Xueling walked into the glare of the arena lights, unfazed by the audience's unnatural silence. The cavernous underground, the hiss of the metal gates, and the pungent smell of sweat mixed with blood… all of these were familiar to her. This was her zone. She owned this arena in her past life.
She stood at the edge of the ring, the floor cool beneath her boots, the silk scarf whispering against her cheek. Her breath came slow and measured, each inhale deliberate. In her peripheral vision, Black Viper rolled his shoulders — a mountain of a man, his body a tapestry of serpentine tattoos that rippled with each movement. His eyes were pits of malice, trained solely on her.
He was infamous — unbeaten in three years. Quick. Cruel. Loved to draw blood before the bell even ended the round.
Perfect.
The bell clanged.
He lunged first — all muscle, no grace. His left arm came in a hook heavy enough to shatter bone. Xueling twisted her torso, just enough for the punch to cut through air. The wind brushed past her cheek.
Her counterstrike came low — a sweep kick.He jumped it.Good reflexes.
The crowd roared. The Viper grinned, teeth flashing like a predator's.
"You look fragile. Quite the beauty" he spat, circling. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."
Xueling tilted her head, eyes cool. "Worry about yourself!"
His grin vanished. He charged again — feint high, strike low. She parried once, twice — his speed was blistering, but his center was open.
Her palm darted out — one strike to the diaphragm, another to the shoulder joint. The first stunned him. The second tore a grunt from his throat.
He retaliated blindly, fury replacing strategy.She ducked. Rolled. Slid under his arm.The ground's chill seeped into her palms — she used it, pushing off in one fluid motion and driving her knee into his side.
A sickening crack.
He stumbled but didn't fall. Not yet. The tattooed muscles tensed, veins pulsing dark beneath skin. He roared, grabbed her by the scarf, and yanked hard.
The world tilted — her neck burned.
Reflex took over.
She twisted her body midair, using the momentum of the pull. Her foot snapped out, catching him square under the chin. His head jerked back.Before he could recover, she landed, pivoted, and struck three quick blows — wrist, solar plexus, throat.
Xueling landed perfectly safe, unscathed. But Black Viper dropped to one knee, choking.
The crowd had gone silent — stunned by her speed, strength, and technique.
In the lower tiers where the White Crane Sect sat, the silence was accompanied by equal parts excitement and tension. Elder disciple Luo Wenhai leaned forward knuckles white on the armrest. His sharp eyes traced every movement, and for the first time in years, disbelief cracked through his stoic composure.
"That—" He swallowed hard. "That's the Flowing Wing Sequence. Form Eight of the White Crane Defense."
The younger disciples looked at him, wide-eyed.
"The one sealed in the inner pavilion?" one whispered. "But only the direct bloodline of the Chu family—"
"Watch." Wenhai's voice dropped to a hush. His eyes followed as the masked fighter pivoted, her hand slicing through the air in a graceful arc before snapping forward like a hawk's strike. The motion left a faint afterimage in the camera's slow frame — and ended with her opponent collapsing soundlessly to the ground.
"Crane Returns to Sky," murmured Old Master Chu Mingyuan, his gravelly voice echoing through the chamber.
All heads turned toward him. The old man sat cross-legged on the elevated platform, white robes pooled around him like clouds, his long silver beard stirring with the faintest breath. His half-lidded eyes reflected the harsh light of the arena, unreadable yet keen.
Wenhai bowed his head, awe lacing his tone. "Master… there's no doubt. That's our lineage's style. But she's modified it — look at the transition between Flowing Wing and Returning Sky. It's seamless, faster than even the old manual allows. She turned a defensive form into an offensive strike. I've never seen anything like it."
Chu Mingyuan's gaze did not waver. "It's not a mimicry," he said slowly. "It's inheritance."
A stunned murmur rippled through the hall.
"But… Master," Wenhai began carefully, "the last of the White Crane bloodline outside the sect—"
"Was lost fifteen years ago," Chu Mingyuan finished, his tone like distant thunder. His eyes narrowed on the girl's graceful movements — the whip-like precision, the grounded posture, the explosive strength drawn from balance, not brute force.
Even far away from the cage, he could sense it — the same energy, the same soul-deep rhythm as the daughter-in-law he had once taught, and the granddaughter they had once lost.
When the final blow landed and the crowd's roar shook the cage, Chu Mingyuan drew a long, shuddering breath.
"She fights like her." Came Chu Zhenhua's gravelly voice, his eyes full of unshed tears as he gazed at the figure on the arena, almost as if seeing someone else through her.
Her name — Su Wanqing — hovered unspoken between the disciples, who exchanged uneasy glances.
Su Wanqing had been the senior most disciple of the sect. She was the princess of the Su clan, an old scholarly lineage with connections to erstwhile royalty. The pampered Su clan's princess, against all odds, became the number one disciple of the White Crane Sect. She had even married the Chu family's current patriarch and the old master Chu' son Chu Zhenhua. Theirs had been a beautiful love story full of cliché romance settings until, it suddenly wasn't.
After 10 years of marriage and three boys, the Chu and Su families had been so happy to finally welcome their only little princess Chu Lingran. At that time, an unfortunate accident had taken both the Chu and Su princesses away from their families. Su Wanqing had been found dead and Chu Lingran was missing. The details of the incident were kept locked down. Nobody in the sect or the Chu clan was privy to it. They only knew that that night had rocked the foundation between the Chu and Su families. The Su family had retired from prominence and the Chu family, led by Chu Zhenhua had moved abroad to develop and had only recently come back. The old master Chu and his wife had taken the White Crane Sect to the mountains, to mourn their loss in isolation.
"Master…" Wenhai's voice softened. "Do you think—could it be—"
Chu Mingyuan raised a trembling hand, silencing him. His eyes, ancient and sharp as tempered steel, locked on the masked girl now getting ready for another round of battle against her opponent. That relentless spirit was exactly like his favorite disciple.
"I don't think, Wenhai." His voice was quiet, but every word carried weight. "I know."
Feng Xueling spun lightly on her heel, boots whispering against the concrete, her every movement a controlled ripple of power. Across her, Black Viper lumbered back to his feet — again. His breath came out in hisses, echoing the tattooed serpent curling across his scalp. His bloodshot eyes glowed red beneath the arena lights, and the veins along his neck pulsed like coiled cords.
Unnatural recovery rate, Xueling noted coolly. Steroid enhancement? Biochemical stimulant?
She flicked her wrist once, shaking out the faint ache from the last exchange. Her knuckles were slick with his blood, but her pulse remained steady.No matter. If he gets up, I'll just knock him down again.
The referee's arm sliced the air — and Viper lunged.
He was faster this time. His low center of gravity and brute strength made him a force of nature when he closed the distance. Xueling sidestepped once, graceful as wind bending through reeds, then twisted—her elbow cut through air and slammed against his ribs with a crack.
The impact sent him staggering, but he didn't fall. He grinned, lips splitting to show blood and teeth."You're good," he growled. "But I am invincible."
He came again, faster, heavier — one hit aimed for her jaw, another sweeping for her midsection. Xueling ducked low, pivoted off her front foot, and delivered a spinning kick that landed squarely on his shoulder.
He should have gone down. Any normal man would have stayed down.But Black Viper straightened with a laugh that bubbled with blood. "Come again, beauty! I love to feel you."
His hand shot forward. For the first time, he caught her off guard — not because of speed, but because of something darker. His body convulsed mid-motion, muscles swelling grotesquely under the skin. His eyes rolled back, replaced with a milky white sheen.
Drug activation, she realized, darting back a step. He's burning his body from the inside out just to win.
Her mind shifted gears instantly. She dropped her stance lower, breath steadying as she summoned every drop of control her fighting techniques in both lives had taught her. Her movements turned sharper, smaller, efficient. Each parry and strike found its mark — the hollow beneath the ribs, the base of the neck, the joint between tendon and bone.
Blood sprayed from his mouth, yet he came again, roaring.She met him head-on.Fist against fist. Force against force.
The shockwave cracked through the floor.
The crowd screamed.
For a breathless instant, neither moved. Then Viper staggered back, chest heaving, eyes wild with disbelief. Xueling landed lightly on her feet, posture perfectly aligned. Her scarf had loosened, fluttering like a streak of blue flame against her dark hair.
He's slowing down, she noted, her eyes narrowing. His blood pressure's crashing. One more round should do it.
The roar of the crowd was deafening — a wall of sound that rattled the reinforced glass of the observation deck. From his vantage above the pit, Chen Yutian watched the blood-slick ring below, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
"Useless trash," he hissed, slamming a fist against the table. The feed on the large monitor showed Black Viper staggering again, each blow from the masked girl driving him further toward collapse.That lithe figure, that fluid precision — she moved like liquid steel.
He leaned closer to the glass, eyes narrowing. That's her. It has to be her.The girl who ruined his casino, the girl who had Mo Shenyu's attention.
His pawn, his best-enhanced fighter, was being played withby her. Not beaten — toyed with.
A vein pulsed in his temple. "How long are you going to dance, you freak?" he snarled under his breath. "Hit her. Break her spine!"
But down in the pit, Viper barely stood. Blood streamed from his split scalp; his chest rose in shallow, ragged breaths. The girl — no, the thing in human form — hadn't even broken a sweat.
When her elbow cut a sharp arc and cracked his ribs again, Yutian's composure snapped. He grabbed the comm earpiece from the table and barked. "Mobilize all units! I want XL taken down now!!"
Feng Xueling pivoted and delivered another round of beautifully well-placed hits. This is it! He should go down now.
But desperation made beasts of men. With a sudden snarl, Viper lunged again — not with a strike, but a grab. His hand shot out, talon-fast, catching the edge of her uniform. She twisted to evade, but his nails hooked deep into the fabric.
With a loud rip, the right side of her shirt tore open from shoulder to ribs.
The entire arena seemed to freeze. Over the tank top on the right, next to the collarbone, a red plum blossom glowed a fierce ruby red.
Chu Zhenhua who had been sitting as though in a daze, rose abruptly from his seat. His tear filled eyes sharpened and his bearing suddenly years younger.
"Inform the young masters. Prepare the plane. The White Crane flies home tonight."
The disciples sprang into motion. And as if on cue, the entire underground arena erupted into chaos.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Damn it — she'd exposed the mark.
A hot flare of anger and cold calculation crashed through Feng Xueling. One heartbeat later, her trained senses caught the sound: a thin, metallic whizz as a bullet sliced the air near her ear.
Time narrowed.
"Watch out!" A voice, low and everything, crashed into her peripheral vision. Mo Shenyu appeared as if born from the light itself — moving faster than the crowd's scream should allow. He slammed into her, spinning so that his body took the shot meant for her. The force of the impact slammed them both to the floor, glass and grit spitting around them.
He didn't hesitate. With a single, clean motion he rotated and delivered a roundhouse kick that sent Black Viper reeling across the mat. The man crashed into the barrier, a broken mass of leather and ink.
Bullets chopped the air again. Mo's hand flashed to his wrist; a cool, hard halo of energy bloomed from a modified bracelet, throwing up a shimmering concave shield that ate the rounds with muted splats. The shield's glow reflected off his jaw, throwing his features into harsh relief — an impossible mix of soldier and something more personal, more fierce.
"Stay low," he said, voice steady, no tremor even as rounds pinged the shield. The words were less an order than an anchor.
Xueling's heart pounded, but she dropped as he said, sliding behind the temporary cover the bracelet formed. The Helios Tech signature in the shield — a geometry of lock-and-run sequences she knew from code and countermeasures — hit a chord inside her. She'd seen this tech before, and the memory braided with adrenaline: clean, efficient, engineered to protect. In her past life she'd appreciated its logic as a tool. Tonight it felt like salvation.
"We need the far-left exit," he said, breath controlled, eyes scanning pockets of movement through the smoky flare. "My team will have it secured."
They didn't exchange names. Words were a waste of air in that moment. Instead, they moved as two halves of the same calculation — step, pivot, feint, sprint. Xueling matched him for pace, their silent coordination uncanny: hand placements, angles, the way they used the ring's shallow edges to mask velocity. In that small choreography she felt something dangerous and unfamiliar unspool inside her — recognition, gratitude, an ache she'd sworn to ignore.
Ahead, masked men in dark tactical vests poured out of a chute — Chen Yutian's extraction squad. Spotlights carved them into silhouettes, and a few more shots punched the air. Mo's secret guards — five taller men in tailored black — fanned and met them, steel and trained hands moving in perfect unison. The clash was brief, brutal; bodies met with the staccato rhythm of practiced violence. Mo's team carved a path.
They reached the far-left tunnel in less than thirty seconds. The entrance gaped like a wound, lit by emergency strips. Two of Mo's men slammed their shoulders against the inner door and pushed. Xueling let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Thank you," she said, voice small against the din, and for a second the world narrowed to the line of his face — the surprising softness there, the way his eyes looked like storms held back by will.
He didn't allow himself to smile. Instead he moved close enough that she could see the slight tremor at the edge of his jaw — the restraint of a man who'd been taught not to break. "We aren't out of it yet," he said, and his tone was wire-tight. He unlatched a small clasp on the bracelet and handed it to her. The shield dimmed and reformed in her palm: a flattened, palm-sized node that would bloom once activated.
"Here. Take this. Follow my team out. I'll deal with them. Get clear and don't stop." His words were orders, but in the space between them they carried the weight of a promise.
Xueling slid the device into the strap of her scarf and watched him pivot back into the open. He rolled his shoulders, eyes already calculating angles of return. Then, without another look, he moved—an island of black pushing into the storm.
As Xueling was shepherded through the corridor, the arena's roar turned into a single, threaded noise: the echo of a man running toward what he would not let go. She wanted, briefly and fiercely, to turn back with him; to be the one who stood, shield in hand. Instead she moved, feet steady, heart cataloging every second.
Behind the concrete and steel, lights flared, a shout cracked like a whip, and the first of Chen Yutian's men fell under Mo Shenyu's blade-like control.
When Xueling rounded the last bend and the exit hatch slammed shut behind them, the muffled thud felt like the closing of a door on a chapter that would not end quietly. She pressed her back to cold metal and let the adrenaline taste dissolve into slow, hot blood as the makeshift team spiraled her away into the city's underside.
Above, somewhere in the VIP tiers, Chen Yutian ground his teeth and hissed into the dark — the trap had failed, and the night had suddenly gone loud with consequences.