The stage had fallen silent.
Two figures stood at its center — one like an immovable peak, the other like a calm sea beneath a stormless sky.
Zhang Weiren's fists gleamed faintly under the morning light, his stance firm and unshakable. Every breath he took seemed to weigh down the air, his qi pressing outward in slow, steady waves. His presence alone was enough to make the arena hold its breath.
"You finally showed up," Zhang Weiren said, rolling his shoulders, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "I almost thought you'd skip the final. Not that I'd blame you."
Lao Xie's lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained as tranquil as ever. "If I ran, you'd probably spend the rest of your life bragging about it."
A faint laugh rippled through the audience. Zhang Weiren's brows rose slightly, but his grin widened. "At least you can still joke. I hope you'll have the strength to back that up."
Lao Xie tilted his head, brushing a strand of loose hair from his shoulder. "Strength isn't everything," he said lightly. "But I suppose you'll figure that out soon."
Something in his calmness made Zhang Weiren's smile falter just a fraction. The air between them shifted — still, but heavy.
High above, among the exclusive seats reserved for the inner disciples, Elder Yao leaned forward slightly, her chin resting against her knuckles as her eyes locked onto the two figures below. A faint glimmer flashed across her gaze — a soft ripple of spiritual energy blooming quietly within her pupils as she extended her spiritual sense toward Lao Xie.
For a breath, everything felt normal. Her perception brushed the edge of his presence — calm, steady — and then it shattered.
It was as if her consciousness had struck an invisible wall made of smoke and silence. The connection broke instantly, snapping back with a faint sting that made her brows twitch.
Her composure wavered. Just for an instant.
"…I can't sense his… realm?" she murmured under her breath, disbelief threading her usually steady tone.
Her eyes narrowed, pupils reflecting the faint light from the arena below. She tried again — carefully, slower this time — but it was useless. There was nothing to grasp. His aura was there, unmistakably solid, yet it carried no weight, no fluctuation of cultivation, no signature at all. It was like staring into a mirror that reflected nothing back.
Her breath caught, lips parting slightly. That small, rare trace of confusion surfaced on her otherwise calm face — a brief break in her usual serenity.
"Elder Yao?"
Ling Ruxin's voice pulled her back. The girl had noticed, her soft brows drawn in mild concern. "You suddenly spaced out. Are you alright?"
Elder Yao blinked, the moment's tension vanishing as smoothly as if it had never existed. She turned her head with a faint smile, the kind that carried quiet warmth but hid everything underneath. "I'm fine. I just… remembered something important, that's all."
Her tone was light — perhaps too light. She reached for her teacup, twirling it idly between her fingers before sliding it into her storage ring with practiced ease, the motion smooth but faintly distracted.
Ling Ruxin watched her for a moment, lips twitching slightly. "She really is the only one who uses a storage ring that way…" she thought to herself, her expression somewhere between amusement and quiet bewilderment.
Elder Yao didn't seem to notice. Her gaze had already drifted back toward the stage, though her posture remained composed — too composed, as if something beneath that calm still refused to settle.
On the upper platform, the elders were abuzz with quiet conversation, their tones low but carrying the weight of speculation.
"He's still too green," one said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Zhang Weiren's trained in the Fist Dao since childhood. There's no way that boy can handle such power."
A soft chuckle answered him from the side. "That boy? You mean Lao Xie? You clearly haven't watched his previous fights."
"Hmph." Another elder crossed his arms, his tone carrying the faint sharpness of dismissal. "Talentless or not, the gap between them is obvious."
"Talentless?" a different voice cut in — smooth, faintly amused. "You've been sitting too comfortably in your peak, haven't you? Watch the stage properly. That boy's no longer what he used to be."
Several heads turned. The murmurs spread, weaving threads of disagreement across the platform. Some scoffed, others fell silent, but every gaze eventually turned toward the two figures standing below.
At the far end of the elder's platform, Elder Mu leaned slightly toward Elder Li, their voices concealed beneath a veil of sound transmission.
"Any clue about that boy yet?" Elder Li's tone carried quiet curiosity, though his eyes never left the stage.
Elder Mu exhaled through his nose, his gaze steady. "None. I searched through every record in the library — there's nothing left of his past self. It's as if it was wiped clean."
"Not even a trace?" Elder Li's brow furrowed slightly, his hand tapping once against the armrest.
"Not one," Elder Mu replied. His expression darkened slightly, the faint glint in his eyes betraying thought. "The current Lao Xie doesn't match the one written in our records. He's… like… someone else entirely."
Elder Li said nothing after that. The two elders fell silent, their attention locked on the boy standing in the arena below — a silence heavy with unease neither of them dared to voice aloud.
Back to the stage, The officiating elder raised his hand high, his sleeve swaying in the mountain breeze. The crowd's cheers dimmed at once, the air thick with quiet anticipation.
For a heartbeat, even the wind seemed to still.
Then his palm fell.
"Begin!"
The command rang out, sharp and clear — and the stage exploded into motion.
Zhang Weiren shot forward the instant the word left the elder's lips, his body blurring in a burst of power. Stone cracked beneath his feet as his fist came crashing down like thunder, the force of it tearing through the air with a heavy boom that echoed across the arena.
Lao Xie's hanfu fluttered. He leaned aside, almost lazily, the blow missing him by the width of a finger. The rush of wind brushed past his cheek, scattering his hair in its wake.
Another strike followed — faster, heavier — and another after that. Zhang Weiren pressed forward like a storm, every movement clean and precise, his momentum building with each step. The ground quaked beneath his rhythm; every punch carried weight enough to crush a boulder.
But Lao Xie flowed around them effortlessly. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground, each motion smooth as running water, each turn calculated down to the breath. He never looked rushed — only patient, almost detached, as though he already knew where the next punch would land before it even came.
"You're just going to keep dodging?" Zhang Weiren's voice cut through the noise, low but edged with confidence.
Lao Xie sidestepped another blow, his hand brushing the air lightly as the strike passed. "Why not? It's working, isn't it?"
Zhang Weiren laughed under his breath, not out of mockery but challenge. "You can't dodge forever."
"Mm," Lao Xie murmured, eyes half-lidded, tone calm as ever. "But I only need to dodge until you make a mistake."
The crowd stirred, a mix of amusement and disbelief rippling through the stands. Zhang Weiren's grin returned — broader this time, fiercer. He pivoted, gathering his qi.
His next punch crashed down like a hammer. The stone floor split apart beneath it, sending a shockwave rolling through the arena. Dust burst upward in a ring of force.
When it cleared, Lao Xie was standing just beyond reach — unruffled, his expression faintly amused.
"Still missing," he said softly.
A muscle twitched in Zhang Weiren's jaw, though his grin didn't fade. "Keep talking. Let's see if you can say that again when I land one."