My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 191: The Name is Courage

When Chen Ping returned to the Qingyun Sect’s designated area, the atmosphere was subtle, bordering on awkward.

Headmaster Li Lingfeng looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze, harboring a peculiarity that was difficult to decipher. He pondered for a moment before finally speaking, his tone flat and revealing little emotion.

“Elder Chen, that battle… was not easily won. The victory is what matters. You’ve worked hard.”

Despite the neutral words, Chen Ping could sense the Headmaster’s underlying dissatisfaction with the method of his victory. Li Lingfeng had merely refrained from voicing it explicitly to spare his feelings.

“Haha! Junior Brother Chen! Well done!”

Zhao Yuanqi, on the other hand, was all smiles. He slapped Chen Ping vigorously on the shoulder, his voice booming.

“Who cares about the method? Winning is the only skill that counts! That kid exhausted his own True Essence; who can he blame but himself? That’s called tactics! Do you understand?”

His voice was loud and clear, seemingly intent on vindicating Chen Ping to the surrounding crowd.

Zhao Long also walked over. Tall and sturdy, the look he gave Chen Ping carried a pure sense of recognition.

“Congratulations on your victory, Senior Brother Chen.”

His thinking was simple: anyone standing on the arena as the winner, regardless of the means, deserved respect.

Only Bai Yue remained distinct.

She sat to the side, refusing to look directly at Chen Ping since his return. However, hearing Zhao Yuanqi’s boisterous laughter and Zhao Long’s congratulations, she finally couldn’t hold back. She let out a cold snort, her gaze sweeping over Chen Ping like an icy blade, filled with undisguised contempt and disgust.

In her view, the path of a sword cultivator should be one of indomitable will—pressing forward unwaveringly, preferring to break rather than bend. Chen Ping’s “cowardly” act of avoiding battle and relying on attrition to wear down his opponent was an insult to the very concept of combat. It brought shame upon the Qingyun Sect.

If they weren’t fellow disciples, she might have drawn her sword to teach him a lesson. In the end, she only managed to squeeze out a stiff, frigid sentence.

“Congratulations.”

Her tone was cold enough to freeze water, and she immediately turned her head away as if looking at him any longer would dirty her eyes.

Chen Ping gave a slight bow to Li Lingfeng. “You flatter me, Headmaster.”

To Zhao Yuanqi’s praise, he offered only a faint smile.

Facing Zhao Long’s congratulations, he nodded earnestly. “Thank you, Junior Brother Zhao.”

As for Bai Yue’s almost tangible contempt, he paid it no mind at all, acting as if he neither saw nor heard it. He simply sat down, closed his eyes, and began regulating his breathing, maintaining the charade that the “fierce battle” of the last hour had truly drained him.

Soon, it was Zhao Long’s turn to take the stage.

His opponent was, surprisingly, another disciple from the Tianling Sect, one whose cultivation had reached the Third Layer of Foundation Establishment!

Zhao Long took a deep breath, his eyes instantly becoming incomparably resolute, burning with a tragic determination. He untied the massive, heavy ruler-sword from his back, gripped it tightly with both hands, and walked step by step onto the arena.

The ruler-sword had no sharp edge, yet it exuded a heavy, mountain-like texture.

The battle was exceptionally brutal from the very start.

The Tianling Sect disciple’s movement techniques were agile, his Arts exquisite, and their power far surpassed that of Arts executed at the First Layer of Foundation Establishment. Sharp ice pillars, scorching fireballs, and heavy earth spikes rained down on Zhao Long like a violent storm.

Zhao Long roared repeatedly, swinging the massive ruler-sword in his hands like a giant door plank. He didn’t know many exquisite sword techniques; he simply pushed his Earth-attribute True Essence to the extreme, pouring it into the heavy blade.

Every swing carried force enough to split mountains and crack stones, forcibly cleaving and smashing the incoming Arts. He used offense as defense, the wide swings of his ruler-sword forming an airtight defensive domain.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Deafening explosions continuously resounded across the arena.

Zhao Long was repeatedly forced back by the powerful impacts. The web of skin between his thumb and index finger split open, blood staining the sword hilt, while a trickle of red ran from the corner of his mouth.

But the fighting spirit in his eyes burned hotter and hotter!

He was like the most stubborn reef in a storm, standing firm and unyielding against the crashing waves. Every time he was forced back, he would roar and charge forward again. The ruler-sword, carrying immense momentum, smashed toward his opponent repeatedly, forcing the Tianling Sect disciple to temporarily avoid its edge.

His fighting style had no finesse to speak of; it was the purest collision of strength and will. It was a direct clash, trading injury for injury.

It made the spectators’ hearts pound and their blood boil.

“What a man!”

“A true warrior!”

“The Qingyun Sect actually has someone with such iron blood!”

“This is what a real battle looks like! Unlike that guy named Chen-something-Ping. Is he even worthy of standing on the same stage? Pah!”

Chen Ping was speechless. Even off the arena, he was still getting dragged out for a public flogging?

By now, even the Tianling Sect spectators had shed some of their contempt, their faces showing solemn expressions. Zhao Long’s tenacity exceeded everyone’s expectations.

One hour.

A full hour passed.

Zhao Long was drenched in blood, his body covered in wounds, his True Essence long since depleted. He was relying entirely on burning his lifeblood and an unyielding will to keep standing. His movements grew slower and slower; every swing of his sword seemed to drain the very marrow from his bones.

The Tianling Sect disciple’s expression had turned ugly. Being pushed to this point by a First Layer Foundation Establishment cultivator was a disgrace. He decided to stop holding back, gathering an extremely powerful cyan wind spear to end the battle.

Right at that moment, Zhao Long let out a beast-like roar. Using the last trace of his strength, he swung the massive ruler-sword back, posturing to hurl it with all his might toward his opponent.

However, the ruler-sword flew from his hands for less than three feet before powerlessly dropping to the ground with a dull thud.

Zhao Long himself stood with eyes wide open, maintaining the throwing posture. His body remained rigidly upright on the spot, motionless, as if frozen into a stone statue.

He had exhausted every ounce of strength and fallen unconscious, unable to even shout a word of surrender.

The entire arena fell deathly silent.

Everyone was shocked by this tragic scene.

Standing while unconscious! What indomitable will was this? This was the most heroic interpretation of the word “battle”!

The wind spear gathered by the Tianling Sect disciple halted in mid-air. Looking at his opponent standing before him like a sculpture, his eyes grew complex. In the end, he slowly dispersed his spiritual power, choosing not to launch the final blow.

At this moment, Chen Ping was also greatly shaken.

He saw something in Zhao Long that he himself lacked.

If fear is a human instinct, then courage is humanity’s anthem.

When Zhao Long faced the Tianling Sect disciple, his heart had been filled with fear. Chen Ping had seen his fingers trembling before he stepped onto the stage. But courage allowed him to break through that fear and face an opponent several times stronger than himself head-on.

Until the very end, until he had nothing left, until his soul was damaged, he did not retreat a single step.

Chen Ping felt a rare surge of emotion.

While everyone was still stunned, Chen Ping’s figure shot onto the arena like an arrow released from a taut bowstring.

“Qingyun Sect’s Chen Ping surrenders on behalf of Junior Brother Zhao Long!”

His voice was clear and calm, spreading throughout the arena.

He quickly walked to Zhao Long’s side and gingerly checked his condition. His breath was weak, his meridians were damaged in multiple places, and his soul was unstable and shaken from excessive overexertion. The injuries were extremely severe.

A strong sense of respect and genuine, heartfelt emotion surged within Chen Ping.

Knowing one is no match, yet fighting to the death regardless… is that the folly named hot-bloodedness?

No, that is not folly. That is a belief—a conviction as firm and unyielding as a rock.

Fate weaves like a tapestry; one must be the bedrock.

In Zhao Long, Chen Ping seemed to see the future of the Qingyun Sect.

After taking a deep look at this man, at Zhao Long, he quickly took out several healing and soul-nurturing pills, pried open Zhao Long’s mouth, and fed them to him.

Then, he carefully lifted this heavy “sculpture” onto his back and walked step by step down from the arena.

His movements were steady and powerful, completely different from the slippery, weak image he had presented during his own match.

On the spectator stands, the contempt and curses originally directed at Chen Ping were now replaced by a solemn silence. Many people watched Chen Ping carrying Zhao Long on his back, their gazes complex.