Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

Chapter 52 Breaking the Mountain

Wang Yaozu's "Breaking the Mountain Hand" is clearly described in the boxing manual: This fist emphasizes frontal attacks, concentrating all strength into a single point, resulting in extremely strong penetrating power. However, it is slow to turn and clumsy in footwork; once someone circles around to the side or behind, it is like an ox stuck in mud.

Wang Yaozu stood on the east side of the ring, having taken off his outer shirt to reveal his muscular physique. His arms were thicker than an average person's thighs, and his fists were covered in calluses, as thick as a shell.

He cracked his knuckles as he stretched his shoulders, his eyes sweeping over Zhao Chongyuan under the opposite shed, and he nodded slightly.

Jiang Lan stood on the west side, dressed in a gray short-sleeved shirt, the belt tightly fastened around his waist. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing several old scars on his forearms. His breathing was even, his eyes fixed on Wang Yaozu's feet.

The boxing manual says that before throwing a punch, the left foot will first grind the ground half an inch.

This is a punching habit he has, and he absolutely cannot change it.

The gong sounded.

Wang Yaozu's first punch came flying. Jiang Lan didn't take it head-on. Instead, she took a half step back, flicked her left arm, and brought her five fingers together like a snake's head, aiming at Wang Yaozu's wrist pulse.

This attack was a probe; he needed to confirm the accuracy of the intelligence.

The moment Jiang Lan's fingertips touched Wang Yaozu's skin, it felt like poking into a piece of old cowhide, hard and tough.

Wang Yaozu's right arm paused in mid-air. In that brief pause, Jiang Lan noticed that his center of gravity needed half a breath to return to normal after throwing a punch, causing his feet to lag behind the speed of his fist.

Therefore, when punching, the left foot slams into the ground, and when retracting the fist, the right foot drags.

The intelligence is true.

Jiang Lan no longer met the attack head-on. He unleashed the "Snake Step" of the Mountain-Crushing Fist, his body shifting left and right like a water snake weaving through reeds. His feet slid along the table, each step landing precisely in the gaps between Wang Yaozu's footsteps.

Wang Yaozu's punches grazed Jiang Lan's clothes repeatedly, striking the air with dull thuds. His breathing became heavy, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

This isn't boxing.

Every punch he threw was just a little short, like swatting a mosquito, it always slipped through his fingers!

"Why are you running away?" Wang Yaozu's voice was filled with anger.

Jiang Lan didn't answer. He kept walking, his eyes fixed on Wang Yaozu's waist and hips. That was the center of gravity, and there would be a slight shift before each punch. He waited for that shift to occur.

Eleventh move. Wang Yaozu's right fist missed, his center of gravity shifted forward half an inch, and his footwork slowed down a beat.

Jiang Lan moved. His body was like a compressed spring suddenly released, and he ducked under Wang Yaozu's left armpit. The ducking was as fast as a snake, his shoulder almost touching the table, his spine loosening one joint at a time, making him appear half a head shorter. His right palm flipped up from below, pressing against Wang Yaozu's back—the heel of his palm imprinted three inches to the right of the spine, the force originating from the soles of his feet, passing through his waist, back, shoulder, elbow, and wrist, and expelled at the moment of contact.

Wang Yaozu grunted and staggered forward two steps. He suddenly turned around, his right fist sweeping across, the force of the wind cutting into his face. Jiang Lan had already retreated, standing three feet away, arms hanging at her sides, breathing steadily.

His right palm was still numb. The muscles and skin of a seven-point martial artist are much thicker than those of a five-point martial artist. He only used seven-tenths of his strength in this palm strike—if he had struck with full force, he would have been unable to withstand the recoil.

The area below the arena was deathly silent.

After Wang Yaozu steadied himself, he took a deep breath to suppress the soreness and numbness in his back. His gaze towards Jiang Lan became wary.

"You've studied me?" His voice wasn't loud, but the dock was quiet, and everyone could hear him.

"Um."

"Who showed you the boxing manual?"

"That's not important," Jiang Lan said. "What's important is that your next punch won't hit me."

Wang Yaozu's pupils contracted slightly. He knew Jiang Lan was telling the truth. Continuing the fight would only result in him being hit repeatedly from behind. But he had no way out. The Zhao family's offer was five hundred taels of silver, plus a 30% stake in the dock. If he lost, he would lose everything.

Wang Yaozu gritted his teeth, brought his fists to his sides, and cracked his bones. He no longer pursued precise strikes, but instead channeled his strength throughout his body, his arms swinging wildly like iron whips.

A strong wind howled on the arena, whipping up wood chips that flew everywhere.

Jiang Lan neither retreated nor advanced, but stood at the edge of Wang Yaozu's attack range, just a step away, like watching a caged beast.

Wang Yaozu missed seventeen punches in a row!

His blood and qi surged, and his steps finally became unsteady. His right fist slammed out but didn't retract, and his body leaned forward half a foot—his center of gravity had completely shifted to his toes, and his heels were off the ground.

Jiang Lan moved in that instant.

With a powerful push of his foot, he slashed forward like a black lightning bolt. His right fist struck Wang Yaozu's chest before his palm could strike.

The power of the six acupoints was poured in without reservation!

The moment the fist touched the sternum, the sound of bone cracking exploded—a crisp sound!

Wang Yaozu's sternum collapsed half an inch, and broken bone fragments pierced out from the flesh, white and streaked with blood.

Blood gushed from the wound, splattering onto Jiang Lan's sleeves and face, and the smell of rust filled the air.

Wang Yaozu's mouth opened, but before his scream could even escape his throat, Jiang Lan's second strike arrived. His right palm, fingers together like a sword, aimed straight at his Adam's apple.

This thrust was swift and ruthless, without any feints. The wind from the finger made Wang Yaozu's throat tighten, and he instinctively wanted to lean back—but he had already lost his balance and his body was falling backward.

Jiang Lan's fingertips pierced his throat, breaking the skin and causing blood to gush out in a thin stream, landing on Jiang Lan's palm. Wang Yaozu's eyes bulged out, and he grabbed Jiang Lan's wrists with both hands, trying to pry them open, but his strength was already waning.

Jiang Lan's right hand transformed from a stab into a claw, its five fingers like iron pincers, gripping Wang Yaozu's throat. Her fingernails dug into the pierced wound, her knuckles embedded in the flesh, and blood trickled down between her fingers.

Wang Yaozu made a "clucking" sound from his throat, like a rooster whose neck had been stepped on. His face changed from red to purple, then from purple to black, his tongue stuck out of his mouth, and his eyes rolled upwards, revealing large patches of white.

Jiang Lan pressed her thumb against his Adam's apple and pushed it in forcefully.

"Click."

The sound of cartilage shattering was crisp, like stepping on a damp twig. Wang Yaozu's Adam's apple collapsed, and the skin on his entire neck crumpled. Blood gushed from the shattered wound, like a tap being turned on, flowing down his neck onto the countertop and pooling into a dark red puddle.

The tung oil on the tabletop, soaked in blood, gleamed with an eerie sheen.

Wang Yaozu's body stiffened for a moment, then went completely limp. His hand slipped from Jiang Lan's wrist and hung limply at his side. His eyes were half-open, pupils unfocused, and the whites of his eyes filled with cracked blood vessels. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, nostrils, and ears, mixed with bubbles from his ruptured throat, each breath bringing with it bloody foam.

Jiang Lan released her grip.

Wang Yaozu's head tilted to one side and slammed against the wooden board with a dull thud. His body twitched twice.

Jiang Lan stood up and took two steps back.

His right hand was still dripping blood. Fragments of flesh and white cartilage clung to his fingers, and blood and grime were embedded in his fingernails.

His arm was covered in blood from his fingertips to his elbows; some of it was Wang Yaozu's, and some was from the recoil that had ruptured his own tiger's mouth.

Blood trickled down his wrist, dripping onto the countertop and mixing with Wang Yaozu's blood.