137 Clutching the Peacock's Tail, the Eagle Struggles to Fly

The second day of the tournament proceeded in an orderly fashion.

Chen Jue did not encounter any other masters of the Transformative Jin level proficient in combat techniques like Li Xiang. There were not even any masters of the Hidden Jin level; those who faced him were merely ordinary martial arts practitioners, and those who possessed even a rudimentary grasp of Manifest Jin were considered quite skilled.

He finished his two matches in the morning and one in the afternoon with quick, decisive victories. Afterward, Chen Jue left the venue and returned to his guest room to rest, taking the opportunity to circulate his energy and blood through the small and large heavenly cycles to stabilize his "Daoist Heart."

This Daoist internal alchemy technique had the effect of refining energy into spirit and sharpening the mind, subtly influencing Chen Jue’s willpower over time. Although it was not a primary cultivation method for mental fortitude, it was still somewhat useful. The only pity was that this technique lacked certain prerequisites. Much like practicing the Shaolin Body-Hardening technique, which requires striking the body with specific bricks to unlock its potential, this internal cultivation method had requirements that remained unclear.

Neither the original text of the cycle cultivation technique nor the attribute panel provided direct hints, leaving Chen Jue feeling frustrated, forced to rely on diligent, blind practice.

By the time the final round of eliminations concluded on the morning of the third day, Chen Jue’s only remaining opponent was Yantong, a Shaolin monk he had previously seen at the strength-testing machine in the training area.

Having witnessed Chen Jue’s bout with Li Xiang, Yantong had long since categorized Chen Jue as a formidable rival. Upon returning to confer with his fellow disciples and analyzing the fighting styles Chen Jue had displayed, they concluded that, apart from his strange ship-boxing grappling techniques, the young man apparently possessed several types of hard-body conditioning and an extremely powerful form of Taiji.

Based on this analysis, Yantong felt that this mysterious folk master was unfathomably skilled, to the point where he was in a state of high agitation even before the match began. This was similar to an athlete warming up before a competition to maintain excitement, allowing the body to reach a peak state and unleash greater power during the bout.

"Junior brother! You must be careful!" a middle-aged monk cautioned him.

"I know, Senior Brother. I will do my best!"

Yantong nodded. He wore a yellow monk’s robe, with his sleeves and pant cuffs tightly bound by ropes to prevent wind resistance during combat—the standard attire for all the Shaolin monks present. After chatting briefly with his peers, Yantong walked unhurriedly from the rest area onto the competition circle.

As this was the final deciding match, the red ropes had been removed from the arena, lifting the restrictions on space and allowing the two combatants to determine the outcome themselves. Chen Jue, still dressed in casual sportswear, walked onto the field with equal composure.

As the two stepped onto the stage, the entire venue fell silent. Over the past two days, those with a discerning eye could see that both this Shaolin monk and the extraordinary master of ship-boxing possessed genuine skill. Thus, the moment they stepped up, even before they began to exchange blows, everyone in the venue held their breath.

An oppressive silence descended, and with hundreds of eyes watching, the very air seemed to solidify. An ordinary person would likely have panicked under such scrutiny; only those experienced in major competitions or possessing immense willpower could withstand such pressure.

"Amitabha! Yantong of Shaolin Temple, greetings, Master Chen. I ask that you hold back a little later!" Yantong pressed his palms together in a traditional greeting. Though his words were humble, his eyes burned with an unyielding conviction to win.

"Not at all, Master Yantong, you are too kind!" Chen Jue replied with a cupped-fist salute, taking a moment to observe his opponent.

Yantong was just over thirty, with a fair face and no beard, and distinct features. Under his robes, his physique was sturdy and upright, his hands and feet calloused. Though he was a head shorter than Chen Jue, he exuded an aura of inexplicable self-confidence.

When the referee announced the start of the match, Yantong was the first to move.

With a single step, he glided across the wooden floor. His landing was noiseless, like a dragonfly skimming water, covering four or five meters in a single bound.

"The Dragonfly Skimming Water agility technique from the Seventy-Two Shaolin Arts?" Chen Jue had spent this time reading widely, and he could recognize the origins of many martial arts at a glance. In his eyes, Yantong had already grasped the essence of the technique.

However, although Yantong was fast, Chen Jue was faster.

Chen Jue slid forward, his movements like a butterfly flitting through flowers. He bypassed Yantong’s lunge, and with a single hand, he struck out with his perfected Golden Needle Finger technique.

Yantong tilted his body at a forty-five-degree angle. As he swept past Chen Jue, he formed his hands into claws. His fingernails made a metallic *clack* sound, as if striking iron; he was using the Shaolin Dragon Claw with *Qi* infusion to parry Chen Jue’s Golden Needle Finger.

*Pop, pop, pop!* The sound of claw meeting finger caused a series of explosions in the air. The spectators watched as the two moved with lightning speed, trading a flurry of blows before separating.

After withdrawing his claws, Yantong felt his ten fingers go numb, as if he had been raking against iron bars rather than human fingers.

The match was not over. Ignoring the pain in his fingers, Yantong twisted his body and unleashed a sharp, guttural "Hah!"—a technique using the Dantian to stimulate his *Shangqu* acupoint, momentarily surging his strength. As a faint, bruised hue spread across his skin, his body seemed to harden like iron. He shifted his claws from dragon to eagle form, lunged forward, and swept his claws toward Chen Jue’s face.

"Eagle Claw Iron Shirt!"

Chen Jue recognized the change in tactics. He did not dodge, instead settling into a Taiji stance. He stepped out with his left foot, retracted his right, and brought his hands forward. His body arched like a drawn bow as he surged forward, his hands moving with lightning speed to trap Yantong’s incoming claws. He sat back, pulled, and used the momentum to deflect the force of the strike.

This was the "Lazy About the Coat" move from Taiji—once caught, even a sparrow cannot fly.

Furthermore, Chen Jue’s Taiji had reached Level 4, and he possessed thousands of pounds of force. With this move, let alone a sparrow, even the fiercest eagle would be pinned to the ground, unable to take flight!

Seeing his momentum scattered, Yantong prepared to roar and use the Vajra Lion’s Roar to disrupt Chen Jue. But Chen Jue’s movement did not stop; as he locked the monk’s claws, he surged forward again, delivering a close-quarters hip check. With a heavy *thud*, Yantong saw stars. Chen Jue then pulled, redirected the force, and sent the Shaolin monk flying five or six meters away.

The audience saw it clearly: the moment Yantong lunged into Chen Jue’s guard, he was sent flying like a backward-launched arrow, crashing heavily to the ground with a dull thud.

Dazed and confused, Yantong struggled to stand, only to realize his arms were grotesquely swollen. Clearly, the force of Chen Jue’s Taiji strike had dislocated his shoulders.

"Master! I concede the victory!" Chen Jue cupped his hands in a salute, his demeanor as lofty as that of a young grandmaster.

The soldiers and martial artists in the audience erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.

Yantong sat slumped on the ground, his eyes filled with reluctance. He had never expected to lose so thoroughly and so quickly. It was only when his fellow disciples arrived to carry him to the medical room to reset his shoulders that he finally came to his senses, murmuring with a hint of realization: "I was too attached to the outcome..."