Chapter 3791 — Long in the Making

In the blink of an eye three more leg shadows came sweeping at Qiao Hongcai from three entirely different directions, and Qiao Hongcai again took them all just as before, letting out a muffled grunt and enduring them without so much as shifting his feet.

So this piece of trash really was the kind that could only stand there waiting to die! Only at this moment did the last of the guard in Meng Zhou's heart finally come down.

Once bitten, twice shy. Though he had loudly sworn he thought nothing of Qiao Hongcai, the truth was that even a man as arrogant as Meng Zhou could not help but feel a lingering dread after that first exchange, and though he knew full well he held the advantage, he had not dared strut about as brazenly as usual; he had been treading with the utmost care, right up to this moment.

But after so many probes, Meng Zhou was now certain that this good-for-nothing Qiao, even if he had succeeded in establishing his Foundation, was nothing but a Foundation-stage novice, and that apart from that one underhanded trick earlier, he had no power to resist at all and could be trampled on bold as you please.

"Die!" After long gathering, Meng Zhou's deadliest killing move at last arrived. Though the Thousand-Leg Art, Twenty-One Forms could conjure a thousand layered leg shadows, when all was said and done only this final, solid, flesh-and-bone kick was the true killer.

Bang! At the dull thud of bodies slamming together, the thousand phantom leg shadows scattered in an instant, and everyone below the stage could see plainly that Meng Zhou had driven his leg square into Qiao Hongcai's chest—no block, no defense at all.

Any normal man in that position would know the chest is the most tightly guarded and hardest place to attack; anyone else in Meng Zhou's shoes would surely have aimed at the back of the heart, or the back of the skull, some vital point. Yet Meng Zhou did the exact opposite, and it worked a wonder precisely because of it.

Pfft! Qiao Hongcai hung there a moment, then abruptly spat out a mouthful of fresh blood—a sight to make the eye recoil.

"Heh heh, take Meng Zhou's Thousand-Leg Art, Twenty-One Forms head-on like that, and even that grand-standing chief guard Wei Zhao couldn't have stood it, let alone a rank little underling who's only just established his Foundation. Truly, he doesn't know death when he sees it!"

Meng Jue Ming watched the scene and could not help but grin. The shock that had struck him moments ago upon discovering Qiao Hongcai had reached the early Foundation stage vanished into thin air, and he felt light all over.

The sight of that good-for-nothing Qiao spitting blood was a little unnerving, true, but to Meng Jue Ming's eyes at this moment it was pleasing no matter how he looked at it; one mouthful of blood was nothing—better the wretch spewed a whole vat of it, sprayed it ten li across the ground!

And not only Meng Jue Ming: any clear-eyed onlooker could tell that in this exchange Meng Zhou had most certainly seized the solid upper hand. Qiao Hongcai, a man barely into the early Foundation stage, had taken the blow full in the chest without the slightest defense; to survive it at all and come away merely gravely wounded was already a credit to him.

"Th-this junior brother Qiao won't be in real trouble, will he?" The put-upon senior brother below the stage felt his heart leap into his throat. True, the news that Qiao Hongcai had succeeded in establishing his Foundation had been a great and welcome surprise before the fight began, but even with a Foundation established, his cultivation was not yet steady, and he might not be a match for Meng Zhou.

Especially given how things stood now: never mind that Qiao Hongcai could still stand—he was badly hurt, and if he did not quickly call out his surrender, Meng Zhou would never let slip this chance to pull the weed out by the roots!

If it had been the Qiao Hongcai of before, still at the peak of the Heaven stage, Meng Zhou's wish to kill him would have been merely a whim born of listening to Meng Jue Ming; in his heart he had never truly taken the man seriously. But now that he had discovered this good-for-nothing had actually established his Foundation, everything was different.

To Meng Zhou, a Qiao Hongcai at the peak of the Heaven stage and a Qiao Hongcai in the early Foundation stage were two entirely different things. The former could be trampled at will; the latter must be schemed against and done away with at the first opportunity, for a long night breeds many dreams, and at the same level, one wrong step and the fellow might well turn the tables on him!

"I don't think there's any trouble. Senior Brother Ku, let's watch a while longer—Hongcai isn't so easily finished off." Wei Zhao only smiled faintly, not a trace of worry on his face.

Had Qiao Hongcai failed in his attempt to establish his Foundation, then perhaps he would have worried. But Qiao Hongcai was, after all, now a capable hand of the early Foundation stage; even gravely wounded, he would not be easy for Meng Zhou to kill, and so long as he did not die on the spot, no matter how badly hurt, Wei Zhao was confident he could have him healed in short order. There was simply nothing to worry about.

Besides, though the scene before them made it look as if Qiao Hongcai was badly injured and Meng Zhou held the absolute upper hand—was that really so?

At least in Wei Zhao's eyes, far from it.

Sure enough, Wei Zhao had scarcely finished speaking when Qiao Hongcai suddenly opened his mouth on the stage: "Senior newcomer Meng, do you really think that's enough to win for certain?"

"Huh? What kind of idiot question is that? Qiao, you worthless thing, have you been kicked simple, or what? Don't tell me you still think you can snatch victory from defeat?"

Meng Zhou laughed heartily. Even now the sole of his foot was still planted firmly on Qiao Hongcai's chest; one little push and he could make Qiao Hongcai keep spewing blood, and one could even hear the crack-crack of breaking breastbone!

"Snatch victory from defeat?" Qiao Hongcai's face was ashen, his mouth full of blood, and then he laughed, his face suddenly savage: "I've never been defeated, so what the hell are you talking about, snatching victory from defeat? But you've reminded me of something, Senior newcomer Meng—rest easy, I won't leave you that kind of chance!"

Meng Zhou was struck dumb for a moment, and when he came to his senses he was just about to open his mouth and mock, only to find he no longer had the chance at all—because Qiao Hongcai had suddenly struck.

Bang! Quicker than the eye could follow, Qiao Hongcai at last lashed out with the Iron Cold Palm, Twenty-One Forms, which he had been gathering all this time. And Meng Zhou was utterly unprepared—one leg still planted against his chest, he was a living, breathing target, and it was already too late to run.

The Iron Cold Palm was admittedly a martial art everyone dismissed as useless, so clumsy it generally could not hit anyone—but once it did land on a man, it could truly be the death of him.

The palm struck home, and there came a sound of bones cracking and shifting that made every scalp in the crowd prickle. Amid a chorus of incredulous gasps, Meng Zhou's whole body was sent flying backward, crashing down at the very edge of the platform, a bloody, mangled, pitiful wreck.

Even a crafty old schemer like Meng Jue Ming could not help but suck in a cold breath at the sight, murmuring over and over: "This good-for-nothing Qiao—he's really got a vicious streak!"

Anyone could see that Qiao Hongcai's palm had been long in the making. If in the first exchange Meng Zhou had merely been careless and contemptuous and got taken in by a trick, then this exchange now was where his true strength truly showed.