Xiao Rou responded with elegant, flowing movements—parrying, evading, redirecting the force of each blow like water against a cliff.
But in the end, stone endured. She was struck mid-spin by a seismic palm, her momentum shattered, and she was sent tumbling from the ring.
She landed hard but upright—bruised, not broken.
A respectable loss.
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, the kind that echoed through the sky-piercing spires of the sect grounds and rumbled the very bones of the mountain.
Though Xiao Rou had lost, she had earned the respect of everyone watching.
"She held her own against Wei Zhen's brute force. That water chakra technique was no joke," one elder murmured, stroking his beard with approval.
"She may be from the healing division, but there's a fighter in her," another disciple said with a nod.
Even Wei Zhen, the victor, offered a respectful fist-to-palm salute as Xiao Rou dusted herself off and gave a small bow in return before stepping off the stage.
