Inside the shattered tavern, time seemed to stand still.
Dust still floated in the air. Cracks gaped across the floor in several places. Broken tables lay scattered in the corners. And yet, the two figures standing amid the destruction showed no sign of stopping.
Zhao Linyan drew in a deep breath.
His eyes locked onto Li Wuchen.
Cold. Sharp. Filled with menace.
He slowly raised his hands, forming a seal different from before. His internal energy churned—more concentrated, more focused. This time, it was not meant to spread wide… but to pierce a single point.
"I admit, you're extraordinary," Zhao Linyan said quietly. "But… everyone has their limits."
Wuchen did not reply.
He simply watched his opponent calmly, like someone observing rain falling beyond a window. No urgency. No panic. Just… watching.
Zhao Linyan snorted.
"Why aren't you talking?"
"Because I'm counting," Wuchen answered flatly.
Zhao Linyan frowned. "Counting what?"
"How many times you've used the same technique with different variations."
Silence filled the room.
Those still watching from the edges swallowed hard.
Is this guy insane? He's counting in the middle of a fight?
Zhao Linyan narrowed his eyes. "And?"
Wuchen slowly clenched his fist.
"Seven times. With the same pattern in the last three repetitions."
Zhao Linyan's smile gradually faded.
*****
On the rooftop across the street, Lin Xue'er held her breath.
Her eyes did not blink. Her fingers, usually steady, now gripped the edge of the roof slightly tighter.
"He's… analyzing Zhao Linyan's attack patterns?"
She could hardly believe it.
Not because it was impossible—but because to do such a thing, one had to remain completely calm under mortal pressure. One had to separate themselves from pain, from danger, from the most basic survival instincts.
And that aura-less youth was doing it while fighting.
Lin Xue'er exhaled softly.
"Abnormal."
Yet without realizing it, the corner of her lips lifted slightly.
*****
Back inside the tavern—
Zhao Linyan did not wait any longer.
He let out a short shout. His internal energy exploded.
This time, he did not attack with his hands—
But with his entire body.
His steps changed. Fast. Erratic. Left. Right. Disappearing. Reappearing. Like a shadow that refused to stay still.
Wuut—!
The first strike came from the left.
Wuchen shifted half a step.
Wuut—!
The second came from the right. Faster.
Wuchen ducked.
Wuut! Wuut!
Two consecutive strikes.
All hit nothing but air.
Zhao Linyan gritted his teeth. He accelerated. Changed patterns. Struck from below. From behind. From above.
But not a single attack landed.
Wuchen did not move with elegance. No grand techniques. No dazzling motions.
He was simply… always in the right place.
One step ahead of the attack. Half a turn before the strike landed.
In the distance, the old man muttered in satisfaction while taking a sip from his gourd.
"Hm. Not bad, that brat. His reflexes and perception have already surpassed normal training. His body moves faster than his thoughts."
He nodded, pleased.
"Just like I taught him. Don't think about your opponent's movements—feel them."
*****
In the midst of battle, Zhao Linyan suddenly stopped.
He stepped back three paces. His breathing was slightly uneven—not from exhaustion, but from frustration.
"Enough. I won't hold back anymore."
He closed his eyes briefly. The internal energy that had been flowing freely began to gather inward—to a single point in his core.
Denser.
Heavier.
Everyone nearby felt it.
The pressure changed. The air thickened. Breathing became harder. Even those outside instinctively stepped back.
"This…" someone whispered. "This is different from before."
"He's compressing his internal energy," another muttered, pale-faced. "If he releases it… this won't be an attack anymore. It'll be an impact."
Zhao Linyan opened his eyes.
His gaze had changed.
No more cold smile. No more feigned calm.
Only seriousness remained.
"Li Wuchen. You've forced me to use this. Consider it an honor."
Wuchen looked at him.
"Honor or not, I don't care."
He lowered his stance further.
"What matters is… I'm still standing afterward."
Zhao Linyan said nothing more.
He shot forward—at extreme speed.
This time, Zhao Linyan's speed was different.
This was no ordinary movement. Not the step of a martial artist.
It was like lightning choosing its path.
In the blink of an eye, he was right before Wuchen. His palm struck with terrifying speed and compressed internal force.
BOOOOM!!!
A massive explosion shook the entire building.
The remaining walls trembled violently. Parts of the roof finally collapsed. Dust and splinters flew everywhere.
All the spectators jolted.
Within the cloud of dust—
Silence.
Then—
Footsteps.
One step.
Two steps.
Li Wuchen's figure emerged.
His body leaned slightly. His left foot carved a long crack across the floor—the mark of resisting the overwhelming force.
His clothes were torn at the left shoulder. Blood trickled faintly.
But—
He stood.
Zhao Linyan's eyes widened.
"You… are still standing?!"
Wuchen rolled his shoulder slightly, grimacing faintly.
"That actually hurt."
The old man behind him nearly spat out his tea.
"What kind of comment is that?!"
Zhao Linyan fell silent.
For a long time.
He stared at Wuchen with a complex expression—there was admiration… and something else. Something like unease he couldn't quite understand.
"How did you withstand it?" he finally asked. "That's not rhetorical. I truly want to know."
Wuchen exhaled.
"If I tell you, will you stop attacking me?"
Zhao Linyan thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not necessarily."
"Then," Wuchen said as he steadied his stance again, "ask me after we're done."
Zhao Linyan laughed.
This time, it sounded different.
More… genuine.
"Fair enough."
He raised his hands again.
Wuchen moved as well.
And once more—
They charged at each other.
*****
Outside the ruined building, the crowd had grown even larger.
People whispered. Clutched each other. Some committed the scene to memory, certain they were witnessing something unforgettable.
Then suddenly—
Something changed.
Pressure.
Not from the tavern—
But from the eastern street.
Slowly, the crowd parted on its own, as if pushed aside by an unseen force.
"That… sky-blue robes…"
"The Purple Cloud Sect?!"
"Why are they here?"
On the rooftop, Lin Xue'er turned sharply. Her eyes assessed the situation quickly. Her brows furrowed slightly.
"Senior Yun…"
There was discomfort on her face—not fear, but reluctance.
A man in his thirties stepped into the tavern.
He wore sky-blue robes embroidered with white clouds at the sleeves. Handsome, with sharp cheekbones and calm, piercing eyes. A jade-sheathed sword hung at his waist.
His steps were light—yet each carried a subtle pressure. Not overwhelming, but enough to remind everyone he was not to be underestimated.
He stopped at what remained of the doorway and surveyed the destruction calmly.
"Interesting," he said softly.
His voice was not loud.
Yet somehow, everyone heard it.
Zhao Linyan halted mid-attack. He turned.
His expression shifted.
"Senior Yun Fenghe."
The man nodded lightly. "Zhao Linyan. It's been a while."
His gaze moved to Li Wuchen.
"And you must be… the one the entire city has been gossiping about since this morning."
Wuchen met his gaze calmly.
"I didn't ask for that."
Yun Fenghe smiled faintly.
"No one ever does."
He stepped further inside, walking over the debris effortlessly.
At the center, he stopped and looked at both of them.
"May I ask something?"
No one answered. He took it as consent.
"Are the two of you building… or destroying?"
The old man behind Wuchen burst out laughing.
"Ha ha ha! Good question!"
Zhao Linyan took a breath. Then, more composed, lowered his hand.
"I won't continue this with a third party watching."
Wuchen did not object. He simply straightened.
Yun Fenghe smiled.
"Wise."
He turned to Wuchen.
"Your name is Li Wuchen, correct? Whose disciple are you?"
"I'm not anyone's disciple." Wuchen replied lightly.
Yun Fenghe frowned slightly. "A rogue cultivator?"
"You could say that."
From behind, the old man snorted.
"I taught him. Though that stubborn brat rarely listens."
Yun Fenghe glanced at the old man.
Something flickered in his expression—brief, almost imperceptible—before returning to calm.
"Ah."
Just that.
Yet somehow, it carried far more meaning than it seemed.
*****
After Yun Fenghe and Zhao Linyan left, the atmosphere slowly relaxed.
People began entering again, staring at the destruction with awe, fear, and calculation—especially the tavern owner, who looked utterly devastated.
"My family built this place for two generations…"
He wiped his eyes.
Wuchen turned to him.
"How much?"
The owner blinked. "What?"
"The repair cost."
The man froze. Then his eyes grew moist.
"Young master…"
The old man immediately interrupted.
"Oi, brat. Do you even have money?"
"No."
"Then why are you asking?"
Wuchen thought for a moment.
"So I know how much I need to earn."
The old man covered his face.
"Oh, this kid…"
The tavern owner laughed instead.
"Forget it, Young Master. Consider everything settled. More than settled."
Wuchen nodded.
"Thank you. Next time I come, I'll bring money."
The owner sighed inwardly.
I can't imagine what 'next time' will look like…
*****
Outside, evening began to fall.
The sky turned orange over Yellow City. The wind grew cooler, carrying the scent of damp grass.
Wuchen walked slowly. His shoulder still hurt slightly—but he didn't show it.
Behind him, the old man followed, sipping from his gourd.
"Brat."
"Hm?"
"You could barely withstand that last attack."
"Yes."
"And do you know why?"
Silence.
"Because I'm not strong enough."
The old man snorted—but there was poorly hidden satisfaction.
"At least you're not arrogant."
"What's the point of arrogance if I still lose?"
"You didn't lose."
"I didn't win either."
The old man grinned.
"Good. That's the right answer. Until you win, anything else costs the same as defeat—your life."
They walked in silence.
Then the old man muttered,
"Zhao Linyan isn't the strongest in this city."
Wuchen finally turned.
"How far from it?"
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"You'll find out."
*****
They stopped before a small inn. But before entering, someone blocked their path.
Lin Xue'er.
"I want to talk to you."
Wuchen glanced at her, then the inn. "Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"No."
Wuchen took a short breath, "…Fine."
The old man slipped inside, "I'm sleepy. You two talk."
Wuchen turned back to her.
"What do you want?"
"I watched your entire fight," she said.
"I know."
"You knew?"
"You've been following me since the city gate."
She froze.
"I wasn't following you. I was… observing."
"…That's just a polite way of saying stalking."
She snorted and changed the topic.
"When Zhao Linyan used his full attack—you didn't dodge. You faced it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Wuchen thought briefly.
"Because dodging only delays it. Better to take one decisive blow and break his rhythm than keep retreating until I collapse."
Silence.
"You turned your body into both weapon and shield."
"I had no choice. I don't have internal energy."
"But you have something rarer."
"What?"
"You're not afraid of pain."
Wuchen paused.
"…I'm not fearless. I'm just used to it."
Later, I didn't know how naturally they sat outside the inn.
The night deepened.
"Li Wuchen," she asked, "without internal energy… what makes you believe you can keep moving forward?"
Wuchen looked at the sky.
"Because I've already been at the very bottom."
A faint star appeared.
"After that, the only direction left… is up."
Lin Xue'er said nothing. But this time, she didn't hide her smile.
*****
Elsewhere, Yun Fenghe spoke quietly in a dim room.
"That boy is dangerous."
"He has no internal energy." The mysterious man replied.
"That's exactly why."
He set down his cup. "He doesn't operate within our system."
Silence.
"And what about the old man with him?"
Yun Fenghe's expression shifted slightly.
"He's the one we should truly be wary of."
*****
That night—
Wuchen trained alone in the dark.
Punch after punch.
Slow. Controlled. Replaying the fight in his mind.
Half a second.
In battle—that meant everything.
Victory.
Or death.
From above, the old man watched.
"That boy found something today…"
"Not victory. Not defeat."
"But a boundary."
*****
Hours later, Wuchen stopped.
He looked at his hands.
"Not enough…"
He sat cross-legged—not meditating internal energy, but listening to his body.
And for the first time since leaving the mountain—
He felt something new.
Not strength.
Not resolve.
But—
Hunger.
A hunger to grow stronger than today.
*****
The next morning—
"We're heading east," the old man said. "To meet someone."
"Who?"
"Someone who once lost to me."
"And now?"
The old man grinned. "Now… he might be the strongest in this city."
*****
At the end of the street—
A passing delivery boy crossed paths with them.
He knew nothing about them.
Only that—
As he passed the ragged old man…
The sky felt lower.
And the earth felt heavier.
He turned back, confused.
Then shook his head and walked on.
Never knowing—
That he had just crossed paths with two people who would one day reshape the martial world.
To be continued.