in peril was more than enough. If one dared not even let out a squeak when faced with life-and-death stakes, what kind of "great hero" was that?

As his words fell, a dozen young men rushed forward, their faces flushed with rage.

Youth is always driven by hot blood.

Qiao Feng’s expression shifted, and he prepared to intervene, but then he saw Zhang Chengyi release his hold, lift his foot, and let his anger dissolve into a look of slight gratification. With a flash of his figure, he met them head-on, laughing loudly:

"Well come!"

In his every movement, his internal energy surged. His clothes billowed, his hair tie came loose, and his dark hair whipped in the wind. The weapons of the charging youths couldn't even reach him before they were knocked flying, scattering into the crowd.

"You bastards, are you all content to be cowards?"

Someone in the crowd shouted this, and those who considered themselves to have a bit of backbone also charged into the fray.

"Together! Zhang Chengyi can’t possibly kill us all!"

And so, the vast majority followed suit, while the few elderly and faint-hearted slipped away quietly.

Even the disciples of the Shan family, who had been ordered by Shan Zheng not to enter the fray, were swept up in the surging adrenaline and charged in, along with the Beggar Sect disciples, the three elders, and the warrior monks of Qingliang Temple...

The battle of hundreds against one began without warning.

Zhang Chengyi laughed even more heartily. He behaved as if he had gone mad, abandoning the projection of his internal energy and keeping it strictly to his skin to deflect blades, fists, and hidden weapons. Relying on his unprecedented, terrifying physique and the protective nature of the Beiming energy, he charged in and out of the crowd seven times, leaving a trail of broken bodies and overturned horses in his wake.

"Come, come!"

"Come and fight to your heart's content!"