Entrance Exam (4)
“Thank you.”
I politely cupped my hands toward Dan Ri-cheong in response to his offer, then strode down from the training ground under the watchful eyes of the crowd, making a show of it.
Meanwhile, Huang Bo Taeung of the Giant Force Fist, who had boasted such overwhelming pressure, was carted off to the infirmary in humiliating defeat.
Farewell, Huang Bo Taeung.
I’ll claim every last bit of fortune that was yours, so rest easy.
My beginning as Cheon Myeong had been humble and unwelcome, but the end would be different.
“No proper master or sect, and yet he’s this impressive.”
“To take down that Giant Force Fist.”
“Gotta take a closer look.”
I could feel the gazes on me shifting. Not just from the spectators now, but from the students already enrolled at Cheonmu Academy, and even some instructors whispering as they eyed me.
And there was more good news.
Huang Bo Taeung was originally supposed to shine in this entrance exam and secure a top spot at Cheonmu Academy.
His failure and my success—what did that mean?
The answer was simple: I’d seized all the honor and glory that should have been his.
No more pathetic protagonist.
In the original story, Cheon Myeong limped around in recovery, shedding tears at the news of the academy exam. Plenty of readers probably spat curses and dropped the novel right there.
No more of that. I’d monopolize every fortuitous encounter, win every spar and duel.
“First gate’s done... and I love it. Half gone already.”
With the first gate—the bare-handed combat trial—over, Dan Ri-cheong chuckled like it was all a game. Half the participants were already out, just as he said. For someone who’d grumbled about the huge turnout, pitting winners against losers in hand-to-hand must’ve been a delight.
“Shall we cut it in half again?”
The crowd murmured. Half eliminated already, and now another round of cuts? With the first gate’s absurd bare-handed brawl fresh in mind, their wariness spiked.
Me? I was thrilled.
What’ll the next trial be?
Cheonmu Academy’s entrance exams changed yearly, so even I couldn’t recall or predict them perfectly. I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.
“We did bare-handed without inner energy, so next up: inner energy clash?”
Oohs rippled through the crowd. After hand-to-hand, the second gate was an inner energy duel—another curveball that had everyone gasping again.
“No matter how perfected the body or how strong the external arts...”
Dan Ri-cheong glanced subtly my way as he spoke.
“Without inner energy to back it up, reaching the superhuman realm is tough. Unless you’re that drunken lay disciple from Shaolin.”
By name-dropping Gabul, he was dropping a key insight. He was right—Gabul was an extreme case. Normally, top experts needed harmony between inner and external arts.
“So, this gate’s an inner energy clash. Two participants sit cross-legged, palms touching. Clash inner energy. First to pull away, pass out, or forfeit loses. Any questions?”
His proposed duel was straightforward—standard in the martial world. No hands shot up.
“One more difference from the first gate. There, the one on the field took all comers. Here, you pick your challenger. No refusing—if you do, instant disqualification.”
In short: no more waiting on the field. You could force a matchup.
Subtle change, massive impact.
You could claim the field first and target the weakest—or someone you hated. Endless drama potential.
“Heh heh, fun, right?”
Dan Ri-cheong grinned, his refined face at odds with that quirky laugh. Maternal Uncle, why’d you create a guy like this? Looks and vibe don’t match—but memorable.
“Alright, same as before—anyone ready, hop up!”
People swarmed the field instantly.
“Me! Me!”
“I was first!”
“I’ll claim it and pick the weakest-looking one!”
It was pure chaos, like dogs fighting over scraps. At least inner energy clashes didn’t need much space, unlike brutal hand-to-hand. Four who got there first took the cardinal directions and began.
“I pick Jong Ri Pyo of the Swift Flying Fist from the Jong Ri family!”
“Grr, you dare?”
“I’ll take that scrawny one over there.”
The lucky four targeted rivals or sure weaklings, a microcosm of the ruthless martial world.
When’s my turn?
I waited calmly. Surprisingly, no one picked me. Beating Huang Bo Taeung that fast must’ve scared them off.
Too far back ain’t good—the later ones are the strong ones.
I debated jumping in early when—
“I pick that no-name servant Cheon Myeong!”
A gruff voice boomed, laced with fury. I looked up. On the field stood someone eerily familiar—Huang Bo Taeung’s spitting image. Had to be a mistake at first glance.
Oh, right. Huang Bo Taeung’s two-years-younger brother, Tai Li Fist Huang Bo Taejin.
They looked that alike. Clan cliché? Huangbo were built like oxes, natural powerhouses. Same frame, temperament—even scarier glare than his brother.
“Me?”
I pointed at myself with a smirk. Plenty of meaning there: Easy paths available—why pick the hard one?
“Yeah. You beat my respected brother? He was off-guard. I won’t be!”
Huang Bo Taejin was a head shorter but just as broad. Those slitted eyes burned with feral rage.
“Oh? Guess I’ll humor you.”
Buoyed by my first-gate win, I had zero fear.
“Hmph! Solid external arts from somewhere, sure... but your inner energy’s gotta suck. Watch—I’ll make blood pour from all seven orifices.”
Avenging his brother, he was fuming. Seven orifices bleeding meant getting crushed so hard you fell into qi deviation—inner energy backlash from eyes, nose, ears, mouth.
“Hard to pick between brothers.”
“What?”
I grinned at his massive frame. “Means I can’t tell which brother’s the bigger idiot.”
“You donkey-brained bastard!”
He clenched his fists at my taunt, already boiling.
He’s dead wrong.
He’d clocked my external arts strength, assumed weak inner energy. As a prized Huangbo junior, stuffed with elixirs since childhood, he was cocky. Picked me to crush.
Ever hear of Mythic Transformation Heart Method?
I had the world’s top cheat inner art. Why mythic-grade? It hard-counters any inner method—devours them all.
In an inner duel, it’s the unbeatable ace.
Like a moth to flame, he charged in.
“Prepare for inner clash!”
The instructor called it. We took the west corner.
“Gotta watch this.”
Dan Ri-cheong, long interested, dashed over. Can’t beat the guy.
Crowds from other duels swarmed west too.
“Think Cheon Myeong wins again?”
“Nah, probably not.”
“Right. Huangbo excel in inner energy too.”
“He’s external-focused—fatal flaw here.”
Ignoramuses yapping “analysis.” Some swore I’d crash harder than my first-gate rivals.
This’ll be fun.
Another wave of underestimation fired me up.
Clap!
Hearing the chatter, Huang Bo Taejin smirked, extending his paws—thick as my thigh, dwarfing mine.
I met them, palms touching.
“My brother was humiliated beyond recovery. You’re next.”
Threats and mockery spewed. He was pumped; I stayed cool. Planned to use just a sliver of Mythic—no need to reveal it.
“Inner clash—begin!”
The second gate kicked off.
“Haaap!”
Huang Bo Taejin roared.
Huangbo Clan’s prized inner method and signature art—tyrannical, overwhelming force that could pass for unorthodox at a glance.
Whoosh!
Vowing vengeance, he surged excessive inner energy. Thick, potent—visible to the naked eye. It surged through our palms like a tidal wave.
Serenely, with the strongest inner method in the world, I countered.