Long Huang stood in quiet amazement, taking in the transformation of Huang Min. Not only had her demeanor shifted, but her strength felt unending, like a well that he could not see the bottom of.
As night descended, the manor succumbed to a heavy silence, the sky overhead a tapestry woven with countless stars. Huang Min found herself on a small balcony outside her room, gazing up at the luminous full moon, her mind adrift in a sea of thoughts. A gentle breeze danced through the air, carrying with it the fragrant scent of night-blooming jasmine, cool and soothing against her skin.
Long Huang was drawn to her, the solitary glow of her presence offering a soft beacon in the darkness. He approached without a sound, leaning against the railing beside her. Their conversation began as a whisper, a fragile thread of words weaving between them in the stillness of the night.
"That was quite a performance today," Long Huang remarked, his voice low and filled with admiration. "You concealed your power well."
Huang Min let out a weary sigh, the weight of her exhaustion seeping into her words. "Is this what strength truly means, Long Huang? To drain oneself pretending to be weak? Always looking over your shoulder, fearing what lurks in the shadows?"
As he met her gaze, he nodded slowly, also aware of the immeasurable burden she carried. "I never understood," he admitted, his voice tinged with a longing that echoed in the quiet night. "The effort it takes just to stand tall... I thought growing up would be different."
"Me too," Huang Min replied, a hint of sadness lacing her tone as she longed for the simplicity of days gone by.
"I would trade it all to chase dragonflies by the river again, to let the moon linger inside my heart rather than hiding it away. No one ever prepares you for this part."
They fell into a silence, the moonlight enveloping them in a soft embrace, each lost in their own reverie. Long Huang turned his gaze to the moon, his heart heavy with unspoken truths.
"If someone had told me, back when we were just children stealing sweets from the pantry, that this would be our fate... that simply carrying ourselves would feel like a herculean task... I think I would have wished to remain a child forever."
Huang Min nodded, even without knowing what herculean meant, but over the years of being with Long Huang, she seemed to have a feel of what he meant, her voice barely a whisper, infused with the weight of shared memories.
"Me too. No one ever tells you that part."
That night in the luminous moonlight, the two friends stood side by side, their understanding forging a bond deeper than words could express. They were no longer mere children; they had transformed into warriors, each grappling with the gravity of their legacies and fate.
Yet, in the silence, they discovered a fragile solace in one another's presence, a quiet affirmation that they were not alone on this arduous path, a reminder that even in the face of life's burdens, they still had each other's hearts to lean on.
As the night grew colder and older, the world around them faded, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the bittersweet embrace of shared strength. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with trials, but in that moment, beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, they found a flicker of hope ignited in this stillness, a vow to face whatever lay ahead together.
The following morning, it was announced that the venue for the martial competition would be switched to the Azure Lotus Sect's main training ground, and the competition would start at midday.
The sun hung in the sky, hovering over the Azure Lotus Sect as if it too wanted to see the competition.
The Azure Lotus Sect's sparring grounds thrummed with tension as the Martial Competition reached its semi-finals. The arena, an ancient expanse of bluestone etched with centuries of battles, was flanked by tiered seating packed with disciples, elders, and nobles from Blossom City. The air crackled with anticipation, thick with the scent of battle.
Chi Qide, seated among the sect elders, watched with a serpent-like patience. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his black jade throne, his crippled meridians aching with each movement. He had whispered in the right ears, ensuring the matchups favored his schemes.
"Let the idiotic Zhao dog break himself against Huang Min. And then let Long Huang exhaust himself against the strategist." He thought to himself.
Zhao Gun stepped forward, his presence a storm contained in human form. Lightning seemed to crackle ever so faintly around his fists, his Thunderous Fist Art humming with restrained power. His gaze, sharp as a blade, locked onto Huang Min.
"Huang Min," he called, his voice a low rumble that silenced the murmurs of the crowd.
"I challenge you."
His motives were twofold: to test the girl who had captured Long Huang's loyalty and to reclaim his family's bruised pride. The Zhao clan had suffered losses, and some whispered they were weakening. So, today, thinking Huang Min was an easy target, he set out to remind everyone why the Zhao family was feared.
Almost simultaneously, Fu Heng stepped into the arena's center, his emerald robes fluttering as he raised a hand toward Long Huang. His usual playful smirk was absent, replaced by a calculating sharpness.
"A true dragon's might isn't measured in mindless destruction," he said, his voice cutting through the din. "Let's see if your battle sense is more than just beastly instinct, my little brother."
The arena is divided into two duels of fate. The crowd roared, sensing the undercurrents of ambition and vengeance. As the four stepped on the sparring ground, Fu Heng started his and Long Huang's fight right away.
Swoosh!
Fu Heng moved like a phantom, his Dancing Shadows Steps leaving no trace on the bluestone. This time he wielded a slender jian, its edge gleaming with a faint, swirling black Qi. It was the Phantom Scythe Art, a technique that turned his blade into a flickering shadow.
He opened with a feint, a shallow thrust aimed at Long Huang's shoulder. As Long Huang twisted to evade, Fu Heng's footwork shifted Zephyr's Retreat, and he vanished, reappearing at an oblique angle. His true strike came low, a slicing arc toward Long Huang's ribs.
Thud!
Long Huang barely parried with his forearm, his Ocean Wave Fist Art surging to deflect the blade. The impact sent a tremor through his bones.
He's not just fast, he's rewriting the rhythm of the fight.
Fu Heng pressed the advantage. He wove a tapestry of illusions, using his Illusory Phantom Steps, and he created afterimages.
Each feint was a question, each strike a calculated answer. He forced Long Huang into tight corners and then open spaces, disrupting his footing with subtle sweeps and terrain manipulation.
Long Huang fought with the raw, instinctual grace of a beast honed in the Archdevil Mountains. His Ocean Wave Fist Art turned his limbs into tidal forces, each punch carrying incredible crushing power.
Swiish!
Yet Fu Heng's movements were a cipher unreadable and unpredictable.
A fist meant to shatter stone met empty air as Fu Heng sidestepped. His jian lashed out, covered in Phantom Scythe Art qi, and it grazed Long Huang's cheek, causing blood to well in a thin line of crimson.
He's adapting, Fu Heng noted the shift, Long Huang's breathing steadied, and his eyes narrowed. "This damned brute was learning." thought to himself.
With a flick of his wrist, Long Huang unsheathed the Frostbite Serpent Sword. The blade gleamed with an eerie, glacial light, its edge humming with icy energy. The moment it was drawn from the scabbard, the temperature of the sparring ground dropped slightly, and frost seemed to form in the air around the blade of the sword, falling to the bluestone beneath his feet.
Fu Heng's eyes widened; this truth struck him like a cold gust of wind. Long Huang had been holding back this entire time?
" Alright, time to change gears," said Long Huang with a smug smile on his face.