The pressure lifted like a storm cloud finally passing. One moment, the villagers were pinned like insects beneath glass, unable to breathe or think; the next, their limbs were their own again, hearts fluttering in their chests. A collective breath was drawn—and held—as all eyes turned toward the center of the square.
Yue Qingshui was smiling.
She walked, no—strode—toward the martial master, who was still kneeling from where her pressure had flattened him. Her eyes gleamed with childlike curiosity, her dress swaying like silk on water, betraying not an ounce of the force she had just unleashed.
She bent down slightly, not enough to be condescending—just enough to seem genuinely intrigued.
"You know martial arts?" she asked softly.
The master blinked, uncomprehending. Her dialect was foreign. Elegant, noble, but clipped in a way that made it difficult for his ears to parse.
So she made fists and mimed two people striking and blocking in the air. It was crude, almost comedic. But effective.
He nodded slowly.
She grinned wide.
"Then fight me."
She turned, stepped toward the ring, and with a sweep of her arm, the dust that had settled on its stone boundary was blown clean. She waited, arms crossed, back straight, like a noble asking a peasant to dance.
The martial master remained kneeling, now more stunned than afraid.
How could one who looked and dressed like a princess be so foul, so casual? So... brutish?
Still, martial honor dictated a response. He stood, heart still thrumming from her earlier display. He stepped into the ring and offered the traditional salute: right fist within the left palm, held before the chest.
Yue Qingshui tilted her head at the gesture. She didn't return it. Instead, she clacked her two fists together—smack!—and bowed slightly. Unorthodox. Crude. Completely lacking in the solemn grace of a cultivated master.
The bell rang.
The match began.
Yue didn't move.
She merely stood there—hands loose, body relaxed, as if this weren't a fight but a game. Her eyes were sharp, scanning him not with fear, but interest. Testing. Measuring.
The master exhaled through his nose and slipped into stance: knees bent, hands open, one high and one low, foot angled slightly to the side. His center of gravity dropped. He flowed like a reed on water.
Yue's eyes lit up.
"Flowing Pillar stance," she murmured, impressed. "But local. Modified. Must be from the southern regions."
He didn't hear her.
She'd seen this style before—it emphasized leverage, close-quarters control, and the use of redirection to unbalance and strike. A grappler's style, rich in footwork and Zin-based counters. His kind could take down beasts twice their size using weight and intent.
He struck first.
A sweeping kick, aimed at her knee—a classic bait. Disrupt the stance, force her to hop or shift weight, then follow with a Zin-infused upper blow to the torso.
Yue didn't dodge.
Instead, she smiled and let it happen.
The real strike came—a straight punch laced with burning Zin, hidden behind the flow of his feint. It landed squarely on her cheek.
Crack!
The sound echoed across the square like a stone breaking against a bell. The dust kicked up from the impact was blinding.
Gasps rose from the crowd. Some thought she'd be sent flying. Others turned away.
But when the dust settled...
She was still standing.
Not just standing—grinning.
Her head had turned slightly from the blow, cheek red from the strike, but her feet hadn't moved an inch.
"You used Zin," she said, voice like velvet over a knife. "If you hadn't, you'd have broken your hand."
The martial master swallowed. Hard.
Who was this woman?
Yue Qingshui took one step back. She raised her arms—not in a mirrored stance, but in something... else.
It was hard to describe.
There was no obvious structure. Her legs were slightly apart, knees soft. Her arms dangled at her sides before suddenly snapping into a coiled posture—one fist before her chest, the other cocked low like a predator about to pounce.
Then she vanished.
No, not vanished. Moved. But so fast it seemed like vanishing.
The martial master barely had time to react. He stepped back, pivoted, redirected—but her fist grazed his shoulder and everything exploded.
Zin. Pure, refined, focused Zin.
Not like his. Not a steady flow or surge.
Hers was wild. Untamed. It cracked like lightning and shook the soul with every strike. Her movement was not based on the perfection of form, but on the utter mastery of intent. She didn't follow steps. She bent martial logic around her desire to strike.
Every move she made was unpredictable.
But each was perfect.
The master countered with a flow-and-lock, spinning into a grapple designed to throw her over his shoulder.
She leaned into it.
He twisted, expecting her weight to work with him.
It didn't.
Her stance collapsed like water, redirected into a scissor-kick that took his legs from beneath him. He fell, barely catching himself on his palms, and rolled.
He stood—and she was already there.
A palm strike to his chest, blocked.
An elbow aimed at his temple, ducked.
But the third attack—a heel kick that twisted like a falling leaf—he couldn't see in time.
It clipped the side of his head. Zin surged. He stumbled back.
The crowd was silent.
Each motion from Yue was deliberate. Yet chaotic. It was as if she didn't move with her body—but with her soul. Her martial art didn't belong to any known style.
And that terrified him.
Because that meant...
She had created her own.
The master roared and summoned his full power, his Zin forming a blue flame that danced across his limbs. He became heavier, his presence wider, like a beast on the verge of rage.
He attacked with everything—chain strikes, body flips, redirections, momentum plays.
Yue danced.
Not in a mocking way. In a reverent one.
Like she respected the art enough to express her own freely within it.
And then came the finishing sequence.
The master lunged forward, trying a Shadow Pillar slam—a devastating Zin throw meant to break the spine on impact.
Yue let herself get caught.
His hands closed around her shoulders.
Her knees bent.
And then—
BOOM.
She jumped—into the air, using his grip to launch herself over his head, flipping mid-air, and slamming her knees into his back.
He crashed to the ground, all Zin drained from the impact.
He didn't rise.
Yue stood over him, panting lightly, brushing her hair from her face.
She didn't bow.
She just turned to the audience.
And winked.
"Princess?" she muttered. "Nah. Just someone who really likes to fight."
" Oh and I was holding back, didn't want to make you embarrass yourself hehe."
Yue Qingshui was just smiling, she really enjoyed this .