The arena shuddered with the force of each clash. Blades rang sharp, sparks flashing in midair as Lao Xie pressed forward, his sword cutting arcs that carried no hesitation. Ming Yu's feet slid against the stone platform, his arms trembling as he parried again and again.
The audience held their breath. To them, it seemed like a storm breaking loose—Lao Xie was merciless, every strike pushing Ming Yu closer to the edge.
Ming Yu grit his teeth, sweat running down his brow. "Brother Lao… must you go this far?" His voice was low, half buried beneath the ringing steel.
Lao Xie's gaze never wavered. "This is a tournament, not the past." His words were calm, cold, as if any history between them had already been buried.
Ming Yu's heart sank, but his sword surged. With a sudden step, he turned defense into offense, his blade sweeping wide like flowing water. The shift caught Lao Xie's rhythm, forcing him to slide back for the first time.
Gasps rippled from the stands.
Ming Yu's strike didn't stop there—his swordwork drew on years of discipline, his aura flaring bright. He pressed forward, each move polished, elegant, but carrying the weight of desperation. For a moment, it looked as though the tide might turn.
Yet Lao Xie's eyes narrowed, and the faintest curve touched his lips. With a twist of his wrist, his blade slipped through the gaps in Ming Yu's form, countering with frightening precision.
The two figures blurred, strikes exchanging faster than most could follow. To the watching disciples, it seemed a battle between equals. But Elder Yao's quiet sigh reached Ling Ruxin's ears.
"He is holding back," she murmured.
Ruxin's eyes widened, her heart tightening as she looked closer. Lao Xie's strikes were sharp, but never aimed to cripple. Each time he could have ended it, the blade shifted just enough — as if he was testing him.
Ming Yu, however, felt none of that subtlety. To him, the pressure was crushing. He forced out a cry, his spiritual energy surging wildly as he gathered everything into one decisive slash. The air split, light streaking across the platform in a blazing arc.
The crowd erupted.
"There's no way…" someone gasped.
"Ming Yu is getting pushed back by Lao Xie?" another voice broke out, trembling with disbelief.
"Impossible! Ming Yu is the most promising outer disciple of our generation! He lit up five stars in the evaluation test — no one else has done that in years!"
Gasps rippled through the audience, the murmurs swelling into heated debate.
"Exactly. Even if he's only at the eighth stage, his strength isn't far from the top three outer disciples. Zhang Weiren, Mei Yan, Shen Yun—each of them are ninth stage, but many say if Ming Yu went all out, he could even defeat one of them!"
"And yet now… he's being forced back?"
The disciples' voices overlapped, doubt and excitement clashing in the air. For them, Ming Yu was the benchmark of their generation, the one destined to rise into the inner sect sooner than any other. Watching him falter under Lao Xie's blade turned their understanding upside down.
"Then… what does this mean?"
"If Lao Xie can suppress him like this, doesn't that mean Lao Xie is also at the ninth stage?"
"Or worse — Qi Refinement Realm…."
The murmurs grew louder, assumptions piling higher with every passing breath. To the watching disciples, this wasn't just a duel anymore. It was a storm tearing open the veil of the outer sect, shaking the rankings they had always believed unshakable.
The clash didn't stop. Ming Yu's arms trembled from the impact, but his feet dug into the platform, refusing to buckle. His blade danced in hurried arcs, straining to parry each strike that came for him. Step by step, he forced himself upright again, his breath ragged but his spirit unyielding.
"Not yet!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but resolute.
With a sudden burst, Ming Yu deflected Lao Xie's downward slash, brushing it aside with sheer force. The clang echoed across the arena, and for a heartbeat, a gap opened — a chance. His eyes lit up, seizing the moment. He twisted his wrist and lunged, his blade darting toward Lao Xie's chest with the swiftness of a striking snake.
Gasps shot through the crowd. "He found an opening!"
But just as the tip of Ming Yu's sword closed in, Lao Xie's expression barely changed. His wrist flicked, his stance shifted, and like flowing water closing over a crack, his blade curved back with startling speed, catching Ming Yu's strike and turning it aside as though the opening had never existed.
The sound of metal meeting metal was sharp, decisive. Ming Yu's eyes widened in disbelief. "How—? That fast?"
The audience erupted again.
"Did you see that? Ming Yu had him—he almost had him!"
"And Lao Xie just… erased it! He reacted instantly, like he saw it coming all along!"
"This speed—he's faster than Ming Yu, no doubt about it. Even faster than the matches earlier!"
Excitement and dread rippled across the stands, disciples leaning forward, unable to look away. For many, it was the first time they realized Ming Yu's overwhelming talent could actually be suppressed so cleanly.
On the other side, Elder Yao's expression remained calm, but her eyes flickered with a trace of intrigue. Beside her, Ling Ruxin's fingers tightened slightly over her sleeve, her voice soft but carrying the weight of realization.
"That speed…" Ruxin murmured, her eyes narrowing as Lao Xie's figure blurred like a phantom across the platform. "He's even faster than in his last matches. And yet… he's still holding back."
Elder Yao's lips curved faintly, though it was impossible to tell whether it was admiration or concern. "The question is—when will he decide to stop holding back?"
"Or perhaps… he'll never stop," Ruxin whispered, a strange weight in her voice as she tugged at her lips. Her sigh followed soon after. "I can't even gauge his strength, and I'm supposed to be an inner disciple."
Elder Yao glanced at her, a soft chuckle escaping. "Relax. The world is vast. Now you see—there's always a sky above a sky."
But Ruxin wasn't satisfied. Her gaze lingered on the platform, then shifted cautiously to Elder Yao. "Elder… do you know something?" she asked quietly, the doubt in her voice clear.
For a moment, Yao's eyes flickered, betraying the memory of the subtle attempt she had made earlier—her spiritual sense probing at Lao Xie's cultivation, only to meet an answer she deemed as impossible.
"No," she said simply, her voice even, almost casual. "I can't see through him any more than you can."
Ruxin lowered her eyes, unsure if she believed that answer, but she didn't press further.
"Qi Refinement, fifth stage… this kid—ha…" Elder Yao's thoughts stirred, a flicker of disbelief flashing through her mind. Her lips didn't move, yet inwardly she gave a quiet, almost awkward laugh at the absurdity.