The crowd around the first stage was loud, their voices filling the stone square with a constant roar. I stood near the edge of the ring, holding my plain wooden pine staff.
Ye Xinyang and Mo Ran stepped closer to me, their dresses shifting in the breeze. Xinyang reached out, her fingers gently smoothing down the collar of my robe. Her face was a little shy, but her eyes were full of a sweet, quiet tenderness.
"The boy you are fighting is named Sun Bao," Xinyang said softly, her voice dropping into a gentle murmur so the crowd couldn’t hear. "Before my core was hurt, a practitioner at his level wouldn’t even be allowed to look at my shadow. But to an outer servant with no energy, his crushing fist technique can be dangerous. Lu Chen... don’t take any reckless risks for our sake."
"I won’t," I said, looking into her eyes and giving her a reassuring smile.
Mo Ran walked up to my other side, her shoulder leaning against my arm in a comfortable, loving way. She reached down and lightly adjusted the grip on my staff, her fingers brushing against my hand. "If he scratches you, husband, tell me. Tonight, I’ll find his room and make sure he can’t lift a spoon tomorrow morning."
Hearing her use that word so naturally now made a sudden, awkward heat tickle my neck, but I just gave her a nod. Gu Qinghan stood behind them, her eyes fixed on my shape, her hand resting peacefully on her wooden sword case. They still didn’t know the true depth of my Asura Spear Intent, but they trusted me completely.
"Match one!" Deacon Wu’s voice barked from the judges’ bench. "Lu Chen of the outer fields versus Sun Bao of the first discipline hall!"
I stepped up the wooden stairs and walked into the center of the ring. Sun Bao was already standing there. He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth wearing a clean grey disciple robe. His cultivation was at the third level of Qi Condensation—the exact same level as Elder Ironwood. To the surrounding servants, he was an immovable wall. He looked at my plain wooden stick, a mocking, arrogant grin crossing his face.
"Trash Chen," Sun Bao laughed, spitting onto the wooden planks of the stage. "The elders gave you those four women as a burial joke, and you actually brought them out to show off. Kneel down right now and kiss my foot, or I’ll ensure you spend the next three months crawling through the dirt."
Up on the high benches, Zhou Kang let out a loud, nasty laugh, rubbing his wrapped wrist as he waited to see me get crushed.
I didn’t answer Sun Bao. I didn’t get mad, and I didn’t change my expression. I just raised my plain pine staff, holding it loosely with one hand, the tip pointing toward the ground.
"Fight!" the referee shouted.
Sun Bao roared, his boots slamming against the wood as he lunged forward. His right fist began to glow with a yellow spiritual light—the Rock-Smashing Fist of the outer hall. The air around his arm vibrated, bringing a pressure straight toward my chest.
He was moving fast for a normal servant, but to my eyes, his balance was completely messy. He was putting all his weight on his front knee, leaving his flanks totally open.I didn’t use any spiritual energy. I took a single step sideways.
To Sun Bao and the thousands of watching disciples, I simply vanished from where I was standing. His glowing fist struck empty air, the momentum of his charge pulling his body forward as he stumbled.
Before he could even turn his head, I appeared directly on his left flank. I swung my wooden staff in a short, blunt arc, channeling a tiny fraction of the Asura Spear Intent from my soul into the wood.
Thump.
The plain pine stick struck the center of his hip. There was no bright flash of light, but the raw physical weight of my tempered bones behind the strike exploded against his flesh.
Sun Bao didn’t even have time to scream. The impact lifted his entire broad body off the floor, sending him flying sideways through the air like a discarded sack of straw. He crashed straight through the wooden guard rails of the stage, tumbling down onto the stone square below, where he rolled around in the gravel, clutching his hip and groaning in absolute agony.
The match had lasted exactly three seconds.
The loud roar in the arena square died instantly. A suffocating silence fell over the thousands of outer disciples. Jaws dropped across every single row. Nobody could process what they had just witnessed—the top outer disciple of the first hall had just been tossed out of the ring with a single casual swing from a coreless servant boy.
Deacon Wu’s quill snapped in his hand, his mouth open so wide his glasses slid down his nose. Elder Ironwood froze on his bench, his beard twitching violently as he stared at his groaning disciple in the dirt.
I stood in the center of the ring, resting my pine staff against the floor, my face completely calm and flat. I looked up at the judges’ bench, my voice smooth and cutting through the silent square.
"Next," I said simply.
Down below the stage, Ye Xinyang looked up at me, a brilliant, proud smile lighting up her beautiful features, her eyes full of an intense, love and pride. Mo Ran let out a happy cheer, clapping her hands wildly, while Gu Qinghan nodded softly, her trust in her husband completely verified in front of the entire mountain.