The air inside the Feng Arena had turned molten. Even those seated high above the stone ring swore the heat seared their skin, as though Shenlu Feng's burning Zin stretched out to lick every spectator. His fists blazed like torches, his movements sharper than the whistle of a storm wind slicing through mountain ridges. The prodigy danced forward, relentless, his strikes flowing faster than eyes could trace. Each punch was a gust, each kick a thunderclap, each feint a phantom blur.
And in the center of this tempest stood Jin. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion, sweat stung his eyes, and bruises marred his jaw and ribs. Yet his lips...torn and bloodied...curved in a defiant smirk. Every time Shenlu surged, Jin's battered body stumbled, twisted, ducked just in time. Every time Shenlu's Zin-clad fist came inches from breaking him, Jin found some strange rhythm to turn pain into movement.
The crowd was stunned into silence. None had seen a duel like this—no teacher's spar, no sect trial, no life-or-death grudge. This was something different. It wasn't brutality for survival. It was purity: two warriors breaking past the limits of what men should endure.
Shenlu Feng's laughter cut through the silence like ringing iron. It wasn't mocking, it was joy. He was no longer the cold-eyed prodigy, aloof in perfection. For the first time, he had found someone who could meet him in the storm.
But Jin's mind wasn't entirely on him.
Ruan. His thoughts drifted, even as his body moved on instinct. She must be terrified, watching this. She's seen me smile, jest, fool around... and now she sees this side—the blood, the killing edge. After this, I'll need to make her laugh again. I'll tell her something stupid, maybe about how the arena floor hit harder than Shenlu did. Yes, I'll win... and I'll keep her calm.
A fist like a hammer came, and Jin's instincts screamed. He twisted, rolled aside, dust exploding where he'd been. He exhaled hard and created space, staggering back. The two warriors stood on opposite sides of the ring, their breaths heavy, their eyes unblinking.
Shenlu's fists burned with Zin. To those without the gift, it looked like smoke and shimmer. To those attuned, his aura blazed white-hot, the purest expression of Zin cultivation, as if the heavens themselves had poured flame into his veins.
Jin couldn't see it. But he felt it. Every pulse of Shenlu's energy pressed against his skin, threatened to tear away his focus. He knew if this fight dragged on, he would be forced into a place he didn't want to go....a place where the cold, detached version of himself would awaken, the one who hated wasting energy, hated fighting for reasons he didn't even remember.
And yet… in that tug of resistance, something else stirred.
A laugh.
Low, raw, and startling.
The crowd gasped as Jin threw back his head and laughed loudly, blood on his teeth, mirth in his eyes. Shenlu paused mid-step, his smoldering aura flickering for a beat.
"Sorry about that," Jin said, wiping blood from his mouth. His grin widened. "For a moment, I forgot myself. Tried acting all brooding, cold, like one of those tragic heroes. But that's not me. Why would I make this so serious?"
He leaned forward, smirking. "This is a show, isn't it? A festival of fists, a spectacle for the crowd. And I—" he tapped his chest with a bloody finger "—I am the star. Why would I scowl when I could entertain?"
The words, insolent and reckless, rolled over the arena like thunder. Shenlu Feng's brow twitched. Then, unexpectedly...he laughed. His cold prodigy's façade cracked wide open, replaced by a raw grin, teeth flashing like a wolf finally unchained.
"Entertain me then, Jin," Shenlu said, his voice like a growl laced with amusement. "But remember when you fall, it will not be to amuse the crowd. It will be because I am better."
Jin clutched his jaw dramatically, as though offended. "Better? Hah! You nearly ruined my face just now. Do you know how rare it is to be born this handsome? You can't relate, Shenlu. You're all fists and flames. Me? I'm a gift to the world. Even losing an eyebrow would be a crime against beauty."
The crowd, tense a heartbeat before, erupted in stunned laughter. Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire. The prodigy himself chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, eyes burning brighter than ever.
And then Jin raised his hand, pointing at Shenlu with arrogant flare. His voice boomed across the stone walls:
"This next clash," he declared, "will end it."
A hush fell. No one laughed. The words carried a weight that pressed even on the clan elders.
Jin stepped back, lowered into a stance no one in the arena had seen before. His posture was rooted yet fluid, his arms crossing in strange arcs, his feet shifting as though walking between tides. Xiǎoyè, watching from the seats, shot up straight. His master's eyes shone, trembling with recognition.
"That stance..." he whispered, almost reverently. "He's going to use it."
Jin tilted his head, his grin wild, eyes glittering. "A technique of my own creation. Born in chains, perfected in silence. A move fit for glory. Today, I'll baptize it with a name—one even heaven will remember. "
The crowd held their breath. Elders leaned forward. Even the Clan Leader's eyes sharpened with rare intensity.
Shenlu's aura flared white-hot, steam rising from the arena stones beneath his feet. His voice was calm, unshaken. "Show me then, Jin. Show me your heaven-gifted form."
The silence before the storm was unbearable. Then—
They clashed.
Shenlu's speed multiplied, his fists carving arcs of white Zin, each strike breaking air with detonations like firecrackers. Jin moved with him, the strange stance flowing into motion, every step weaving between waves, every strike coiling into release. They exchanged blow for blow, neither yielding, each testing the other for that one fatal opening.
Then it came.
Shenlu pivoted low, his aura burning hotter, launching a Zin-infused strike no one had seen before—an improvised attack, deadly and unrestrained.
Jin's eyes flashed. His body, his stance, his technique all aligned. The Fifth Form ignited, the fusion of the Tide Root's second and fourth forms, improved and reborn through suffering and genius. His body rippled like water, his strike surged like a crashing tide.
Both moved at once.
The prodigy's fist, blazing with white Zin, shot toward Jin's chest.
Jin's tide-born strike, fluid and thunderous, carved upward toward Shenlu's ribs.
The arena drowned in dust as the impact shook the ground. Stone shattered beneath their feet, and the roar of force consumed every sound.
Everyone rose to their feet even the Clan Leader himself. The dust cloud swelled, swallowing the ring, leaving only uncertainty.
And in that haze, the question thundered through every heart:
Who will rise? Who will awaken?