The fight between Rui and Xia reached its peak in a storm of broken stone and loud blows. There was a lot of dust in the air, and each blow left new marks on the arena floor. Rui's red scarf was ripped, and his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Xia's golden aura flickered violently around her body, but she was too tired to stand still.
There was one final exchange—Rui struck out, his fist a scimitar cutting through air, and Xia's palm came forth, its gold shining with all she had left. They met with a crash like thunder. They were still for the space of a heartbeat, their Qi raging around them like warring storms. Rui shifted his body, putting his fist through her guard, and his punch hit her shoulder and her down to the ground.
The referee raised his hand. "Winner—Jin Rui!"
The arena erupted. Half the crowd cheered Rui's victory, while others cried out in frustration at Xia's fall. Rui straightened slowly, his grin faint but still there, though the sweat dripping down his temple betrayed how close the fight had truly been.
Xia lay on her side for a moment, chest heaving, before pushing herself up. Her lips pressed into a thin line—anger, pride, and disappointment warring in her expression.
Up in the stands, the 1-C students were buzzing.
"Xia almost had him!" Fei Mei's voice cracked, her fists clenched. "If she had just one more clean hit—"
"But Rui…" Chen growled, folding his arms across his chest. "He won't crack. Even when prodded to that extent."
Lian's jaw tightened. His eyes never left Rui, who held up his hand to the audience. Rui wasn't triumphant—Rui was starving, already picking through the crowd for his next target. And Lian knew exactly who that was.
"This is it," Lian exhaled in his mind, his fists clenched. "It's my turn now."
The following two matches were on the heels of each other.
Yan Luo, the calm and horrifyingly precise third-year, faced off against Fang Qiren, a violent second-year with bursts of explosive flame Qi. Fang was wild in his attacks, launching flame after flame, but Yan Luo butchered him with grotesque ease. Every wag of Yan Luo's wrist cut down Fang's attack, every strike landing on a weak spot. Fang lay defeated in a few minutes, his flames extinguished.
"Winner—Yan Luo!"
Then came the fight of Liu Han and Wei Zhang, both third-years known for brute force. Their fight was brutal and boorish, stone breaking whenever they landed on each other. They traded crushing blows, neither one giving an inch. The crowd bellowed on every impact, momentum careening wildly. But in the end, Liu Han's endurance prevailed—he wore out Wei Zhang and landed the blow that dropped his opponent to his knees.
"Winner—Liu Han!"
And thus came to an end the round of sixteen. The quarterfinals were settled.
In the waiting room, Lian went back to find Xia hunched on a bench, her arm wrapped with bandage, sweat still beading on her forehead. She saw him approach and raised her head, her usual coolness tinged with irritation.
"Xia," Lian breathed.
She breathed out, leaning against the wall. "I failed. I couldn't bring him down." She said harshly, but her eyes expressed the weight behind the words. "I should have. Wanted to. For all of us."
Lian shook his head. "You pushed him harder than anyone has. You didn't fail—you showed me how hard he can be pushed."
Xia's gaze locked with his, unwavering. "Don't underestimate him, Lian. Rui doesn't give up. Even when he's exhausted, even when he's cornered—he'll run until you break. If you're not ready, he'll break you."
Lian clenched his fists, then let out a slow breath. "That's why I must go against him. Not for me—not for anyone else in 1-C. You gave me a chance, Xia. I'm not going to waste it."
Her lips twisted, a thumbnail smile, before she lay back again, eyes closed. "Then don't hold back. Prove to him you're more than his shadow."
Up in the stands, the 1-C students gathered. Some were still shaken by Xia's loss, others buzzing over the quarterfinal matchings.
Mei Ling stormed, her hand slapping into her palm. "I want to see Rui lose. I don't care who does it."
Chen stared at Lian, his expression firm. "It has to be him. It can't possibly be done by someone else. Lian's the only one that's been caught in the middle of this rivalry from the very start."
Everyone's attention was centered on Lian as he returned from his conversation with Xia. His stride was steady, his gaze slicing like steel. Uncertainty was no longer present on his face. For the first time, everyone could see it right before their eyes—Lian was no longer nervous or reactive. He was firm.
The quarterfinals would be starting soon, and for Lian Feng, that meant confronting Jin Rui in the ring.
And this time, there would be no refusal.