Shen Yu didn't counter-attack. He simply drifted.
Whenever a fist came too close, a subtle tilt of his torso or a microscopic step to the side left Junjie hitting nothing but residual afterimages.
And whenever Junjie tried to lock him down with wide, sweeping swings, Shen Yu's hands would flash like pale jade under the lantern light, gentle, circular palm deflections that tapped the sides of the heavy iron gauntlets, sending the young lord stumbling past him time and time again.
From the sidelines, the silence was suffocating.
The minor clan leaders were staring with their mouths wide open. Wu Shan's proud smile had completely vanished, replaced by a dark, rigid expression as his Nascent Soul perception realized a terrifying truth, Shen Yu wasn't just winning, he was actively playing with his son.
He was exerting the bare minimum amount of energy required to make a 3rd-Stage Foundation Establishment genius look like a flailing toddler.
