The Slap Ascension Sect was abuzz with an energy that could be felt even in the deepest corners of the Sacred Hall. The disciples, their robes stained with the sweat of endless practice, stood in rows, palms raised toward the heavens in unyielding focus. The courtyard was littered with broken wooden figures of the highest pride, each one carved with the arrogance of the most untouchable young masters. Their frozen expressions were ones of shock, as though their very souls had been struck by divine punishment.
At the heart of this frenzied atmosphere stood Xiao Fan, now known not only as the "Slap King" but also as the unexpected challenger to the prideful and revered Daoist Cheek Deflector. The tournament, which had only once been a casual gathering of slap enthusiasts, was now a battleground for the very essence of dignity and respect in the world of cultivation.
The prize, though seemingly trivial to the uninitiated, was no less than a testament to one's honor. Not only was there the renowned Slap of Eternal Bragging Rights, but the ultimate reward was a scroll—a divine slap manual said to be crafted by the celestial hands of the ancestors. And of course, the melon. No one knew why, but it was rumored that this humble fruit could grant enlightenment to the one who consumed it with the proper mindset. Perhaps it was just an old tale, but such was the nature of cultivation—mysteries, both profound and trivial, wove together in ways beyond mortal understanding.
Xiao Fan had not cared much for such a spectacle, until the name of Daoist Cheek Deflector reached his ears. The so-called "Slapless King" of the cultivation world. The one whose cheeks were said to be as smooth and resistant as the polished jade of the Emperor's throne. No slap had ever breached his defenses. The challenge stirred something within Xiao Fan—something primal, something beyond the mere desire to win.
"Daoist Cheek Deflector," Xiao Fan murmured to himself, rolling the name on his tongue like an ancient incantation. His gaze narrowed as he stepped forward to register for the tournament, his steps unhurried and his expression indifferent. The elder at the registration booth trembled as he read Xiao Fan's name.
"Young master, are you certain? The risks are dire. Some disciples enter this tournament only to leave with their pride shattered, their faces disfigured beyond recognition."
Xiao Fan, ever confident, offered a casual smile. "Pride is a luxury I have long since discarded. What I seek is the true nature of strength. Not in the superficiality of appearances, but in the ability to strike at the heart of the matter."
With that, he entered the tournament, and the rest, as they say, became legend.
---
The first round came swiftly, as opponents fell one by one. Xiao Fan's opponents were many—cultivators of various sects, each bearing the weight of their lineage and pride. Yet, none could stand against the sheer might of his slap. In the first match, a young master from the Heaven-Slaying Palm Sect had dared to unleash a fiery slap known as the Flaming Phoenix Pity Palm, a move that had been passed down for generations.
The firebird-shaped aura soared through the air, a majestic and dangerous thing. But to Xiao Fan, it was nothing but a child's tantrum. He stood unmoved, his eyes unclouded. With a single, effortless swipe, he dismissed the firebird, watching as it erupted into nothing but embers.
The young master spun in place, his pride shattered, and collapsed to the ground, his body twitching as if possessed by some unseen force.
"Next," Xiao Fan muttered, cracking his knuckles.
---
In the second round, Xiao Fan faced the Harmony Hands, twin cultivators known for their synchronized slap attacks. The brothers moved in perfect harmony, their palms raised like the dual moons of the sky, striking together as one.
But Xiao Fan's footwork was unmatched. His movements were so fluid, so effortless, that even the twins could not follow. With a simple sidestep, he yawned as he turned, and with one hand, slapped both of them across the face, sending them spinning into the air. A double knockout.
The crowd erupted into cheers, but Xiao Fan remained calm, his gaze steady.
---
And then came the final round.
Daoist Cheek Deflector descended from the heavens, his robes like the clouds themselves, flowing with an elegance that spoke of centuries of cultivation. His face, serene and untroubled, looked upon Xiao Fan with a quiet disdain.
"Xiao Fan," he intoned, his voice rich and deep, yet devoid of emotion. "Your slaps are nothing more than crude attempts. You lack the grace, the discipline, and the respect for the cheek. A slap is an art, not a brute force."
Xiao Fan only shrugged. "I am not here for art. I am here to test the limits of power. Let us see how far your cheek can go."
With that, he charged.
But the moment his palm made contact with Daoist Cheek Deflector's face, something strange happened. Time seemed to stretch, and the slap curved around, redirecting its force back into Xiao Fan's own face.
A sickening smack rang out, and Xiao Fan spun through the air, his body colliding with the arena floor in a whirlwind of blood and dust.
Daoist Cheek Deflector's face remained unblemished, his eyes half-lidded in mockery.
"Pathetic," he said coldly. "Your strength is weak, Xiao Fan. My cheeks are the pinnacle of slap cultivation. You cannot defeat me."
Xiao Fan rose slowly, a grin tugging at his lips. His hand was already raised, but this time, his expression was not one of arrogance. It was a quiet determination, like the calm before a storm.
"You are right," he said. "I can't defeat you with brute strength."
He vanished.
Daoist Cheek Deflector froze, his eyes widening in alarm.
"Wait… what are you—"
Xiao Fan appeared behind him, holding a jade pill in his palm. With a swift motion, he swallowed it.
His palm glowed with spiritual energy, and his aura shifted, rippling like the wind before a great tempest.
"Forbidden Slap Dao," he muttered, his voice reverberating with power. "Palm of Internal Reversal—Soul Cheek Breaker."
Time stopped. The very air grew heavy, and Daoist Cheek Deflector's eyes widened in horror. Xiao Fan's soul hand pierced the very fabric of his mind, striking where no physical force could reach.
Slap!
The sound was not of a mere impact, but of something far greater. The spiritual defense, crafted over countless years, shattered in an instant.
Daoist Cheek Deflector was flung from the arena, his body crumpling as if deflated. The crowd was silent for a moment, and then erupted in a wave of thunderous applause.
"Xiao Fan wins!" the announcer bellowed.
Xiao Fan stood, bruised but unbroken. He had done it. The Slap King had conquered the Slapless King.
---
Later, in the Prize Ceremony, Xiao Fan received his rewards: a scroll containing ancient slap techniques, a melon that whispered in his ear, and a pair of spiritual sunglasses that seemed to hold the weight of the heavens themselves.
Fairy Lin Yue approached, her expression one of quiet admiration. "You did it. You defeated the greatest slapper in history."
Xiao Fan took a bite from the melon, the fruit's wisdom flowing into his mind. "Yes," he said with a smirk. "And now, I think I shall slap the heavens."
As he donned his spiritual sunglasses, the crowd fell silent, as though even the heavens themselves awaited his next move.
And in that moment, the Slap Ascension Sect knew that Xiao Fan was destined for greater things—things that no slap, no matter how powerful, could ever truly contain.