"Rest," she whispered.
A thin layer of frost spread from her palm, creeping up Ye Chen's neck, shoulders, and chest. The brilliant golden light of his True Yang physique flickered, then dimmed, sputtering like a dying flame.
His body trembled once, then fell still.
Steam hissed violently as fire met ice, shrouding them both in swirling mist.
When it cleared, Ye Chen hung suspended midair, frozen from the chest upward in translucent crystal ice, his expression trapped between pain and defiance — his spirit utterly subdued.
The woman exhaled softly and released him, her slender hand trembling ever so slightly.
"It's over," she murmured, turning away as the arena's barrier shimmered with acknowledgment.
"Winner, Bing Ying!" announced a calm, resonant voice.
A soft ripple of awe spread through the crowd who were watching their match.
