The Almighty Martial Arts System - Chapter 157

Jiang Fei certainly wouldn’t cry. When a person is brimming with confidence, they radiate calmness. No matter what situation arises, having that inner assurance means never panicking.

He took two deep breaths, casting aside all distractions as he effortlessly slipped into the realm of a piano virtuoso. After exchanging a tender glance with Qiao Yiyi, he raised his hands high and let them descend gently upon the keys.

Ding-dong, ding-dong…

The piano notes flowed out like a stream, shattering the silence of the massive stadium. Jiang Fei’s slender fingers danced across the black-and-white keys, producing a sound as if sprites were leaping from the piano.

In the unusually quiet arena, the music grew even more enchanting. Unlike the earlier concert’s frenzied atmosphere—with its constant noise and screams—this serene setting amplified the beauty of the performance.

Sometimes misfortune is a blessing in disguise.

The fans had intended their silence to humiliate Jiang Fei, to force him into retreat. Yet unwittingly, they’d created the perfect environment for his piano recital. After all, piano music is meant to be listened to with the heart, not drowned out by chaos.

“Only the piano stayed with me, playing all day…
The sleeping cello,
Quiet and worn…
I think you’ve made it very clear,
I understand—you don’t hesitate to leave.”

…

“Quiet” was a classic old love song. Qiao Yiyi had chosen to perform it with Jiang Fei precisely because it relied solely on piano accompaniment.

Over the three-hour concert, she was slated to sing nearly thirty songs. But as a relatively new artist—just a year into her career with only one album and an EP under her belt, plus a movie theme song—she had barely a dozen original tracks. Filling the setlist required covers.

True to its name, “Quiet” was a soft, melancholic ballad. Jiang Fei’s masterful playing, combined with Qiao Yiyi’s vocal prowess, brought it to life flawlessly—so perfectly that it shattered her usual high-energy, dance-heavy stage persona.

The audience suddenly realized: their idol, their goddess, could also embody a delicate, artistic grace.

Who knew a beautiful girl in a simple white shirt, blue jeans, and a ponytail, sitting at a piano, could look so ethereal?

Honestly, the fans were stunned. Many fought the urge to cheer or sing along like before.

But… they held firm.

They’d vowed to boycott this mysterious Jiang Fei, and they’d see it through. For Qiao Yiyi’s future happiness, for their principles, they’d make this “nepo baby” back down!

Yet as they watched Jiang Fei’s focused, effortless grace at the piano, some began to waver. Maybe he wasn’t the spoiled, talentless heir they’d imagined. He was… kinda handsome. Charming, even.

(Of course, they could appreciate that charm—but Qiao Yiyi better not!)

By the song’s end, Qiao Yiyi’s powerhouse vocals and transformed image had left the crowd in awe.

But the “black ocean” of silent protest persisted. Even the occasional screams from Xia Xiaozhi and her two high school friends were mere drops in the sea.

“Hey!” Xia Xiaozhi hissed at Lin Moli and Bai Mangguo. “You’re Jiang Fei’s friends, right? How can you just watch him get bullied? Why aren’t you cheering for him?”

She didn’t dare chide her idol, Ye Yuanyuan—her reverence ran too deep.

Lin Moli and Bai Mangguo merely smiled.

They’d witnessed Jiang Fei’s true skill. They knew what he was capable of. This “black ocean”? Just the calm before the storm he’d unleash.

“What’s so funny?” Xia Xiaozhi pouted. “Lin sis—ahem, Miss Lin—aren’t you worried? Jiang Fei’s about to cry!”

(She’d almost slipped up and called her “Lin Meimei”—their private nickname comparing her to the possessive Dream of Red Mansions character.)

Lin Moli ignored the jab. “Have faith in him. The same way you trust his cooking and medical skills. Just wait—he’ll surprise you.”

…

After “Quiet,” Jiang Fei and Qiao Yiyi performed Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are.”

Though not originally piano-only, Jiang Fei adapted it effortlessly. The quicker tempo showcased more of his technical flair—seamless transitions, natural phrasing—hinting at his true mastery.

“Huh. This Jiang Fei guy’s actually decent at piano,” murmured a musically inclined fan. “Way better than Yiyi. Is this how he won her over?”

“Decent, sure. But compare him to Asian rap king Quan Yingran? Light-years behind!”

“Exactly! Quan Yingran is her soulmate. Otherwise, I quit love!”

The irony wasn’t lost on the crowd: a love song meant for men to sing to women, now delivered to Jiang Fei by Qiao Yiyi. Every shy glance, every smile between them stung like salt in the fans’ wounds.

This was next-level couple pandering.

Single fans felt personally attacked.

Thus, the “black ocean” held firm. No matter how dazzling the performance, the audience remained a silent void—save for rare flickers of light.

For most performers, this would be psychological torture. Imagine: tens of thousands of people, dead silent in the dark, judging you.

But Qiao Yiyi was unshaken. And Jiang Fei? Even less so.

…

As the song ended, Qiao Yiyi stood, surveyed the sea of darkness, and stuck her tongue out playfully at Jiang Fei.

“Guess you didn’t love that,” she said into the mic. “Honestly? That was just the warm-up. The real show’s coming—let’s give the floor to Piano Maestro Jiang Fei for a solo!”

Normally, fans would’ve protested her self-deprecation. But tonight? Silence. They’d endured this long; they wouldn’t crack now.

This was the moment.

No more duets. No more compromises. Just Jiang Fei, alone at the piano, delivering a full symphonic experience—Beethoven’s Ninth.

(Yes, arranged for solo piano. For a Level 9 virtuoso like Jiang Fei? Child’s play.)

Qiao Yiyi stepped aside. Jiang Fei inhaled.

And then—

Boom!

The first movement erupted: solemn, grand, a tidal wave of sound that stunned the 40,000-strong crowd.

You don’t need expertise to recognize mastery.

The melody surged—oppressive one moment, heroic the next—painting a battle against fate itself. It was raw. Unfiltered. A hurricane of emotion drenching every soul present.

Even the skeptics paled.