She stepped inside his reach, the most dangerous, highly intuitive move in all of martial arts, as she caught his wrist, utilized his own momentum, and pivoted her entire body, using the flat of her spatula to deliver a single tap to the center of his chest.
It wasn't a blow.
But it was a nudge delivered with the perfectly calculated timing of a Master Chef.
Jianheng's internal Qi-circuitry was disrupted. His momentum shattered as he stumbled backward, his sword slipping from his numb fingers, and he fell heavily onto his knees.
He didn't move.
He sat there, staring at the jade floor, the fight completely, irrevocably drained from his body.
He looked up at Ji'an, his eyes wide, lost, and broken.
"You were holding back," Jianheng whispered, his voice barely audible. "The entire time. You didn't even need your Qi. You were just..."
