“Tang Yan!” Wan Fei answered without hesitation.

Hearing her unwavering tone, Cheng Gong smirked with disdain. “A rank’s a mountain to cross. Tang Yan’s win last time was pure luck—Su Wei got sloppy.

“Besides, I’ve heard Song City’s been honing Song Qing by hiring assassins to ambush him. That kind of brutal training makes his overall combat ability top-notch.

“Tang Yan’s odds of winning are next to nothing!”

Fang Xuan nodded at Cheng Gong’s breakdown. “Song Qing’s strength is solid—probably neck-and-neck with Qing City’s Sun Long. Tang Yan’s chances do look slim.”

With Fang Xuan’s endorsement, the crowd grew even more convinced of Tang Yan’s impending loss.

Wan Fei gave a faint, knowing smile but didn’t argue.

Back when she was in peril, Tang Yan—then just ninth-rank Yellow Stage—had saved her.

Ten days ago, he’d cleared the Assassins’ Tower, a feat unprecedented in Eastern Domain history.

Yesterday, with first-rank Mysterious Stage strength, he’d crushed a third-rank opponent.

Today, three major factions had dumped massive bets on him.

*Did they really think Tang Yan had stumbled this far on luck?*

On the stage, Tang Yan sized up the lean, green-robed youth before him, a flicker of wariness in his chest.

This ordinary-looking少年 exuded a razor-sharp aura—forged, no doubt, through relentless trials.

“Song City, Song Qing,” the youth sneered, his cold gaze fixed on Tang Yan. “I’d suggest you step down now. I don’t hold back.”

A blade-drawn edge burst from Song Qing, slashing toward Tang Yan like a whip.

Tang Yan’s lips twitched upward.

In his past life, he’d faced countless powerful figures and weathered all kinds of pressure. Unless someone vastly outmatched him and wielded true energy to suppress him, mere aura couldn’t faze him.

Meeting Song Qing’s threat with calm, Tang Yan replied, “Cloud City, Tang Yan. Please, enlighten me.”

Song Qing’s grin turned feral at Tang Yan’s composure. “Not bad—got guts! This’ll be your last fight, so savor it.”

“Eighth match—begin!” the red-robed elder barked once their banter wrapped up.

The moment the elder spoke, Song Qing lunged at Tang Yan like a bolt.

“So fast!” A gasp rose from the crowd at Song Qing’s lightning speed.

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The distance between them was short. In a flash, Song Qing closed in, his pre-charged right fist rocketing toward Tang Yan.

Tang Yan’s pupils narrowed. The punch carried thunderous momentum, but he could tell Song Qing wasn’t going all out.

With his seasoned instincts, Tang Yan sensed a follow-up strike lurking behind this one.

If you weren’t quick enough, even a fourth-rank Mysterious Stage fighter could fall to Song Qing’s trap.

Tang Yan didn’t dare underestimate him. A sharp aura flared from his body.

“Peak second-rank Mysterious Stage!” The crowd erupted again as his strength registered.

*He’d been hiding his true power!*

Though most still doubted his chances, a subtle shift rippled through some spectators’ expectations.

Facing Song Qing’s ferocious punch, Tang Yan didn’t retreat—he charged forward.

Song Qing’s eyes glinted with thick scorn. *Peak second-rank now, huh? Still leagues below me!*

*Boom!* Their fists collided, and Tang Yan staggered back a step.

A flicker of surprise crossed Song Qing’s face. Tang Yan had met his blow head-on and only retreated *one step*?

He didn’t know Tang Yan had trained under crushing waterfall pressure. Nor did he care—his second strike was already slithering out like a viper, seamless and unheralded.

“It’s over!” Song Qing murmured.

“Double Strike!”

The crowd roared as Song Qing’s second blow followed the first with no gap.

“Meteor Palm!” His aura snapped inward, condensing into his right palm. It shot forward like a falling star—swift and unexpected.

“Looks like Tang Yan’s done,” Yao Qian gloated from the judges’ platform.

The others gave faint, nearly imperceptible nods.

Tang Yan, at second-rank strength, had just been knocked off-balance. Before he could recover, Song Qing’s savage combo unleashed.

Caught off guard, even a fourth-rank fighter would take a hit—let alone Tang Yan.

“Tang Yan’s toast. Song Qing’s the real deal,” Fang Xuan mused from Fang City’s seats.

“Small-time trash—can’t hold a candle. Lasting this long’s already a fluke… Wait, what?!” Cheng Gong sneered, only to freeze mid-sentence.

Song Qing’s palm struck Tang Yan—and he vanished into thin air.

A mere afterimage!

“So fast!” Mo Bin slapped the table in awe from the judges’ platform. “That kid’s footwork—what tier is it? So fluid!”

Song Qing’s heart jolted as his palm hit nothing. *Where’d he go?*

“My turn!” A calm voice sounded. Song Qing caught Tang Yan’s figure in his peripheral vision.

He’d thought his double strike would at least leave Tang Yan reeling, if not crippled. Instead, *he* was the one without a moment to breathe!

Summoning his true energy, Song Qing threw a desperate punch to meet him.

*Boom!* Tang Yan’s first Thousand Mountains Fist landed, a smirk curling his lips. The second punch followed in a flash.

Song Qing’s haughty mask cracked. Though Tang Yan was only second-rank, this blow carried a chilling sense of danger.

Out of steam, he could only dodge!

He darted back, narrowly evading the strike. The crowd below erupted.

A peak third-rank fighter, forced to retreat by a second-rank?

Yao Qian’s face burned on the judges’ platform, stung by his own hasty words. Tang Yan had just slapped his prediction down hard.

The other lords silently thanked their restraint—no one else had spoken as rashly as Yao Qian.

“Interesting. I underestimated you,” Song Qing said, a cold gleam in his eyes. “Forcing me back—that shame can only be cleansed by crushing you completely!”

With that, he charged Tang Yan again.

Tang Yan clocked Song Qing’s lightning pace. *He’s banking on speed and power to overwhelm me.*

*Sorry, Song Qing—your plan’s about to flop…*

Tang Yan’s lips curved up. His combat instincts kicked in, slowing Song Qing’s seemingly rapid assault to a crawl in his eyes.

Phantom Step flared to life. He veered left a fraction, dodging Song Qing’s fist, then countered with a swift punch.

Song Qing, wise to Tang Yan’s speed, was ready. His punch shifted mid-flight to meet Tang Yan’s.

But just as their fists neared collision, Tang Yan’s arrow-straight strike arced impossibly in that split second, aiming for Song Qing’s wrist.

*How’s that possible?!*

Song Qing’s mind reeled. At such close range, he had no time to react.

Tang Yan’s fist slammed into his wrist with force.