"Oh, is this really Kunlun? How could this happen?" The whispered words drifted through the morning air like autumn leaves.

"Has the hero grown old?" Another voice, tinged with mockery.

"No... there's no way my Kunlun is like this..." The last speaker's voice cracked with dismay.

The marble floor of the Central Courtyard glowed like liquid pearl under the warm rays of the morning sun. By now, a tense hush fell over the gathered crowd, their collective breath held as gasps of disbelief and mocking sneers cut through the stillness like steel against silk.

On the big wooden platform, Hao Hanying remained frozen mid-stance - eyes unblinking, knuckles bleached white from gripping his jian so tightly the ancient leather wrapping creaked in protest.

Just a cun from his exposed throat hovered the razor-sharp tip of a spear, its polished surface catching the sunlight like a mirror. His eyes widened fractionally as beads of sweat trickled down his furrowed brow, one drop falling to the platform with an almost audible splash.

SWOOSH!

The spear spun with blinding speed, the displaced air whistling past Hao's ear as its wielder, Wang Hei, masterfully redirected the blade towards the ground with the fluid grace of a dancing crane.

He cupped his free hand in a gesture of respect. "Thank you for the guidance, Brother Hao!" Despite his sincere tone and satisfied expression, which crinkled the corners of his eyes, Hao Hanying's face contorted with barely contained rage, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

'How could this happen?' The question reverberated through his mind like a death knell, echoing in the hollow space where his confidence had resided moments before.

His gaze drifted down to the array of faint footprints scoring the platform's wooden surface - scuffs and marks that told the story of his failure like a manuscript seared into the very floorboards.

He had lost...in a single fluid motion too fast for even his eyes to track, leaving only the phantom sensation of displaced air against his skin.

The genius prodigy of Kunlun, lauded since youth for his unparalleled talents, had been utterly and completely outclassed.

Even this time, he could hear and imagine the deafening roar of the onlookers' jeers and incredulous remarks flooded his senses like a tidal wave, stripping away every part of his formerly unshakable pride.

Hot shame burned in his chest like molten iron, as humiliation unlike anything he'd ever experienced threatened to overwhelm him. His fingers trembled almost imperceptibly against his weapon's hilt.

"Hmm? Brother Hao?" Wang Hei's confused voice barely registered through the maelstrom in Hao Hanying's mind, sounding distant as though coming from across a vast chasm.

His opponent's baffled expression, head tilted slightly like a puzzled child, only served to further stoke the fires of his wounded ego.

"You're not in the 4th realm, are you?" The accusation dripped with venom as Hao Hanying's eyes narrowed dangerously, pupils constricting to pinpoints.

His breath came in ragged pants that stirred the loose strands of hair around his face, every muscle taut as a bowstring as the reassuring words of his Senior played on a sickening loop - hollow platitudes now in the face of such a bitter loss.

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Wang Hei's eyes lit up with genuine excitement, burning like twin stars in his earnest face as his hands animated the air before him, fingers tracing invisible patterns while he tried to explain himself. "Of course not! Didn't I tell you? Have you ever seen me use my Aura?" His words tumbled out in a rush of barely contained enthusiasm, like water breaking through a dam.

Unlike his crestfallen opponent, Wang Hei fairly radiated enthusiasm for their spar - his blood singing with the thrill of crossing steels against such a adversary from a renowned sect, a slight flush coloring his cheeks as his heart raced with lingering adrenaline.

Though Hao Hanying had been decisively bested, Wang Hei harbored no condescension towards him, even a bit. Quite the opposite - he craved more chances to test his mettle, even now, his body practically vibrating with barely contained energy.

However, his opponent's wounded pride was palpable, the sting of humiliation written plainly across Hao Hanying's taut features - from the rigid set of his shoulders to the muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. Wang Hei had seen that look before, recognized it like an old friend, and knew just how to rekindle the flames of competition.

"If you want to spar again, I'd gladly accept!" he called out, his voice carrying clearly over the dispersing murmurs of the crowd like a bell ringing through morning mist.

He wasn’t arrogant like others who thought their opponent was inferior and the outcome was obvious. He was kind and even gave his opponent another chance!

A brilliant smile stretched across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes as unbridled eagerness danced in their depths. "This time, I'll pour all of my experience into it—but of course, I won't use my Aura!" He added the last part with utter confidence, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, certain it would be just the motivating tonic his crushed opponent needed.

But Wang Hei could not have been more wrong. His thoughtless words only further blackened the thunderous clouds gathering behind Hao Hanying's narrowed gaze, like storm clouds promising violence.

With a fluid motion that sent ripples through his robes, the fallen prodigy raised his jian from where its tip rested on the platform, adopting a rigid defensive stance.

"Please, Brother Wang," he growled through gritted teeth, eyes locked unblinkingly on Wang Hei's smiling, oblivious figure, the words scraping past his throat like rough stones.

A faint azure aura of Qi coalesced around Hao Hanying's body, shimmering like heat waves rising from summer-warmed stone as he sank into a low crouch, knees bent and free hand extended before him, fingers spread like a falcon's talons.

His pristine white martial robe, adorned with dark blue stripes that caught the morning light like brushstrokes of midnight, fluttered momentarily before clinging to his form - mimicking the precise lines of his stance as though painted on by an invisible artist.

The Rooting Planting, a foundational Qigong footwork technique of Kunlun's martial arts, the Kunlun Mountain Footwork which sent invisible tendrils of Qi through the soles of his feet and into the wood beneath.

By grounding himself, Hao Hanying shifted into an immovable defensive posture while readying his core to unleash the Upper Drill counterattack, his breath settling into the measured rhythm of a predator preparing to strike.

'This time, I won't miss!' The silent vow echoed in his mind like thunder as Hao Hanying's jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around his jian's hilt until the leather wrapping creaked in protest.

The loss of the first spar must have been due to a lapse in focus, allowing Wang Hei's opening blow—a shameful oversight he would not repeat, one that burned in his memory like a brand.

This time, victory would be his...or that was what he thought until...

"Of course!" Wang Hei responded with an eager grin that transformed his entire countenance, his former playfulness evaporating like morning dew as Hao Hanying settled into his resolute stance.

In a fluid motion that spoke of countless hours of practice, the spear was gripped in both hands - one raised high above his head while the shaft was pulled taut like an arrow nocked on a bowstring, the weapon's shadow dancing across the weathered platform like a serpent preparing to strike.

Where moments before he had been all unrestrained excitement, Wang Hei now mirrored the intense focus of a predator zeroing in on its prey, his breathing settling into the measured rhythm of a seasoned hunter.

His form lowered into an even deeper crouch than his opponent's, back arched boldly as his left leg extended forward and right knee bent low, robes pulled tight against straining muscles.

His entire coiled body resembled a drawn longbow, taut with explosive potential, the morning light catching the sheen of perspiration on his brow.

SWOOSH!

The air itself seemed to part before Wang Hei's strike. Hao Hanying didn't so much as blink, eyes wide as saucers as he fought to track his opponent's blinding movements, the rush of displaced air burning against his skin.

But in a mere instant, the razor-sharp spearhead was already a hair's breadth from his face - its polished surface reflecting his own startled expression as Wang Hei's narrowed tiger-like gaze locked unerringly on his target.

The sound of the Wang Hei's ragged breaths cut through the tension like a whetted blade, each exhale carrying the weight of absolute certainty.

Panic washed over Hao Hanying in icy waves that sent involuntary shivers down his spine, his frown deepening as his right hand tightened around his jian's hilt until the tendons stood out like cords.

The blade lashed out in a desperate counterslash aimed at Wang Hei's exposed neck, the steel singing through the air with deadly intent. "You're so stubborn, Brother Hao," Wang Hei remarked.

'MOVE!' One the other hand, Hao Hanying's mind screamed, willing his arm to defy its limits as the spear's wicked point loomed ever closer - set to pierce his left eye, its shadow casting a dark spot on his pale face.

Only then did the sobering realization hit home like a punch to the gut - his opponent was no cheat. It was he who had drastically underestimated Wang Hei's formidable skills, his own arrogance blinding him to the truth until this fatal moment.

But just as the fatal strike seemed inevitable, the morning air crystallized with tension...

CLANK!

An unexpected figure suddenly materialized before the embattled Hao Hanying in a swirl of white robes, deflecting the spear's trajectory with a resounding clash of metal on metal and forcing Wang Hei back with an adamant shove that sent tremors through the wooden platform.

"What is the meaning of this, disciple of the Xiao Yao Sect?"