The stone platform had long since lost its pristine appearance.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs beneath their feet, dust rising with every collision. Around the arena, outer disciples had fallen silent. Even the stewards no longer shouted warnings. What was unfolding was no longer a simple evaluation bout.
Wu Shan wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and laughed, low and hoarse.
"You really are troublesome," he said, rolling his shoulder. "Mid-stage Body Tempering, yet you keep standing."
Chen Yu didn't answer immediately.
His chest rose and fell heavily. Every breath burned, ribs aching from repeated impacts. His arms felt swollen, muscles screaming as if they might tear loose from bone. This was the limit of his current realm—he could feel it clearly now.
No tricks.No hidden reserves.
Only endurance, control, and timing.
"I could say the same," Chen Yu replied, adjusting his stance. "Senior Brother Wu… you don't fight like someone who wants to end things quickly."
Wu Shan's eyes narrowed for a moment. Then he grinned.
"Because I want to see how far you can go."
The air shifted.
Wu Shan stepped forward, foot grinding against stone. His aura surged—not explosive, but dense, like a heavy tide pressing outward.
Stone-Bearing Stance.
Several disciples gasped.
"That's a proper outer-disciple combat stance…"
"He's taking this seriously now."
Wu Shan's body lowered slightly, weight sinking into his legs. His center of gravity stabilized, every movement suddenly economical and precise.
Chen Yu felt the pressure instantly.
So this is the difference, he thought.Not raw strength—but mastery.
He exhaled slowly and mirrored the motion, feet spreading apart, knees bending. He couldn't imitate Wu Shan's stance perfectly, but he remembered the fragments he'd learned in the Reward Hall—the principles of balance, force transfer, and skeletal alignment.
Body Tempering wasn't about striking hard.It was about making the body endure the strike first.
Wu Shan moved.
No warning.
A low step, followed by a sudden forward burst. His fist came in tight and compact, aimed not at Chen Yu's head—but his solar plexus.
Chen Yu crossed his arms instinctively.
Impact.
The force slammed into him like a battering ram. Pain exploded through his forearms, the shock rattling his bones. His feet skidded backward several meters, heels carving trenches into the stone.
He barely kept his balance.
Wu Shan didn't pursue immediately.
"Good block," he said. "But you absorbed too much directly. You'll numb your arms at this rate."
Chen Yu clenched his fists, forcing blood back into his fingers.
"You're very talkative… for someone trying to win."
Wu Shan laughed again and advanced.
This time, Chen Yu moved first.
He stepped inside Wu Shan's reach instead of retreating, shoulder dipping low. His fist came up in a short arc—simple, unadorned, but timed precisely as Wu Shan shifted weight.
Wu Shan's eyes flickered with surprise.
He twisted his torso, letting the punch glance off his ribs rather than strike cleanly. Even so, the impact forced a grunt from his throat.
"Not bad," Wu Shan muttered. "You're learning during the fight."
Chen Yu didn't respond.
He couldn't afford words now.
They exchanged blows at close range—elbows, short punches, knee strikes. No flashy techniques, no exaggerated movements. Just two bodies colliding, testing endurance and control.
Chen Yu took more hits than he landed.
Wu Shan's experience showed in every exchange—angles, timing, restraint. Yet Chen Yu noticed something else.
Wu Shan was slowing.
Just slightly.
His breathing had deepened. His movements, while still controlled, had lost their earlier ease.
"You're running low too," Chen Yu said quietly.
Wu Shan snorted. "Mid-stage Body Tempering shouldn't last this long against me. You're an anomaly."
Another clash.
Wu Shan feinted high, then swept low with a powerful kick aimed at Chen Yu's knee.
Chen Yu barely jumped back in time. The kick shattered stone where his leg had been a moment earlier.
Cold sweat ran down his spine.
That would've ended it.
Before Wu Shan could reset, Chen Yu lunged forward—not to strike, but to grapple.
Gasps echoed.
"Is he crazy?"
"That's Wu Shan!"
Chen Yu wrapped an arm around Wu Shan's shoulder and drove his weight forward. The impact knocked both of them off balance, bodies slamming into the cracked platform.
Wu Shan reacted instantly, elbow driving toward Chen Yu's ribs.
Chen Yu took it head-on.
Pain exploded, vision swimming—but he didn't let go.
Instead, he twisted, using the moment of contact to force Wu Shan's footing to slip. Both of them staggered apart, breathing hard.
Wu Shan stared at him, eyes sharp now—not amused.
"You're willing to take damage just to create openings."
Chen Yu wiped blood from his chin. "If I don't… I lose."
For a moment, neither moved.
The dust settled slowly around them.
Then Wu Shan straightened and laughed—this time without mockery.
"Enough."
The word carried weight.
He raised a hand.
"I can push further and win," Wu Shan said honestly. "But I'd have to risk injury. And you'd probably break something first."
He looked Chen Yu up and down.
"But you didn't retreat. You didn't collapse. And you forced me to acknowledge you."
The steward hesitated, then stepped forward. "Outer Disciple Wu Shan concedes—this bout is declared a draw."
A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd.
A draw.
Chen Yu exhaled slowly, legs trembling. He didn't collapse—only because Wu Shan grabbed his arm and steadied him.
"Don't misunderstand," Wu Shan said quietly. "Next time, I won't go easy."
Chen Yu met his gaze and nodded.
"I wouldn't want you to."
They released each other.
Above the arena, unseen eyes watched with renewed interest as the dust continued to drift—and the echoes of battle had not yet fully faded.