A few exchanged thoughts in hushed undertones.
"He hid this much… even through the earlier exchanges."
"That level of flow control… that's not Body Tempering."
"Did he deliberately let the match stay balanced until now?"
"He's reading Zhang Weiren's intent as if it's being spoken aloud."
Their voices faded again as the next clash snapped the dust upward.
Zhang Weiren forced his body forward with a guttural breath, golden qi erupting along his arms as he launched another full-force combination. His strikes were sharp, disciplined, powerful—everything an Outer Sect Number One should be.
But Lao Xie stepped into the storm rather than away from it. His sword turned in a quiet, fluid motion, grazing Zhang's wrist and guiding the punch just wide enough to kill its threat.
Another blow followed, and Lao Xie bent gently around it, the edge of his blade shaving across the golden aura near Zhang's throat.
Zhang gasped softly, a ragged sound breaking between clenched teeth as his knees buckled under the subtle but relentless adjustments forced on his body.
Lao Xie didn't chase.
He simply stepped into the space Zhang fell from, taking the center of the stage as naturally as breathing.
And when Zhang finally dropped to one knee—half his body sagging for air, golden qi flickering chaotically along his arms—the arena felt colder, as though the wind itself had recognized the shift in balance.
His breath dragged through his chest in uneven waves, every inhale burning sharply as if the fractured stone beneath him had climbed into his lungs. Sweat rolled down his temple and dripped from his chin, landing in the dust that still trembled faintly from their last clash. His knee dug deeper into the cracked surface as he forced his gaze upward, refusing to bow his head despite the trembling in his fingers.
Lao Xie stood a short distance before him, sword lowered, posture steady with a calm that felt almost suffocating in how effortlessly it filled the space between them.
Zhang swallowed the dryness in his throat, words scraping out between shallow breaths. "You… really like hearing yourself talk."
Lao Xie's lips shifted into the faintest smile, that familiar hint of amusement sliding quietly back into his expression. "If it bothers you, you should get up and stop giving me the chance."
Zhang clicked his tongue—a harsh sound, half anger, half exhaustion. "Shut up."
But even as he said it, the tension along his shoulders loosened just a touch, as if frustration alone kept him balanced on the edge of collapse.
His breath steadied enough for him to speak again. "I knew you were the real deal," he muttered, voice low and slipping between breaths. "Ever since the moment you made Ming Yu surrender. That guy… he's not someone who bends easily."
He paused long enough to wipe the sweat gathering near his brow. "I knew you were strong, but I didn't expect this. A gap like this—" His gaze flicked upward, settling on Lao Xie's face with a rough ache in it. "Was this what he saw? Is that why he didn't even try?"
Lao Xie didn't answer immediately. His blade tilted slightly, scattering a sliver of sunlight across the fractured ground, but he gave no sign of pride or denial—only that steady presence that refused to grow heavier or lighter.
Zhang let out a strained laugh that didn't hold any humor. "You were talentless a few weeks ago. Everyone knew it. Everyone said it." He lifted his chin slightly, searching Lao Xie's expression. "So tell me… how did this happen? How do you go from nothing to—this—in such a short time?"
The question lingered between them, heavy and searching, as if Zhang's entire body hung from the answer he wanted.
But Lao Xie only tilted his head, not breaking eye contact. "Talking wastes your breath. Focus on standing first."
The avoidance was so smooth, so natural, that it didn't even feel like refusal—just a shift in the wind that left Zhang grasping at air.
Zhang narrowed his eyes. "You're not going to answer."
It wasn't a question.
Lao Xie's smile curled faintly, quiet and unbothered. "You're perceptive."
Zhang exhaled sharply, something between annoyance and resignation slipping through his breath. "Fine. Then answer me this—" He straightened his spine as much as his body allowed, the golden qi flickering weakly along his arms. "Did you already break through? Are you in Qi Refinement?"
Lao Xie didn't nod.
He didn't shake his head.
He simply watched Zhang with that same calm that offered no confirmation and no denial—yet somehow answered everything without speaking a single word.
Zhang felt his throat tighten. "Of course."
Of course he didn't want to say it.
Because saying it would end the fight right there.
Before Zhang could speak again, the shift in the air pulled the attention of the platforms above.
Up onto the elder's seat. The elders leaned forward together, their gazes sharpening as they watched the stillness between the two boys.
"…There's no more need to observe," one elder murmured quietly, folding his arms as his robe stirred faintly in the breeze. "The outcome is already clear."
Another gave a thoughtful exhale. "Zhang Weiren fought well. But this…" His gaze lowered onto the stage. "This is no longer a match between peers."
Their voices drifted lightly, but none spoke loudly. The weight of the moment seemed to press even their breath down to whispers.
Ling Ruxin's shoulders eased with a soft exhale. Her gaze remained fixed on the stage, her fingers resting lightly atop her guqin strings. "Haa… another one-sided ending," she murmured, voice gentle but carrying the faintest note of sympathy for Zhang.
Elder Yao nodded slowly, her eyes half-lidded as she examined Lao Xie with a sharpness that did not waver. "That's how it is," she replied, voice calm but edged with quiet certainty. "That brat is no longer in the Body Tempering realm. No outer disciple can touch him."
Ling Ruxin's lips parted slightly, her brows softening. "That's… to be expected."
Before Elder Yao could respond, Ling Ruxin's voice quieted as her gaze sharpened.
"…Do you feel that?" she whispered.
Back on the stage. A faint shift rolled across the arena floor—subtle, almost invisible, yet the air itself reacted to it, as if turning gently toward the center of the battlefield.
Lao Xie lifted his sword.
Not dramatically.
Not with a burst of qi.
His blade simply rose, and a faint, radiant glow began to gather along the steel—soft at first, like the shimmer of morning frost catching light, before it grew brighter in thin, elegant waves that traced the edge with a pale brilliance.
The arena quieted even more.
Zhang Weiren's eyes widened despite his exhaustion, breath catching as he felt the pressure forming around that slowly rising blade.
"…You've been hiding that too," he whispered.
Lao Xie's response came in the same quiet tone that seemed unbothered by exhaustion, unbothered by pressure, unbothered by anything standing before him.
"I learned it not long ago," he said, his fingers shifting slightly against the hilt. "I didn't plan to use it today."
Zhang Weiren lifted his head, eyes narrowing as he wrestled the lingering tremor in his arms back under control. "Learned… not long ago?" He pulled a breath that scraped down his throat like gravel. "Don't joke with me."
Lao Xie didn't laugh.
He didn't smirk either.
He simply watched him with that steady, unreadable calm—the kind of calm that said he wasn't exaggerating, wasn't boastful, wasn't even proud.
Just stating a simple truth.
And that truth alone felt heavier than a fist.
The sword continued to glow, the aura thickening with a quiet, resonant hum that rolled faintly across the arena. It wasn't explosive or violent. It was refined, condensed, a presence that the Body Tempering realm was never supposed to touch.
Sword qi.
Not hidden behind soft movements or concealed behind footwork like when he fought Shen Yun.
This time—he revealed it openly.
Even without words, every disciple watching could tell what it was.
The elders knew.
The inner disciples knew.
Even the outer disciples knew.
Even those who had never touched a sword in their life felt the pressure down in their bones.
Zhang Weiren swallowed hard. "You're already walking into realms I can only imagine."
Lao Xie tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something in the wind. "Maybe," he replied softly. "But that doesn't change the match in front of us."
A brief silence lingered—thin, motionless, yet full—before he continued.
"If you can defend against my next attack," he said, his voice calm enough to feel infuriatingly steady, "I'll admit defeat."
Zhang Weiren's eyes shot open wider, disbelief breaking through exhaustion. "Defend… against that?" His gaze locked onto the glowing blade, the hum of sword qi vibrating faintly in the air. "I'm Body Tempering. How am I supposed to stop something like that?"
Lao Xie's smile was faint, almost gentle. "If you can't," he replied, "then the fight is already over. Will you surrender here?" He lifted his chin a little, just enough for the provocation to settle cleanly between them. "Wouldn't that hurt your pride?"
A sharp breath escaped Zhang Weiren—half anger, half something he refused to name. He stared down at his trembling hands, then slowly curled them into fists. The cracked stone shifted beneath his feet as he pushed himself upright again.
He rose from his kneeling position, breath steadying by force rather than recovery. He stood fully—shoulders square, spine straight, chest rising and falling in harsh but controlled waves.
"Bring it on," he said.
No shout, no roar—just quiet resolve tightened into words.
Lao Xie watched him with a faint spark of acknowledgment in his eyes, not mockery, not pity, but a quiet note that suggested Zhang's resolve wasn't wasted.
Then he closed his eyes.
The arena shifted.
Not violently, not with bursting sound or explosive power—only with the slow gathering of a presence that pressed into the skin like a deep, resonant vibration. The faint radiance along his sword thickened, weaving threads of light along the blade's edge as the surrounding air gently bent toward him.
A few disciples leaned forward, breath caught in their throats.
"That pressure…"
"That's not normal…"
"Is he… drawing in the sword qi from the environment too?"
Even the elders sat straighter.
The glow around Lao Xie's sword intensified, layer by layer, the hum deepening until it felt like a faint ringing beneath the skin, like the entire stage had begun to tremble in the presence of a cultivator who no longer matched the realm he claimed to stand in.
Zhang Weiren clenched his fists tighter, planting his feet firmly into the cracked stone, golden qi crawling along his arms like desperate fire. He swallowed once, forcing the weight in his chest into something sharp enough to wield.
But the power building before him had already stepped beyond what the Outer Sect could contain.
Lao Xie exhaled slowly.
And the aura sharpened.
It pressed outward like a tightening blade, elegant but suffocating, coating the sword in a luminous sheath that traced patterns of light into the air.
This was no simple technique.
This was no ordinary refinement.
This was the sword art that defined his cultivation path—the only one he had begun cultivating since stepping into this life.
The Heavenly Echoing Sword Arts.
The air itself seemed to draw still, pulled into the quiet gravity of the rising strike.
The energy condensed further.
The glow brightened.
The trembling beneath the stage deepened.
And when Lao Xie finally opened his eyes, a faint gleam traced across his irises—soft, serene, but impossibly sharp.
He lifted his sword just slightly.
His lips parted.
"Heavenly Echoing Sword Arts…"
The glow surged in a single, quiet pulse—fwoommm—rippling through the arena.
"…First Technique."
The air cracked.
A thin line of radiant energy burst along the edge of the blade.
"Sky's Whisper."
Author's Note: We finally reached Chapter 99. I didn't think the story would grow this far when it first began, but here we are, one step away from the first hundred. Since this chapter marks a small milestone, I figured it would be better to let everyone enjoy something a little longer than usual.
Thank you for reading, supporting, and staying with the story up to this point. Your time means a lot. I hope you'll continue walking with Lao Xie for a while longer.