The impact did not explode.
It sank.
The compressed force from Wu Shan's fist did not scatter on contact—it drove inward, traveling through Chen Yu's frame like a heavy tide. His feet skidded backward half a step, stone grinding beneath his soles, yet his spine held, trembling as it carried the pressure downward.
Wu Shan felt it too.
The resistance was wrong.
His fist should have crushed bone. Instead, the force dragged, as though caught in something that refused to give way cleanly.
Wu Shan snarled and twisted his waist, forcing more vitality into the strike.
The pressure deepened.
Chen Yu's vision dimmed at the edges. His teeth clenched, jaw aching as the weight pressed into his chest and shoulder. Pain roared—but it did not scatter him.
It spread.
Down his back.
Through his hips.
Into the ground.
A faint cracking sound echoed—not from bone, but from the stone beneath his feet.
The suppression array flared brighter.
"Enough—" someone began from the crowd.
Elder Lu's hand lifted slightly, then paused.
Chen Yu's right knee bent further. His left foot slid back instinctively, widening his stance. His breath hitched, then settled into a harsh, measured rhythm.
Wu Shan's eyes widened.
"You're redirecting it," he said through clenched teeth. "How?"
Chen Yu could not answer.
He didn't know.
He only knew that when he tried to resist, the pain multiplied. When he tried to accept, the force moved—like water finding a lower path.
Wu Shan pulled his fist back abruptly, breaking contact.
Chen Yu staggered, nearly falling, then caught himself, hands braced against his thighs. Blood dripped from his nose, dark spots marking the stone.
Wu Shan stepped back as well, chest heaving now. Stone Heart Consolidation left no room for error—and no room for recovery mid-use.
The crowd erupted into murmurs.
"He didn't break." "How is that possible?" "That wasn't a block…"
Wu Shan shook his arm once, joints creaking faintly. His skin's earthen hue flickered, then stabilized again as he forced vitality to circulate.
"You should be down," he said flatly.
Chen Yu wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood. His arms felt heavy, numb. His shoulder burned with every breath.
"I almost was," he admitted.
Wu Shan stared at him, then laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound. "You don't even know what you're doing."
"No," Chen Yu replied. "But I know what not to do."
Wu Shan's smile vanished.
He shifted his stance again, abandoning full consolidation. Vitality flowed outward now, lighter but faster, restoring mobility at the cost of raw power.
Stone Heart Consolidation released.
Chen Yu felt the pressure ease—and immediately understood the danger.
Wu Shan moved.
Faster than before.
His footwork snapped back into Flowing Stone Steps, circling tightly, cutting off angles. His fists came in rapid combinations now, lighter than before but relentless.
Chen Yu retreated under the barrage.
Block—pain.
Deflect—pain.
Evade—barely.
Each mistake cost him space. Each successful adjustment bought him only a breath.
Wu Shan's elbow clipped his ribs.
Chen Yu gasped, stumbling.
Wu Shan's knee followed.
Chen Yu twisted aside at the last moment, the blow glancing off his thigh instead of crushing it. He rolled, came up awkwardly, nearly losing his balance.
Wu Shan pressed harder.
This was his domain.
Technique over principle.
Experience over adaptation.
Chen Yu's breaths grew ragged. His body screamed warnings he barely understood. He felt slow—slower than moments ago—as exhaustion set in.
Wu Shan saw it.
"Now," he said quietly.
He feinted high, then drove low—Stone Fracture Sweep, a technique designed to collapse an opponent's base.
Chen Yu reacted late.
His legs were taken out from under him.
He hit the stone hard, breath knocked loose, vision flashing white. Wu Shan was already above him, fist drawing back for a decisive blow.
Yield.
The word hovered on the edge of Chen Yu's mind.
He could say it.
No one would fault him.
His arms barely responded as he raised them weakly.
Wu Shan's fist descended.
Then stopped.
Not by command.
By contact.
Chen Yu's forearm met Wu Shan's wrist—not with strength, but timing. The angle was wrong, the leverage poor—but it disrupted the strike just enough.
Wu Shan cursed and pulled back.
Chen Yu rolled away, dragging himself upright with a groan.
The suppression array pulsed again.
Elder Lu leaned forward now, eyes sharp. He was watching something specific—not power, not victory.
Consistency.
Wu Shan breathed hard, sweat dripping freely. His vitality circulation was uneven now, taxed by repeated high-output techniques.
"You're still standing," Wu Shan said. "Why?"
Chen Yu steadied himself, forcing his legs to stop shaking.
"I don't know how to end this," he said honestly. "So I'm not trying to."
Wu Shan stared at him, then barked a short laugh. "You're infuriating."
He spread his stance, lowering his center of gravity. Vitality gathered again—not explosively, but densely.
A different preparation.
Chen Yu felt it—a change in rhythm.
This would not be one strike.
It would be many.
Wu Shan lunged.
Chen Yu moved to meet him.
Not aggressively.
Not defensively.
He stepped into the narrow space between blows, shoulders turning, spine aligning, breath syncing with motion. His movements were ugly—unrefined, inconsistent—but each one wasted less than the last.
Wu Shan's fist grazed his cheek.
Chen Yu's palm brushed Wu Shan's forearm.
Wu Shan's elbow struck Chen Yu's shoulder.
Chen Yu's hip bumped Wu Shan's thigh.
Neither landed cleanly.
Neither retreated.
The crowd fell completely silent now.
They watched two outer disciples collide again and again—not in flashes of brilliance, but in grinding, imperfect exchanges where every step mattered.
Above, in the quiet courtyard, Yan Mo set his teacup down.
"This is no outer disciple match anymore," he murmured.
In the inner halls, far from the arena, Sect Leader Qiu Ren paused mid-step, that familiar sensation stirring again—imbalance, faint but persistent.
Back in the arena, Wu Shan inhaled sharply, drawing in what remained of his momentum.
Chen Yu did the same.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
Breath mingled.
The next exchange began—not with a strike, but with simultaneous movement—
—and the space between them collapsed once more, unresolved, as the pressure of unfinished force tightened again around both their bodies.