Wu Shan's next step was slower.
Not by much—but Chen Yu saw it.
The stomp no longer cracked stone. The shock no longer traveled cleanly through the ground. Wu Shan's breathing came heavier now, shoulders rising and falling in a rhythm he could no longer fully control.
Chen Yu stood opposite him, chest heaving violently.
His right arm hung lower than before, fingers trembling uncontrollably. Blood soaked into the fabric of his outer disciple robes, dark and sticky against his skin. Every breath scraped painfully through his ribs.
Yet he stood.
Wu Shan wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, eyes never leaving Chen Yu.
"You're still mid Body Tempering," he said, voice rough. "Your circulation is a mess. Half your vitality leaks every time you move."
Chen Yu inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "Then why are you breathing like that?"
Wu Shan's lips pressed thin.
He stepped forward again.
Chen Yu raised his guard—late—but his stance was tighter than before. When Wu Shan's fist came, Chen Yu angled his forearm instead of meeting it head-on.
The impact still hurt.
But it didn't break him.
Wu Shan followed with a palm strike. Chen Yu shifted, letting it slide across his shoulder, then stepped in close and drove his own shoulder forward.
Wu Shan blocked instinctively, forearm crashing into Chen Yu's collarbone.
Both grunted as the force traveled through them.
They separated half a step.
Wu Shan frowned.
"You learn fast," he said. "Too fast for someone who's never fought."
Chen Yu wiped blood from his mouth, smearing it across his sleeve. "You hit hard."
Wu Shan almost laughed.
Almost.
He attacked again, but the rhythm had changed. Fewer chained strikes now. More pauses. More adjustment.
Chen Yu noticed and pressed closer.
Not aggressively.
Relentlessly.
Wu Shan threw a knee—Chen Yu twisted, taking it on the hip instead of the spine. Pain ripped through him, but he stayed upright and drove a short punch toward Wu Shan's ribs.
Wu Shan blocked, but the impact still forced him back half a step.
Half a step again.
Wu Shan exhaled sharply and shook his arm once, vitality flickering unevenly along his forearm.
"You're forcing me into a corner," he said.
Chen Yu didn't reply.
He stepped forward again.
Wu Shan clenched his jaw and shifted into a deeper stance, drawing vitality inward despite the strain. His muscles tightened visibly as he forced the Stone Body alignment to hold.
The suppression array flared faintly.
Wu Shan lunged.
His punch came heavier than before, compressed and direct.
Chen Yu raised his arms late.
The blow crashed into his guard, driving him backward several steps. His feet scraped violently against the stone before he stopped himself.
Pain surged.
But he didn't fall.
Wu Shan's fist rose again.
Chen Yu stepped into it.
The punch struck his shoulder instead of his chest. Bone rang sharply. Chen Yu hissed through clenched teeth and slammed his shoulder forward at the same time.
The impact hit Wu Shan squarely in the chest.
Wu Shan staggered back a full step this time.
The arena went still.
Wu Shan steadied himself, breathing hard now, vitality visibly thinning.
He looked at Chen Yu differently.
"You're not fighting to win," he said slowly. "You're fighting to stay standing."
Chen Yu straightened with effort, legs trembling violently. "Isn't that how all fights start?"
Wu Shan stared at him for a moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Fair."
He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth—when it had appeared, he didn't know.
They moved again.
Slower now.
Heavier.
Each strike lacked the explosiveness from earlier, but every hit carried intent. Wu Shan's punches were no longer overwhelming. Chen Yu's blocks were no longer desperate.
They exchanged blows at close range.
Forearm to forearm.
Shoulder to shoulder.
A punch from Wu Shan slammed into Chen Yu's ribs—Chen Yu answered with a clumsy strike to Wu Shan's side.
Both grunted.
Both staggered.
Neither retreated.
Wu Shan laughed suddenly, breathless. "You're troublesome."
Chen Yu coughed, blood dripping from his chin. "You're stubborn."
Wu Shan's smile faded into something calmer. "You'd make a good inner disciple someday."
Chen Yu shook his head slightly. "I just got here."
Wu Shan raised his fists again. "Then don't waste it."
They stepped forward at the same time.
Two exhausted bodies.
Two wills refusing to bend.
Their fists collided again—slower, heavier—stone cracking faintly beneath their feet as the pressure continued to grind forward, neither yielding, both fighting through pain and respect alike while the battle pushed onward toward its breaking point.