No Money to Cultivate Immortality?

Le Mulan returned to the Purple Cloud High rest area and saw Lian Tianji kneeling on the ground.

She walked right up and sat on his back like he was a little bench.

That was his punishment for losing. For the next three days, any time he appeared in front of her, he had to serve as her stool.

Lian Tianji asked, “It’s over already?”

He’d watched Bai Zhenzhen’s fight with Xiong Wenwu. Her numbers weren’t great, but her combat instincts were sharp. She had a knack for spotting weaknesses. He’d thought she might at least force a few more moves out of the sacred-grade top student.

Le Mulan frowned and nudged him with her elevated right foot. “Benches don’t talk.”

Lian Tianji shut up immediately.

Still, Le Mulan added, “She ran out of money for treatment. Not that it would’ve changed much—just delayed the inevitable.”

Lian Tianji understood at once. But that was the world they lived in—money was part of strength. If you didn’t have enough, then you were simply weak.

Bai Zhenzhen was poor. And…Lian Tianji thought, “A poor kid losing to a rich one—that’s only natural.”

Just then, Zhang Yu and Song Hailong stepped onto the stage.

Lian Tianji slowly adjusted his head to look toward the arena.

When someone loses a fight, there are two ways to save face:

You can say you underestimated your opponent.

Or you can say your opponent was just too strong.

The first makes you look pathetic. The second at least preserves your dignity.

Naturally, Lian Tianji wanted to go with the second.

“If Zhang Yu beats Song Hailong, I might even get that ad deal back…”

That way, it wouldn’t be “defeated by a random Songyang student” but “narrowly lost to a finalist.”

“Come on, Zhang Yu!”

In the White Dragon High rest area, Chu Qiuhe was also silently cheering Zhang Yu on—while secretly cursing Song Hailong under his breath.

Even as a White Dragon student who knew full well how terrifying Song Hailong was, a tiny part of him still dared to hope: “What if? What if he slips up and loses? Only if you lose, Song Hailong, do the rest of us keep our dignity.”

As Song Hailong stepped onto the stage and spread his arms wide, raising them high, a tidal wave of cheers erupted from the crowd.

“Song Hailong! Number One!”

“Song Hailong! Number One!”

Listening to the thunderous chant from the White Dragon side, Zhao Tianxing couldn’t help but feel how utterly alone Zhang Yu looked on the platform.

He muttered, “Shouldn’t we cheer for Zhang Yu too?”

But as soon as he said it, He Dayou quickly turned his head, pretending not to hear.

Qian Shen said awkwardly, “Maybe let’s not. This is White Dragon’s turf, after all.”

Hearing the other side’s overwhelming momentum, Zhao Tianxing’s urge to cheer gradually faded.

Even from this distance, his own nerves were strung tight—he couldn’t begin to imagine how much pressure Zhang Yu must be feeling, standing up there alone.

…

On the platform.

As Song Hailong clenched his right fist, the cheers vanished like mist. The arena fell into silence.

He looked at Zhang Yu and laughed heartily. “Never expected a kid from Songyang to make it all the way to the top four.”

“As a reward, I’ll lower the difficulty for you.”

He ran a hand through his hedgehog-like hair—and suddenly, a number appeared on his forehead.

Ten million?

Just as Zhang Yu was wondering, Song Hailong clarified, “It’s a feature of my External Spirit Root. It displays my medical insurance cap.”

“My current cap is ten million. If you can burn through all ten million in treatment costs, I’ll admit defeat.”

Good grief—he’d just given himself a visible health bar.

Zhang Yu stared at the number, running calculations on how it would affect the fight.

But then he remembered: while his opponent had insurance coverage up to ten million, he himself only had enough for a hundred thousand… no, wait, after earlier damage, he had just seventy thousand left.

He sighed—but only for a second.

He summoned the Celestial Martial Heart-Forging Technique to banish the negative emotions, then sharpened his will and focused wholly on the battle ahead.

In the stands, Song Hailong’s massive presence and booming voice had already captivated the crowd.

“No wonder he’s White Dragon’s number one. His insurance cap is ten million!”

“He’s loaded! No wonder he’s so good at everything!”

“Obviously! You think poor people could compete with that?”

“Highest score on the monthly exam and rich as hell—just hand him the championship!”

Back on the platform, Song Hailong waved at Zhang Yu.

“Your move first. If I hit you first, you might not even get a chance.”

Seeing him wide open, Zhang Yu tested the waters with a palm strike imbued with Formless Cloud Qi, slamming into Song Hailong’s chest.

The impact cracked like thunder. A blow strong enough to shatter stone hit Song Hailong’s body—yet Zhang Yu felt like he’d struck a giant rubber tire.

The man didn’t even budge. The ten million on his forehead dropped… by 300.

Zhang Yu recalled what Lei Jun had told him about Elephant-Demon muscle tissue: “It channels mana directly to reinforce the body, dramatically boosting strength and durability.”

“On top of that, his natural toughness far exceeds mine, plus the External Spirit Root ‘Body-Nurturing Root’ adds another layer of protection…”

No wonder that devastating palm barely made a dent.

Song Hailong shook his head. “Only 300? Too soft.”

“Come on, little bro. At this rate, even if I let you whale on me, how long will it take you to burn through ten million?”

Zhang Yu followed with several more targeted strikes. But each blow felt like hitting a tire, and while Song Hailong’s body did tremble slightly, the number only dropped by a few thousand.

Then came the shocker: the number started climbing again.

From a reduction of 2,300, it gradually rebounded to just over 2,000.

Seeing Zhang Yu’s reaction, Song Hailong laughed.

“Caught that, huh?”

“Sorry, forgot to mention—this isn’t a regular Body-Nurturing Root. It’s the deluxe version.”

“It not only boosts my strength and toughness—it also draws ambient Spiritual Energy to regenerate my injuries.”

Watching Zhang Yu’s face grow darker, Song Hailong laughed louder. “Still not attacking? If you don’t hurry, it’ll be back to ten million!”

His words hit the crowd like a hammer. The spectators and contestants alike felt that ten million hanging overhead like a wall—an unbreachable fortress barring Zhang Yu’s way to victory.

“If you’re not coming… then I am.”

Two and a half meters tall, Song Hailong lunged forward, his hand like a dragon’s claw reaching for Zhang Yu.

His Elephant-Demon muscle tissue pumped raw mana into his limbs. He didn’t need fancy moves—just brute force. That was more than enough to bulldoze anyone in the freshman year.

Feeling the sheer might bearing down on him, Zhang Yu didn’t panic.

“My stats are too low. A head-on clash is suicide.”

“My only option is to use his strength against him—defensive counters are the way.”

As Song Hailong’s claw closed in, Zhang Yu raised his arms, Formless Cloud Qi swirling around them, only to realize—

His opponent had switched to a grappling technique.

“Grappling?”

“No… it’s more than that.”

In full concentration, Zhang Yu tracked each subtle motion, dodging and parrying with Formless Cloud Qi.

Soon he realized—this was no ordinary technique.

It was an Expert-Grade Martial Technique: Back-Dragon, Mountain-Toppling Grip, Level 1!

A martial art built on sheer physical force, meant for throws and takedowns.

Perfectly suited to someone like Song Hailong, who poured all his mana into reinforcing his body. Even though he’d focused his training elsewhere and had only reached Level 1 in this art, his overwhelming physique made it devastating.

Zhang Yu could feel it—the twin hands were a tightening net, about to ensnare him, slam him down, and end the match.

“Grappling? Ground fighting?”

Zhang Yu had no such techniques. He wasn’t about to brawl on the floor with someone this powerful.

Like a small fish, he weaved and slipped past the crushing net again and again.

But then—

“Gotcha.”

Song Hailong suddenly seized Zhang Yu’s arm, a smirk curling his lips.

But the moment they both exerted force—

Zhang Yu roared.

The Formless Cloud Qi that had only covered his palms now flared outward, coating his elbows—and he slipped from Song Hailong’s grasp like a greased eel.

Down below, Lian Tianji’s body jolted in shock.

“In that moment of desperation… his Limitless Cloud Hands evolved again? Level 5? This Zhang Yu really is a martial arts prodigy.”