Chapter 3792 — Unable to Speak

You have to understand: for a cultivator who had only just succeeded in establishing his Foundation and was still in the early Foundation stage, being struck head-on by the Thousand-Leg Art, Twenty-One Forms was almost certainly fatal. In other words, Qiao Hongcai's strategy of wounding himself first to wound the enemy meant there was a very good chance he would be beaten to death before he ever got a chance to counterattack.

And that possibility was not small at all!

Moreover, even setting all that aside, supposing Qiao Hongcai truly could withstand Meng Zhou's Thousand-Leg Art, Twenty-One Forms, he still might not be able to find an opening for a desperate counterattack.

Because taking the full damage of the Thousand-Leg Art head-on would inevitably leave him gravely injured. Once his meridians were damaged and the true qi within his body could no longer circulate, then no matter how long he had been gathering power for the Iron Cold Palm, it would be useless. He would not even be able to unleash it, let alone counterattack.

And yet, knowing full well how slim his chances of winning were, Qiao Hongcai had gambled without the slightest hesitation. Any normal person, unless driven to utter desperation, who the hell would gamble like some suicidal madman? Was his head full of holes?

Ruthless to others, and even more ruthless to himself—this good-for-nothing Qiao might have looked like he would collapse at a single blow, but unexpectedly he was a man ruthless through and through. Truly, you cannot judge a person by their appearance, nor measure the sea with a bucket!

At this moment on the stage, Meng Zhou had taken the full ten-tenths force of the Iron Cold Palm, Twenty-One Forms. His face was as gold as paper and he was coughing up blood without pause. Though he did not look about to breathe his last just yet, he did not even have the strength to speak a single word, and expecting him to stand up and fight again was sheer fantasy.

By contrast, Qiao Hongcai, with one desperate counterattack born of supreme forbearance, had not only reversed the situation in an instant but had nearly finished Meng Zhou outright with a single move. Such a feat truly blinded the eyes of everyone in the arena.

It was no exaggeration to say that with today's battle, Qiao Hongcai would absolutely make his name. As for the nickname "Good-for-nothing Qiao," it would be severed from him forever.

If he was a good-for-nothing, then what did that make Meng Zhou, the man Meng Jueming had championed with all his heart? A spineless fool who could not even beat a mere good-for-nothing?

Wei Zhao and the others exchanged glances, all of them wearing expressions of deep satisfaction. Qiao Hongcai's earlier move—that reserve held to the very end—had truly been a breath of fresh air!

"What did I say before? I said Junior Brother Qiao was no creature of the ordinary pond, just like the rest of you. See, I called it, didn't I!" the Long-Suffering Senior Brother exclaimed, so overjoyed he could barely string his words together.

The years of his long-suffering life had taught him one lesson in blood: without strength, you are long-suffering wherever you go. Whatever good thing comes along, you get pushed to the side; whatever bad thing comes along, you get shoved forward to take the blame. In the end, it all came down to the old saying—fall behind, and you get beaten.

In the world of cultivation, the sole measure of one's right to speak was strength. With great strength, everything could be discussed; without it, you could only shut up and stand aside.

The Long-Suffering Senior Brother knew this from bitter experience. Before, the rise of Wei Zhao alone had been enough to stand on equal footing with Meng Jueming. Now Qiao Hongcai was showing signs of rising to become another powerhouse. And if Xiao Che was counted in as well, then in the days to come they could speak and act with full confidence, no longer living in fear.

Even as the Long-Suffering Senior Brother was speaking, Qiao Hongcai, having sent Meng Zhou flying with a single palm strike, was on the stage. Though his face was even paler than before, he still held himself upright and shuffled step by step toward Meng Zhou. A wave of gasps rose from the crowd below.

"Junior Brother Qiao—what is he... what is he planning?" The Long-Suffering Senior Brother was momentarily dumbfounded. He had a vague guess as to what Qiao Hongcai meant to do, but for a moment he could not bring himself to believe it. Did this fellow really have such boldness and such ruthlessness?

"When you root out evil, root it out completely. Since they never intended to leave Hongcai alive, there is naturally no need for us to show them any mercy. He who hesitates is undone by his own hesitation. Against an enemy like this, when it is time to stomp, you stomp—stomp until he is dead. You understand this principle, Senior Brother Ku, do you not?" Wei Zhao said calmly. Before, it had been precisely because Wei Zhao could not bring himself to be ruthless that he had left Kang Jingming as a hidden danger. Now Wei Zhao had matured considerably and naturally come to understand many things.

"I understand. Of course I understand." The Long-Suffering Senior Brother nodded again and again. How could he not understand this principle? It was just that he had always been the one being stomped on—when had he ever held such initiative in his hands?

Just as Meng Jueming had schemed to have Meng Zhou kill Qiao Hongcai in order to strike at Wei Zhao, by the same logic, if Qiao Hongcai could succeed in killing Meng Zhou today, the blow to Meng Jueming would be just as heavy!

Do not forget: Meng Zhou was, to this day, the only newcomer Meng Jueming had championed. If even he met his end at someone else's hands, then the other newcomers of Qingyun Pavilion could simply be written off. By then, there would likely be no need for Wei Zhao to beckon—they would defect and come over of their own accord.

As the several of them spoke, Qiao Hongcai, under the gaze of all present, had already walked step by step up to Meng Zhou. Then he raised his palm with one hand, his killing intent sharp and fierce.

Looking at Qiao Hongcai looming over him with that murderous, demonic look, Meng Zhou was scared shitless on the spot. Oh no, this was not right! Today was supposed to be about easily stomping the other man to death—how had it suddenly come to this?

I am the fish, he is the knife and the cutting board—how had their positions been completely reversed in the blink of an eye?

And yet, having just taken a solid blow of the Iron Cold Palm, Twenty-One Forms, Meng Zhou was now in a state of near-death and grave injury. Holding on to that single thread of life was already all he could manage. Never mind moving—even opening his mouth to speak was a luxury.

In his present state, if Qiao Hongcai were to finish him off with a killing blow, Meng Zhou could not dodge at all, nor could he even open his mouth to surrender. He could only lie there on the ground in that utterly twisted posture, waiting to die.

At this very moment, it was not only Meng Zhou, the man himself, who had wet himself in fright; below the stage, Meng Jueming was equally terrified. If Qiao Hongcai truly succeeded, then it would not just be Meng Zhou who died—Meng Jueming would suffer a crushing loss as well!

However, according to the rules of the newcomer challenge tournament, apart from the two fighters on stage voluntarily speaking up to concede, no one else could interfere. In other words, unless Meng Zhou himself offered to surrender, even Meng Jueming, the senior brother in charge, could not save him. He could only watch helplessly as Meng Zhou was beaten to death.

Meng Zhou would have liked to surrender, but the most fatal problem just now was that he simply could not open his mouth!