"Xiao Feng from the Qingcheng Sect greets you!" Xiao Feng bellowed, his voice resonating across the vast arena like thunder rolling through mountain peaks.
He cupped both hands in front of his chest, his long fingers interlacing in the traditional greeting as his piercing green eyes, sharp as jade splinters, locked with Wu Gao's gaze.
The deep green martial robe he wore rustled softly in the breeze, its intricate golden bamboo patterns catching the light with each movement, creating an illusion of living stalks swaying in an ethereal forest.
The Qingcheng Sect was renowned for its mastery of swordsmanship and internal martial arts, their disciples typically carrying themselves with the quiet dignity of mountain pines.
At first glance, Xiao Feng seemed to embody these qualities perfectly – his posture straight as a bamboo stalk, his breathing measured and controlled.
"Wu Gao from Kunlun," he replied.
Yet, as Wu Gao returned the greeting with an equally formal cupped-hand gesture, his keen senses detected something disquieting: tiny tremors in Xiao Feng's fingers, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, suggesting an inner turbulence that belied his serene exterior.
Both combatants then retreated fifty steps, their movements flowing like silk in the wind, each footfall landing with deliberate precision on the wooden platform.
Then, the sound of steel singing against scabbard leather filled the air as they drew their jian swords in perfect synchronicity.
Sunlight danced along the masterfully forged blades, highlighting the intricate patterns of folded steel. The platform, creaked softly beneath their feet as they assumed their respective stances.
"The Kunlun have maintained their fame, hailed as heroes during the Great Battle against evil..." Xiao Feng's words slithered through the air, each syllable dripping with barely concealed venom.
As he advanced, his movements carried an exaggerated casualness that stood in stark contrast to Wu Gao's solid stance.
Where Wu Gao's knees were bent in perfect balance, his feet rooted like an ancient tree, Xiao Feng almost strutted, his sword hand swaying as if the deadly blade it held were merely a paper fan.
"But... Don't you know Qingcheng were also heroes of the Great Battle? Didn't we participate together? Why? Why only Kunlun?" With each question, Xiao Feng's voice rose higher, cracking slightly at the edges like ice beginning to splinter.
The faint bluish Qi that had been loosely draped around him like morning mist began to ripple and condense, clinging to his form like a sheet of frost.
Wu Gao's thick eyebrows drew together slightly, the only outward sign of his thoughts as he maintained his impassive silence. The bluish Qi surrounding his own body deepened in color and intensity, pulsing like the heart of a glacier.
SWOOSH-!
Then, with the sudden ferocity of a striking viper, Xiao Feng abandoned his affected casualness.
"Why are you still silent?" The air cracked with his movement as he materialized at Wu Gao's right side, his jian flashing like lightning toward Wu Gao's right abdomen.
Wu Gao's response was poetry in motion – his wrist rotated with liquid grace, his blade pivoting through the air with mathematical precision to deflect the strike while simultaneously threatening to open Xiao Feng's wrist.
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In the next moment...
CLANK!
The resonant clang of metal colliding echoed like thunder rolling through mountain peaks, the sound reverberating off on the vast courtyard.
Wu Gao's jian, its polished surface catching the sun's rays, met Xiao Feng's thrust with masterful precision, the keen edge deflecting the attack with a shower of sparks that scattered like golden fireflies.
The impact sent violent tremors through both martial artists' arms, the force so intense it created ripples in the air around them, disturbing the dust motes that danced in the autumn light.
Their eyes met in that frozen moment - Wu Gao's obsidian gaze steady as deep mountain pools, while Xiao Feng's emerald eyes blazed with an inner fire.
Beneath his carefully maintained facade, raw emotions roiled like a turbulent sea - jealousy that burned acid-green, hatred that twisted like poisonous vines, and a desperate, clawing need for acknowledgment that seemed to seep from his very pores.
"Ask yourself, ask your sect," Wu Gao's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. His chest then expanded with a measured breath that seemed to draw all of the Qi from his Dantians.
In a movement as fluid as flowing water, his left hand joined the right on the jian's hilt, the muscles in his arms coiling with lethal promise. His entire form became a living whirlwind, the pristine white of his martial robe snapping and billowing like storm clouds against the azure sky.
His feet moved in precise, deliberate patterns across the wooden floor platform, each step raising delicate spirals of dust that twisted and writhed in his wake like ethereal dancers.
CLANK!
The second collision of blades rang out like a temple bell, steel kissing steel in a discordant symphony that set teeth on edge.
However, now...
Xiao Feng's eyes widened, emerald irises contracting around dilated pupils as he watched Wu Gao's form flow through space with the inevitability of a falling star.
Wu Gao's side presentation was perfect, his left arm extending like an iron bar while his right elbow bent at precisely the angle needed for maximum force.
His hands, strongly gripped the jian's hilt as he launched a reverse stab that cleaved the air on its way toward Xiao Feng's head.
But luckily, Xia Feng's pure instinct arrested Wu Gao's forward momentum, the polished edge of his jian rising to meet Wu Gao's strike.
However, as result, the impact sent shockwaves through his arms, rattling his bones like wind chimes in a gale. For the span of a single heartbeat, his face betrayed raw astonishment - his carefully cultivated mask cracking like thin ice before freezing over once more.
Then, his feet resumed their intricate weaving, each step precise and measured despite the turmoil evident in his Qi.
The bluish energy surrounding him compressed until it was almost painful to look at, gathering around his hands like frost forming on winter branches.
On the other hand, Wu Gao suddenly pivoted to face his opponent squarely, his knees once again bending in perfect harmony with his center of gravity as he seemed to sink roots into the platform beneath him.
"Dantian Drilling - Middle Drill," Wu Gao murmured, his words carrying the weight of mountains despite their softness.
The very atmosphere grew dense and heavy, as if the air molecules themselves were compressing in anticipation of the imminent explosion of power.
BLAST-!
A sharp whistle cut through the tension like a blade through silk as concentrated force erupted from beneath Wu Gao's feet, the wooden platform creaking in protest as his body launched forward with such velocity that his white robes became a mere streak against the autumn sky.
SWOOSH!
Upon seeing this, Xiao Feng then moved in ease. His sidestep flowed like water around stone, his subsequent leap carrying the effortless grace of a swallow in flight.
The bluish Qi that had gathered around his hands suddenly cascaded downward like a waterfall of pure energy, wreathing his feet in ethereal flames that seemed to devour distance itself.
SWOOSH!
As Wu Gao's thrust cleaved the space where he had stood mere heartbeats before, Xiao Feng's form became a living blur, his footwork defying mortal limitations as he surged forward with predatory intent.
The world warped around Xiao Feng as everything moved as if trapped in amber - dust motes hung suspended in golden shafts of sunlight, leaves paused mid-flutter in their descent from nearby trees.
He watched with clinical detachment as Wu Gao's form descended into a duck beneath his head-seeking blade.
'That's fake,' Xiao Feng's thoughts echoed, his body already rotating through space to materialize at Wu Gao's opposite flank.
His jian traced a perfect arc through the air, its polished edge singing as it sought the vulnerable spot at the base of Wu Gao's skull.
"N...o...t enough." The words formed on his lips as they curved into a predator's smile, his feet barely seeming to touch the wooden platform as he phased into existence at Wu Gao's left side.
His jian angled with surgical precision toward his opponent's liver. While doing all of these, Wu Gao's earlier evasive maneuver now seemed almost comically inadequate against this display of temporal mastery.
image [https://i.ibb.co.com/VMP7ksR/Notif-1.webp]
As reality snapped back into its normal flow, the gathered crowd drew collective breaths of astonishment.
Where one Xiao Feng had stood, five identical figures now encircled Wu Gao like points of a deadly star, each simulacrum perfect down to the last detail - from the golden bamboo embroidery on their robes to the cold gleam in their jade-green eyes.
Each figure moved in perfect synchronization, their blades describing lethal arcs through the air as they closed in on their target.
One figure aimed and slashed downward at Wu Gao’s head, another targeted his neck, while others slashed from the front and back. Meanwhile, the true Xiao Feng, his face a mask of impending triumph, prepared to deliver a lethal thrust at yet another of Wu Gao's vital points.
Despite this coordinated assault, Wu Gao remained low, seemingly ensnared in his defensive posture, appearing oblivious to the deadly web closing in around him.
But victory's sweet taste turned bitter on Xiao Feng's tongue as Wu Gao's voice reached his ears, quiet yet inexorable as an avalanche's first rumble: "Dantian Drilling - Upper Drill..."