"Fine," Shen Yu said softly.
With those four quiet words, the tension in the pavilion snapped like a drawn bowstring.
Recognizing the silent command, the minor clan leaders and elites imdiately scrambled backward, clearing the open center ground.
Servants moved with frantic efficiency, shifting the heavy blackwood tables to the periphery until a wide, circular ring was opened on the polished marble floor.
Junjie cracked his neck, his ash-blonde mane tossing as he strode into the ring.
A smirk of absolute certainty played on his rugged features. With a flash of light from his silver storage ring, a pair of heavy, spiked iron gauntlets materialized over his massive fists.
He slamd them together, a sharp, tallic clang echoing through the hall as a dense aura of golden Qi erupted around him, pulsing with the raw power of the 3rd-Stage Foundation Establishnt realm.
Shen Yu stepped into the open circle with a fluid, ghostly grace, his pristine white robes billowing softly despite the total lack of wind in the pavilion.
He stopped precisely five ters away from the roaring young lord, his presence completely absorbing the light of the room.
He didn’t call upon a weapon, nor did he erupt with a loud, vulgar display of spiritual energy. Instead, Shen Yu simply sank into a relaxed, deeply rooted stance.
His weight shifted flawlessly, the marble beneath his boots barely registering the transition, as he raised a single hand.
His fingers curled slightly, his palm opening toward his opponent with a tranquil, devastating readiness.
In his past life, Shen Yu had been a terror of the cultivation world, primarily utilizing lethal palm and finger techniques.
Through hundreds of thousands of bloody, desperate battles, he had refined those strikes to a level where he was revered as an unrivaled grandmaster, one of the absolute best palm and finger cultivators at the peak of the Nascent Soul realm.
Though he had kept those techniques strictly hidden in this life, choosing instead to focus on the spear arts this new body was already accustod to, it wasn’t because he had abandoned his past path. He was simply waiting for the right mont. The ti had simply not co.
Until now.
Looking at the second bastard in this city who dared to look at his woman with lecherous intent and ask for her hand as a re wager, Shen Yu decided he would finally unleash it.
He was thoroughly, deeply angry.
Yet, to not expose his demonic nature, he did not let his rage crack his holy veneer. Maintaining his calm, serene image, a gentle, saintly smile touched his lips as he spoke.
He maintained his calm, serene image, a gentle, saintly smile touching his lips as he spoke.
"This is a profound art bestowed upon by my Master," he lied smoothly, his voice carrying clearly to the onlookers.
"The Verdant Flow Palm technique. Please guide , Young Master Wu."
In reality, it was one of the very few righteous, orthodox techniques Shen Yu possessed from his past life. The rest of his vast repertoire consisted of brutal, blood-soaked demonic arts that would imdiately expose him.
Using this elegant, life-attuned palm style was a calculated choice, the perfect tool to dismantle his opponent while keeping his holy image pristine.
Junjie let out an arrogant snort, punching the air a few tis to let his iron gauntlets whistle.
The golden Qi around his fists condensed into the vague, heavy shape of a mountain peak. "And this is the pride of my Wu Clan, the Iron Mountain Fist! Prepare to crawl, Tang Yu!"
Both n settled into their respective stances, the contrast between Junjie’s explosive, roaring energy and Shen Yu’s lake-like stillness painting a striking picture.
The referee, an elder of the City Lord’s estate, raised his hand and brought it down sharply, shouting the signal to begin.
Instantly, Junjie moved with ruthless, explosive speed. The marble beneath his heels cracked as he lunged forward like a striking drake, his spiked gauntlets tearing through the air to shatter Shen Yu’s skull.
Shen Yu, however, did not move a single inch. He stood perfectly still in the path of the storm, waiting.
Junjie’s first strike ca with the force of a falling boulder. The air shrieked as his golden, Qi-coated gauntlet tore toward Shen Yu’s jaw, a blow ant to end the fight before it even began.
But where the crowd expected a violent collision, there was only emptiness.
With a movent so fluid it bordered on illusion, Shen Yu shifted his weight back by a re fraction of an inch. The spiked iron fist grazed past his cheek, close enough to ruffle his white hair, yet failing to touch a single strand of skin.
It was the Flowing Light Footwork, a high-level movent technique Shen Yu attributed to his "Master" in his mind, though it was entirely drawn from his own centuries of combat muscle mory.
Before Junjie could recover, his montum carrying him forward, Shen Yu’s open hand moved.
It wasn’t a strike, but a soft, rhythmic brush.
His palm caught the side of Junjie’s heavy forearm, redirecting the devastating kinetic energy of the Iron Mountain Fist completely off-course.
Boom!
Junjie’s punch slamd directly into the empty air, the shockwave cracking the marble floor beneath them.
Yet, Shen Yu remained completely unbothered, stepping laterally with a ghostly grace, his hands returning to a relaxed guard.
His silent, unshakable composure was a calm oasis amidst the roaring wind of Junjie’s raging Qi, which only served to fuel the young lord’s fury.
"Don’t mock !" Junjie roared, his face flushing crimson with imdiate humiliation. He spun on his heel, his heavy boots tearing up the floorboards as he unleashed a rapid, blinding barrage of strikes.
Left hook, right jab, an upward drive ant to shatter ribs, each blow carried enough raw power to crush an ordinary Qi Condensation cultivator into paste.
Yet, to the absolute horror of the onlookers, Shen Yu looked like a man taking a leisurely stroll through a garden.
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