The silence in the arena stretched, heavy enough to press against the chest.
From the stands, Ling Ruxin leaned forward unconsciously, her fingers tightening around the edge of her seat. Her guqin case rested untouched by her side, yet her eyes never left the white-robed figure on the stage.
"Why isn't he moving?" she murmured, her voice low but sharp with unease.
Beside her, Elder Yao's gaze was steady, though her brows had drawn together. "That boy…" she said slowly, almost as if to herself. "He is not hesitating out of weakness."
Ling Ruxin turned to her, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Then why—?"
Elder Yao's eyes narrowed, reflecting the glow of the runes on Lao Xie's blade. "Sometimes silence speaks louder than any strike. He's… remembering something… maybe?"
Ling Ruxin's face sudddenly turned weird, "Heh heh, very convincing.." she mumbled.
On the stage, Fang Ge's fists trembled where they pressed against the unmoving sword. His roar still seemed to echo faintly in the air—"How did you close the gap?!"
Yet Lao Xie did not move. His blade held firm, his stance steady, his expression unreadable.
The arena waited, breaths held, as though one word might shatter the silence.
Ling Ruxin's lips pressed into a thin line. Then, almost too low for anyone but Elder Yao to hear, she muttered, "Mm. Very convincing…" The sarcasm in her tone was sharp, but her gaze never left the stage.
A hush deeper than before spread through the martial hall, until even the sound of cloth rustling in the stands felt loud.
And within that stillness, a voice stirred in Lao Xie's mind.
"What's wrong, host? You weren't shaken by Ming Yu—yet here you pause because of Fang Ge?"
Lao Xie's eyes lowered faintly, his grip unmoving on the hilt. His reply came dry, dismissive.
"Shaken? Don't joke with me. I was just entertaining a useless thought."
Fang Ge's breath was ragged, his arms trembling as he steadied his stance. Yet the silence that lingered in the arena pressed heavier than any strike.
Lao Xie finally spoke, his tone light, as though musing to himself, "I don't know. Some things aren't meant to be disclosed before others."
The words carried no explanation, yet they fell like chains. Fang Ge's eyes widened, his body faltering for a fraction of a second as though the meaning struck deeper than the blade aimed at his throat.
That was when Lao Xie moved again. His step was unhurried, yet every shift forward forced Fang Ge back.
From the stands, the silence cracked into hurried whispers.
"So it didn't work… Fang Ge's words didn't shake him at all!"
"He's pressing forward—look, Fang Ge can't even hold ground anymore!"
"I told you Fang Ge couldn't shake Lao Xie!"
On the stage, Fang Ge's pupils trembled as Lao Xie raised his hand, his stance falling into something familiar—too familiar.
A wave of recognition washed through the crowd. Murmurs turned to startled cries.
"This aura…!"
"That technique again—!"
"The one he used against Ming Yu!"
The air itself seemed to draw taut as Lao Xie's killing intent surged, his next move ready to decide everything.
From the stands, Ling Ruxin's fingers tightened around her sleeve. Her voice wavered, low but tense.
"He's using it again… but this time, it feels different. It's… unsettling."
Elder Yao's calm expression faltered, the faintest crease forming on her brow. Her gaze locked onto the stage, her voice dropping into a tone that carried both weight and unease.
"What are you doing, Lao Xie…"
Ling Ruxin turned to her quickly, her eyes wide. "What do you mean, Elder Yao?"
"You said it yourself—you feel the difference. Yes, it's stronger, but not in the way it should be." Elder Yao's words came slow, measured, yet edged with concern. "This time… it feels destructive. It radiates killing intent. I'm certain Elder Mu has already sensed it, yet he hasn't moved."
Ling Ruxin's throat tightened, her expression shifting to disbelief. "Killing intent? What kind of technique emits such a violent aura? I feels so heavy, like it's pushing against my chest. Can something that impulsive really come from him?"
Elder Yao shook her head, a sheen of sweat glinting at her temple. "I don't know what that boy is thinking. But to release killing intent so openly… if he cannot control it, he could put himself in grave danger. Killing a fellow disciple is taboo within the sect." Her voice dipped, tight with concern. "If this goes too far, even victory might cost him dearly."
Back on the stage, Fang Ge's face was drenched in sweat. His breath came rough and shallow, his body stiff as stone.
"W-what… what is this feeling?" he stammered. His fists trembled at his sides. "My body… it won't move."
The tension bled into the stands. Murmurs spread as disciples shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing at one another with pale faces.
"Do you feel that…? It's suffocating."
"His aura—it's nothing like when he fought Ming Yu!"
The unease only deepened. Even the crowd itself seemed caught beneath the weight of Lao Xie's killing intent.
On the higher rows reserved for inner disciples, several figures leaned forward, their expressions no calmer than the outer sect below.
"Do you sense that?" one asked in a low voice.
"Yeah. Killing intent," another muttered.
An older disciple let out a sharp breath. "Unbelievable… an outer disciple releasing killing intent that strong? Even at Qi Refining, I can still feel it crawling over my skin."
"At first, I thought the rumors exaggerated," a younger one admitted, swallowing hard. "But after Ming Yu—and now this—"
A quiet laugh cut him off. "Exaggerated? I told you, didn't I? This boy is far from ordinary."
The speaker leaned back with forced ease, though the sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed him. Luo Tianxing's lips curved faintly as he spoke, eyes never leaving the stage.
"I thought you were just hyping him up, Tianxing," one of them said, voice low.
"But seeing this… maybe you were right."
"Maybe?" Tianxing shot him a sideways glance, his tone light but edged. "Since entering the inner court, have my eyes ever been wrong? Be careful with your doubts."
The disciple flinched, forcing a nervous laugh. "Of course. I wouldn't dare go against your judgment."
Tianxing's attention drifted, just for a moment. His gaze flicked down several rows below, pausing on two figures seated among the outer disciples. His eyes lingered briefly before turning back to the stage, a faint spark of interest flashing across his expression.
On the stage, Fang Ge stood frozen in place, every breath labored under the crushing weight of the killing intent that rolled off Lao Xie.
And then—
A voice stirred in Lao Xie's mind, cold and matter-of-fact.
"Host, your killing intent is leaking too strongly. If you let it continue, the consequences won't be easy to clean up later."
Lao Xie's fingers tightened on the hilt. His gaze flickered across the arena, sharp yet controlled.
The first to catch his eye was Elder Mu, standing with hands clasped behind his back. The old man's expression was calm on the surface, but his narrowed eyes betrayed that he had already noticed.
Next, Lao Xie's gaze shifted to the rows of outer disciples. Their faces were a storm of emotions—fear, awe, excitement, confusion. Some leaned forward as if drawn to him, others shrank back in their seats, unable to meet the weight of his presence.
Finally, his eyes lifted higher. Toward the stands where Elder Yao and Ling Ruxin sat.
Elder Yao's face was worried, her brows knit, a faint sheen of sweat glinting along the side of her forehead. Concern weighed heavily in her gaze. Beside her, Ling Ruxin looked no steadier. Her lips pressed tight, her eyes locked on him with something he did not expect—worry.