The deathly silence that had enveloped the arena slowly gave way to a suppressed wave of murmurs, like the roar of a distant sea. Lin Yuan's victory had been so sudden, so unexpected, and so... bizarre, that no one could make sense of what they had seen. A single word echoed in the minds of the crowd: luck. It was the only logical explanation possible. The hulking Lin Wei must have let his guard down against the talentless trash, becoming a victim of his own incompetence during a hasty attack. No other possibility could be considered.
"This is impossible! That fool Lin Wei must have drunk too much last night!" hissed Lin Feng, clenching his fist in anger where he sat. The sneer on his face had been replaced by incredulous rage. The expression on Lin Jian, beside him, was even darker. "I can't believe that piece of trash got so lucky. Lin Wei has brought shame upon our clan. This can't be the end of it."
Seated just in front of them, the elegant smile on Lady Zhao's face had long since vanished. Her eyes were narrowed, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of her seat. She was not naive enough to believe it was just luck, unlike her sons. Lin Yuan's step at the last moment, that almost imperceptible touch... there was something abnormal about it. It didn't seem like simple luck. It held a calculated stillness, like a predator waiting for its prey's weakest moment. Turning to a servant standing behind her, she whispered in a voice no one else could hear, "Find out who Lin Yuan's next opponent is. And remind that opponent how beneficial it would be for him not to leave this matter to 'luck'."
In the center of the honored dais, Lord Lin Quin's statue-like posture had broken for the first time. His eyes were not on the whispers of the crowd or the anger of his sons, but were following his youngest son, who was calmly returning to the participants' area. Behind that indifferent gaze lay a deep analysis, reminiscent of the quiet before a storm. He was a Lord who had reached the peak of Body Tempering. He could see that Lin Wei's fall was not a simple stumble. Lin Yuan's step... it was perfectly timed. That touch... there was not a single wasted motion. It was the kind of efficiency a master with years of combat experience would display. But how could that be possible? How could a boy whose spiritual root had been clogged since he was eight, who struggled to learn even the clan's most basic techniques, possess such foresight and skill? This question began to sprout in Lord Lin Quin's mind like the seeds of a black hole.
At the center of all this chaos, Lin Yuan himself was as serene as the surface of a still lake. Although he felt the curious, suspicious, and hostile gazes fixed upon him, they meant nothing to him. His mind was not reveling in the glory of his recent victory, but analyzing it. "The plan worked," he thought. "The reactions match my simulation's predictions by 90%. Lin Feng's and Lin Jian's arrogance prevents them from seeing the truth. Lady Zhao is more dangerous; she's already starting to suspect. As for my father... he is the greatest unknown. His reaction is a variable the simulation couldn't predict."
Lin Yuan closed his eyes and focused on the next step. The first victory could be dismissed as "luck." This worked in his favor. It allowed his enemies to continue underestimating him. However, the second victory had to be different. The second victory had to completely eliminate the factor of luck, replacing it with a deeper, more frightening question: "How is this possible?"
The tournament continued with other matches. The arena echoed with bursts of Qi, the thud of powerful fists, and the clash of swords. Even as he watched these fights, Lin Yuan was running simulation memories in his mind. Thanks to his "Heaven-Defying Comprehension" talent, he could instantly see the weaknesses in each fighter's technique, the flaws in their Qi flow. In his eyes, these youths were no different from clumsy children. Thirty-eight years of experience had placed him in a completely different league from his peers.
After a few more matches, the elder's voice made another announcement: "The second round of matches begins! Called to the platform... Lin Chen and Lin Yuan!"
With this announcement, the hum in the arena instantly died. There was no laughter this time. Only tense anticipation. Lin Chen was not like Lin Wei. He was at the fifth stage of Body Tempering and was known among the clan's younger generation for his speed and agility. More importantly, he was an intelligent and cautious fighter. He had watched Lin Yuan's first match in astonishment and understood what a huge mistake it would be to underestimate his opponent.
As Lin Chen stepped onto the platform, his eyes never left Lin Yuan. "You won a lucky victory, cousin," he said in a calm voice. "But luck doesn't always stay by one's side. I am not Lin Wei."
This time, Lin Yuan simply gave a slight nod. He didn't need to speak. His actions would be louder than words.
"Begin!"
As expected, Lin Chen did not charge like a bull. Instead, he began to circle Lin Yuan like a snake. His footwork was fast and unpredictable, probing for an opening. Lin Yuan, however, stood motionless in the center of the platform. His stance was a simple but flawless defensive position that incorporated the fundamental principles of thousands of martial arts he had perfected in the simulation. Though it appeared to be full of openings, it was in fact a fortress that covered every possible angle of attack.
Lin Chen finally made his move. He dashed forward and unleashed a flurry of strikes from one of the clan's basic techniques, the "Fast Wind Fist." His fists left afterimages in the air as they flew towards Lin Yuan from various angles.
The crowd watched with bated breath, wondering how Lin Yuan would deal with this rapid assault. But once again, Lin Yuan did something no one expected. He didn't retreat, nor did he leap to the side. Instead, he executed the simplest, most fundamental defensive technique in the clan library, the "Flowing Leaf Defense." This technique was normally an exercise used only by novices to learn how to guide their Qi.
However, in Lin Yuan's hands, this simple technique was transformed into a divine art. His hands moved like leaves gently swaying in the wind. He deflected each of Lin Chen's swift punches with minimal effort, with just a light touch. He used his opponent's strength against him, skillfully redirecting the trajectory of each blow. From the outside, it looked as if Lin Chen was punching at empty air. The fast and aggressive Lin Chen grew increasingly frustrated by Lin Yuan's incredible calm and perfect technique, and he began to make mistakes.
After throwing the final punch of the "Fast Wind Fist," a momentary opening, shorter than a split second, appeared in Lin Chen's stance. It was a fatal flaw that a normal eye would never notice, but which Lin Yuan's thirty-eight years of experience caught instantly.
In that moment, Lin Yuan counter-attacked. His movement was once again unpretentious. A simple palm strike, one of the first moves from the "Basic Body Tempering Technique." But when this strike was combined with Lin Yuan's perfect timing, flawless technique, and precise targeting of his opponent's moment of weakness, it unleashed an unexpected power. His palm struck the very center of Lin Chen's chest, his center of gravity.
Thud!
The sound wasn't very loud, but the impact of the blow was immense. Lin Chen's eyes widened in shock. The force that spread through his body lifted his feet off the ground. He flew backwards off the platform, not clumsily like Lin Wei, but decisively, like a cannonball.
And once again, a silence fell over the arena. But this silence was different from the first. It was not the silence of confusion, but of absolute shock and a slowly sprouting fear.
This victory could not be luck. This was pure, undeniable skill. Using the clan's most basic, most looked-down-upon techniques, he had defeated a speed specialist who was two stages higher than him in seconds.
The color drained from Lin Feng's and Lin Jian's faces. Lady Zhao's fingers dug into the wood of her armrest.
And on the honored dais, Lord Lin Quin had unconsciously leaned forward slightly in his seat. That indifferent mask had completely cracked, and in his eyes, there was now not just astonishment, but also a deep enigma, and perhaps, for the first time in his life, a flicker of curiosity for his son.
Lin Yuan was no longer the "shame" of the clan. He was now a dangerous riddle that no one could solve.