"Is that all you've got, Donghuang Yu? Just hot air?"
Ye Fan's voice rang out as his figure blurred across the wooden stakes. The two began their duel atop the precarious pillars.
Donghuang Yu, at Qi Refining Level Nine, moved with ease against the lake's gravity vortex. Ye Fan, merely Qi Refining Level Four, struggled visibly under the oppressive force.
The spectators murmured and pointed at the spectacle on Martial Pause Lake.
Beigong Xue batted her long lashes, watching intently. "Brother, who's winning?"
"Just warming up. But it should end soon."
As if on cue, Donghuang Yu's footwork transformed—shifting rhythms, feinting movements, then a sudden sideways dash. In an instant, he left Ye Fan in the dust, drawing cheers from the crowd.
"The Three Spirit Phantom Steps!" Ding Chunqiu nodded approvingly. "Only true masters of movement can execute those tempo shifts. They disorient opponents completely. Brother Donghuang's skills are—wait, what?"
A collective gasp erupted.
Ye Fan's feet now glided like mist over lotus pads. Each time a leaf drifted, his body defied physics—returning to its original position with eerie precision. His effortless grace mocked Beigong Qingtian's earlier claim that "none could cross without wetting their feet."
Donghuang Yu's face paled. Where amateurs saw beauty, he recognized lethal timing—Ye Fan's movements perfectly countered his rhythm shifts.
As Donghuang Yu leaped toward a pad, another leaf intercepted his landing spot. His right foot hovered—nothing beneath but water.
With a splash that echoed across the silent lake, the young lord's immaculate boots breached the surface.
The crowd froze. The outcome was clear... and unacceptable.
Beigong Qingtian's jaw slackened. Donghuang Yu—peerless in movement arts—defeated by a fourth-level cripple?
Beigong Xue pouted, furious. These so-called geniuses can't even beat this scoundrel?
Ye Fan alighted ashore, cold eyes pinning Donghuang Yu. "Pay up. The pardon token."
The Winged Tribe heir stiffened. The Heavenly Mansion Pardon Token was a clan treasure, lent solely to secure his academy admission. Losing it would shatter his standing.
"The terms were clear," Donghuang Yu forced through gritted teeth. "Whoever touched water loses. My energy shielded my foot. Yours didn't."
A beat of stunned silence.
Then laughter—dark and mirthless—from Ye Fan. "Third Prince. As arbiter, your judgment?"
Beigong Qingtian flushed. Donghuang Yu's shamelessness embarrassed even him. Beigong Xue stared at her former admirer with newfound disgust.
"Brother Donghuang... honor demands—"
"I see now!" Donghuang Yu whirled accusingly. "This banquet wasn't for humiliating Ye Fan—but stealing my token!"
With that, he fled into the night.
Ye Fan let him go. The token mattered little compared to maintaining diplomatic appearances. He reached for his winecup—only for Qian Hong's voice to cut through:
"'Magnanimous'? More like cowardly! He didn't chase because he couldn't!"
The chancellor's son smirked. "Surely you won't use this farce to avoid competing with the rest of us?"
Ye Fan's smile turned predatory. "The Qian Clan owns the capital's largest banks. Let's wager ten million gold taels."
"T-ten million?!"
"No guts?"
"Done!" Qian Hong spat. "But your stake is worthless."
"Are you saying," Ye Fan's voice dropped dangerously, "that instructing Her Highness is worth less?"
Beigong Xue's glare could have melted steel. Qian Hong backpedaled hastily.
"We'll compete in knowledge!" he declared.
Murmurs of approval rose. Qian Hong was renowned for his scholarly prowess—even elders conceded to his expertise. Against a minor clan's dropout? This was slaughter.