Hearing her Li Chang'an simply said,
"There's no need. Let's settle things properly in the tournament arena."
Once upon a time, Tai Long family had thought the same thing—
that they could beat him in close combat.
Now… well, we all know how that turned out.
Without saying another word, Li Chang'an turned away, taking Meng Yiran by the hand as they walked toward the members of the Crimson Rose Academy.
He didn't intend to waste any more time with Huo Wu.
Of course, he preferred to think of it as playing hard to get.
"You bastard!"
Finally reaching the limit of her patience, the fury Huo Wu had been suppressing for days erupted in an instant.
With a sudden motion, her right leg snapped up toward Li Chang'an's head,
her kick swift and sharp as lightning.
Huo Wu's long legs gave her a natural advantage—fast, strong, and precise.
But how could someone like Li Chang'an possibly be caught off guard?
With a subtle step forward and a half-turn of his body,
his left hand shot out and clasped around her ankle in midair.
Huo Wu's powerful kick vanished into nothing,
the strength behind it absorbed as though swallowed by a deep sea.
No matter how much force she exerted,
Li Chang'an's grip—firm and unyielding like cast iron—refused to release her leg.
His expression remained calm and unreadable.
With a simple motion, he raised her leg slightly higher,
stepping forward so that his right foot slid naturally behind her supporting leg.
Then, pressing his upper body forward, he struck lightly against her lifted thigh—
a motion so smooth and fluid it seemed almost effortless.
At that moment, he could clearly sense her body's warmth—
a soft, sunlit scent, like freshly dried linens basking in the afternoon sun.
Before Huo Wu could even react,
Li Chang'an's movements flowed together like a perfect stream of motion—
each step exploiting her opening precisely.
Her balance broke, and her body was sent flying through the air—
right into the arms of the approaching Huo Wushuang.
"Let's go," Li Chang'an said curtly, glancing irritably at the Crimson Rose Academy girls who were smirking at the sight of Huo Wu being thrown aside.
Then he strode off without looking back.
"I'm going to kill him!" Huo Wu shouted furiously, struggling in her brother's grip.
But Huo Wushuang held her tight.
"Don't waste your strength," he sighed.
"You're not his match."
As an observer, Huo Wushuang could clearly see that Li Chang'an had held back—his attack had been measured, even merciful.
"Brother…" Huo Wu's eyes reddened.
Her pride, always fierce and unyielding, had once again been crushed—
and by the same man.
Huo Wushuang sighed softly.
"Silly girl. If you truly want to defeat him, then train harder. Only by surpassing him with your own strength will victory be meaningful. Throwing tantrums like this won't change anything."
"Work harder. The advancement matches are still ahead of us. Against someone who completely suppresses our fire attribute, we'll have to find a new strategy. Remember what Shui Bing'er did?"
"That's right! And don't forget me either!"
Feng Xiaotian suddenly appeared out of nowhere,
his tone full of righteous indignation.
"I didn't get a chance to fight him in the preliminaries, but in the advancement matches—I'll help you defeat him, Huo Wu!"
---
Meanwhile, inside the resplendent Platinum Bishop's office—
a room more than two hundred square meters wide,
lavishly decorated with priceless ornaments—
Bishop Salas sat behind his enormous, opulent desk.
Before him lay a dossier—freshly delivered from the Spirit Hall branch in Nuoding City.
One had to admit, the Spirit Hall's efficiency was impressive.
In just over a month, they had managed to dig through countless registration archives across the continent and uncover this file—
the one he'd been looking for.
This was already the third time Salas had read the report,
yet he still found it difficult to believe what he was seeing.
The document detailed the personal record of one young Spirit Master—
name: Tang San.
Indeed, aside from his own unpredictable "Holy Son,"
the biggest dark horse of this year's tournament
was none other than Tang San, leader of the Shrek team.
If one disregarded Li Chang'an's monstrous growth,
then among his generation, Tang San's progress was nothing short of terrifying.
The report was thorough—
every Spirit Master registration,
every subsidy claim,
every breakthrough,
each soul ring's acquisition—
meticulously recorded.
But it wasn't those details that made Salas reread it three times.
No—there was one number that kept drawing his eyes:
Age.
Fourteen.
Only fourteen years old—
not even fifteen yet.
And already a Spirit Ancestor above rank 40.
His fourth soul ring was even over seven thousand years old.
Salas rubbed his forehead and sighed.
"This Tang San… can't be taken lightly."
Rising from his chair,
he walked toward the towering bookshelf behind him
and pulled on a thick tome.
A mechanical click sounded.
The bookshelf shifted aside,
revealing a wall with a square metal panel that emitted faint waves of soul energy—
clearly a Soul Tool security mechanism.
Placing his right hand on it,
a soft red glow spread from the panel,
covering his palm.
Moments later, a hidden compartment clicked open,
revealing a small cubical space about a foot wide.
Inside were several sealed documents.
Salas sifted through them quickly,
finally pulling out a folder stamped with two crimson words:
"Top Secret."
Inside were four pages, each detailing different individuals.
He examined them carefully until he found what he wanted.
"Twelve years old… fourteen… sixteen… sixteen…" he murmured.
"Among these four—aside from the Holy Son and Holy Maiden—
the youngest reached level forty only at sixteen. Even the Holy Maiden only reached Spirit Ancestor at fourteen with the help of immortal herbs."
With a sharp snap,
Salas closed the folder,
the sound echoing in the silent room.
He swiftly sealed the secret compartment again
and strode back to his desk,
grabbing Tang San's dossier once more—
reading that age for the fourth time.
"Comparable to the Golden Generation… perhaps even slightly better,"
he muttered.
"Blue Silver Grass—classified as a useless Martial Soul? How amusing. Fortunately, it is just Blue Silver Grass. Still, his growth rate is far too fast. Innate full soul power, yet with a 'trash' Martial Soul? It must be a mutation…"
He leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath.
"Fortunately, Heaven blesses our Spirit Hall. With the Holy Son's brilliance overshadowing all others, Tang San's talent, though alarming, remains manageable. Still… just in case, I'd best report this."
Although Li Chang'an technically had the authority to handle such matters,
Salas decided against bothering him.
The Holy Son had caused him enough headaches lately.
Better to let the Pope deal with this one.
Taking up his pen,
Salas swiftly drafted a confidential letter.
When finished, he sealed it carefully in an envelope,
on which he wrote five bold characters—
"Confidential — To the Pope."