Impossible."
The word left Yao Lao like a curse.
Xiao Yan turned sharply. "What do you mean impossible?!"
Yao Lao's voice was low, but tight with disbelief.
"That one… he shouldn't be able to fight like that. Not as a demonic cultivator."
Xiao Yan's fists clenched. "What are you talking about? He almost killed her!"
"Exactly," Yao Lao said grimly. "Demonic cultivators are slaves to their emotions. They're consumed by their heart demons. Their power feeds on malice, on hatred, on their fears and insecurities. When provoked, they lash out without thought for consequence. When humiliated, they kill."
He paused, his tone darkening. "By all rights, after what she said to him, that boy should've been enraged. He should've butchered her on the spot. Even throwing her from the arena — that isn't restraint. That's something else."
Xiao Yan frowned, his jaw tightening. "Then what is he?"
Yao Lao was silent for a long moment before he finally admitted, "I don't know."
—
Across the arena, the Yunlan Sect had erupted.
Nalan Yanran's master rose halfway from her seat, killing intent radiating like a physical wave. Her knuckles whitened against the railing. "That brat… I'll cut him down where he stands—"
"Control yourself!" one of the sect elders hissed, though even his own Dou Qi flared uncontrollably.
"Control?" she spat, her eyes burning. "He nearly killed her!"
The sect disciples behind them whispered furiously, some shouting for Xiao Chen's blood, others too stunned to speak.
On the Xiao Clan's side, elders muttered among themselves — some horrified, others grimly impressed.
And in the center of it all, still standing on the cracked arena floor, Xiao Chen did not move.
He didn't gloat. He didn't bow.
He just stood there, his saber at his side.
That same cold, eerie smile lingered on his face — a smile that promised nothing and revealed even less.