The weight of the aura lingered only a moment longer. Then Lao Xie's eyes shifted—past Fang Ge, past the trembling crowd—up toward the stands.
Elder Yao stiffened. For the briefest instant, she caught it. A curve of his lips, so faint it could have been imagined — a smirk.
Her breath hitched.
And just as quickly, the suffocating pressure melted away. The killing intent that had blanketed the martial hall thinned, pulled back into nothingness as though it had never been there. The sudden release left many gasping for air, disciples clutching at their chests as color returned to their faces.
Elder Yao's hand curled in her sleeve. "It's gone? He retracted it… just like that?" Her thoughts churned in disbelief. "Just what is he playing at?"
On the stage, Fang Ge stumbled half a step forward, his legs buckling under him. Sweat streamed down his face, his knees threatening to collapse with the sudden release of pressure. Relief nearly broke through his panic—
—but it didn't last.
Before Fang Ge could catch his breath, Lao Xie moved.
His figure blurred, vanishing from sight.
Gasps erupted from the stands. Even Elder Mu's calm broke for a heartbeat, his eyes flashing wide in rare surprise. "That speed…!"
Fang Ge's body froze. By the time he realized it, a cold edge was already at his side.
A whisper brushed his ear, low and unhurried, "This technique is called…"
Lao Xie's lips curved faintly as his voice slipped through the chaos, "…Mirage Walk—Fleeting Steps."
Fang Ge's eyes went wide, his voice cracking in disbelief. "H-how… how can you move this fast?!"
Before Lao Xie could answer, Elder Mu's voice rang out, sharp as thunder across the martial hall.
"That's enough! The winner of this quarter-final match—Lao Xie!"
The arena erupted into chaos, voices clashing over one another in a wave that threatened to shake the rafters.
"Hah?! Already?!"
"W-what just happened just now?!"
"Wait—that speed, that movement… wasn't that a footwork technique?!"
"It has to be! But that's impossible—footwork techniques are only taught once you step into the inner court!"
"Then how the hell can an outer disciple pull that off?!"
Speculation surged through the seats like wildfire, disciples half-rising from their places as suspicion and awe intertwined. Some swore it had to be the result of hidden tutelage, others argued it was impossible, yet all of them were bound by the same unsettled question.
Meanwhile, on the another side, a voice cut through, low but sharp.
"Tell me, Elder Yao… was that your doing? Did you teach him that?" Ling Ruxin asked with a trace of curiousity on her face.
Elder Yao's expression hardened, her reply coming quicker than expected, "Don't be ridiculous. Something like that—I never taught him anything at all."
Ling Ruxin blinked, stunned by the firmness in her tone. "Then… how?"
Elder Yao didn't answer right away. Her gaze lingered on the stage, narrowing as though to pierce through the faint smile on Lao Xie's lips. "That boy… he's hiding too much. It's good that he's grown stronger, but stepping into the spotlight like this—too much, too soon."
Ling Ruxin lowered her voice, thoughtful. "When we first met, I referred to him as a senior brother since his strength didn't fit to be part of the outer disciples. Then I learned more about him from you. But now—with footwork technique like that, sword techniques that don't belong to the outer court, and even a storage ring… These things aren't ordinary. Only someone from a great family or someone favored by the sect would have them."
She paused, then added carefully, "Surely he has a supporter. Can you think of any elder who might be secretly backing him, Elder Yao?"
For a moment, Elder Yao was silent. She searched her memory, but nothing surfaced.
"…The Sect Leader?" she muttered, almost to herself. "No. After that incident, I was the only one who looked after him." Her gaze flicked to Ling Ruxin. "No one else cared for him after he was deemed talentless…"
"And the truth is… that footwork—it doesn't match any of the sect's techniques at all."
Her eyes drifted elsewhere, her voice low. "I'm sure Elder Mu has already noticed. He's one of the sect's trump cards. There's no way he wouldn't see through Lao Xie's peculiar… oddity?."
Elder Yao's expression shifted, unreadable. "He's hiding far too much. Even I can't predict what he'll do next. He's changed, yes—but not completely." Her eyes returned to Ling Ruxin, sharp with warning.
"I don't know if this is a blessing for you or something else entirely. I can't promise you safety, but I can give you one piece of advice—as your former mentor. Maintain a good relationship with him, and do not become his enemy."
She drew in a slow breath. "Call it a hunch, if you will… but something big is coming. If you wish to be prepared, then stay on his good side. Think of it as a warning from a former genius of Silver Crescent Mountain Peak."
Elder Yao's gaze lingered on the stage for a moment longer before she drew in a quiet breath. Then she turned to Ling Ruxin.
"Ruxin," her tone was calm but edged with urgency, "I'll be taking my leave. After witnessing this match… there are preparations I must make."
Ling Ruxin blinked, slightly startled. "Preparations…?"
Elder Yao gave no further explanation. Instead, she placed a steady hand on her former disciple's shoulder, her eyes sharp. "Think carefully about what I told you. That boy is not someone you can predict. Keep it in mind."
With that, she rose from her seat, her sleeves swaying as she departed the viewing platform.
From the referee's stand, Elder Mu's gaze followed her figure as she disappeared into the crowd. His eyes narrowed faintly, an unreadable glint crossing them. "Yao Yue is here again… was it really her doing?"
Meanwhile, the martial hall was alive with noise. Disciples argued and shouted over one another, some insisting Lao Xie had an elder's secret backing, others claiming it had to be a stolen technique, while a few whispered that it might even be a forbidden art. No one could agree, and yet all eyes returned to the lone figure on stage.
Fang Ge steadied his breathing, his chest still heaving. At last, he straightened his back and gave a small bow toward Lao Xie. His voice was rough, but sincere. "It's done. You're really strong. Thank you… for the fight."
Lao Xie's eyes shifted toward him, his expression unreadable. His reply came flat, almost dismissive. "Mhm. You did well enough."
"…I guess," he added under his breath, the words barely audible.
No praise, no malice—just a dry acknowledgment before he turned and strode off the stage.
The moment his back faced the crowd, the noise rose again like crashing waves. Yet Lao Xie paid it no mind. His steps were calm, unhurried, as he made his way toward the lobby of the martial hall.
Halfway there, he paused. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder and across the hall, Ling Ruxin was still watching him. Their gazes met and locked.
For an instant, the clamor of the crowd seemed to fade away. His lips curved—subtle and unreadable. It wasn't quite a smile, nor entirely a smirk, hovering somewhere in between, as if even he didn't care to define it.
Ling Ruxin's breath caught. In that moment, she understood. It wasn't chance, nor coincidence. He was calling for her—a silent summons, as if telling her to come see him.