Silence fractured beneath the weight of old wounds.
Han's stare bore into Wu, his hands no longer clenched in anger but loosened in resignation. Not weakness—acceptance. That it would come to this. That words were never going to be enough.
And across from him, Wu and Lin exchanged a glance.
It wasn't long. It wasn't loud.
Just a nod.
Small. Subtle. A fraction of a second—but it said everything.
Lin's fingers tightened around his spear. Wu shifted his weight back, his fan opening with a whisper. They didn't speak. They didn't need to.
Because deep inside, they knew—Han wouldn't wait.
And he didn't.
He stepped forward.
The platform groaned beneath his feet, and in a single motion, his arm swept back. The sunlight caught the movement, glinting along his sleeve like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Crushing Wave Palm."
It wasn't roared. It wasn't flaunted.
The name slipped from his mouth like a ritual—like a farewell.
Spiritual force surged from his palm, condensing in a tight arc of pressure that shimmered with restraint and clarity. It wasn't some monstrous display of power. It didn't shake the skies or split the ground. But it was clean. Devastating. Focused—like a perfect slap to the soul.
A ripple tore forward.
And still—Lin didn't move.
Not until Wu gave that faint nod again. A second breath. A shared instinct, years in the making.
Wu stepped ahead, unfolding his fan with a snap that rang louder than it should have. His voice cut through the rising wind.
"Rank Two — Twin Stone Barrier!"
A translucent wall, pulsing faintly with layered formations, shimmered into being. Lines of spiritual energy crisscrossed through it like threads in glass. And behind it—
Lin charged.
His jaw clenched. His eyes were narrowed, but there was a flicker—hesitation, regret, buried deep. He didn't want this. But he had chosen.
The shield caught the Crushing Wave Palm head-on.
A thunderclap erupted.
The energy collapsed inward for a heartbeat—before Lin's spear pierced through the center like a lightning bolt shattering glass. The palm technique fractured, not with a scream, but a deep, echoing crack, like a wave breaking against jagged rocks.
A burst of air exploded outward from the point of impact.
Dust swept across the stage. The force slammed against the protective formation around the arena—hard enough to rattle teeth and send robes billowing.
And still—Han stood in the center of it.
Expression unreadable.
Robe fluttering.
Eyes locked on Wu.
He didn't even blink.
Across from him, Lin lowered his spear, chest rising. Wu hadn't spoken. But his gaze had sharpened, lips pressed tight—not with confidence, but with the pressure of the moment cracking the walls he'd built.
Because deep down, they both knew:
This wasn't about strength anymore.
This was about guilt.
About betrayal.
About what they did—and what Han had become because of it.
And now, the first blow had landed.
…
Debris floated in the air, remnants of the shockwave from Elder Han's Crushing Wave Palm. The crowd stood frozen, awe and disbelief on their faces.
A young disciple, eyes wide with shock, whispered, "That was… so strong! If that hit me, I'd be dead, right there!"
Others nodded, murmuring among themselves, their voices trembling with a mixture of fear and respect.
A woman with sharp, calculating eyes spoke up, her voice filled with admiration. "Crushing Wave Palm… it's one of the hardest techniques to master. Elder Han must be incredibly talented to pull that off with such ease."
Another disciple, his face slender and features youthful, frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I heard you need at least medium talent to learn it. And if you have that level of talent, there's a good chance you could reach Rank 4. But Elder Han is still only Rank 2. Doesn't that seem strange?"
The question hung in the air, and the older disciple, a man with a strong jaw and deep-set eyes, gave the younger disciple a sharp look, his face tightening with warning. He wasn't harsh, but there was an unmistakable tension in his expression.
"That's a taboo," he muttered, just loud enough for the younger disciple to hear.
The younger disciple blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean, taboo?"
The older disciple's expression hardened as he glanced around. Lowering his voice even further, he spoke with a quiet intensity. "You can't just ask things like that here. Don't you know? There are things you shouldn't question, things that are better left unsaid."
The younger disciple's face turned pale, realization dawning on him. "Ah, sorry… I didn't mean…"
The older disciple gave a slight shake of his head, dismissing the apology as he continued in a more measured tone. "Listen, kid. It's not just about talent. A person's cultivation is affected by far more than their raw talent. Sure, talent is important—it opens doors. But if that's all you're relying on, you're missing the point."
The younger disciple's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
The older disciple glanced around once more, making sure no one was paying too much attention. He lowered his voice even further. "There's more to cultivation than what you're born with. It's about how you handle yourself—how you react to the challenges that come your way. If you're too reckless, if you don't know when to push forward and when to step back, your cultivation will stagnate. It's the ability to adapt to situations that counts."
The younger disciple, eager for more understanding, leaned in closer. "Adapt? So, it's not just about how strong you are?"
"Exactly," the older disciple replied. "Talent is a starting point. But you need more than that to rise above the rest. There's also the luck of timing, of opportunity. Sometimes, it's about being in the right place at the right time. Other times, it's about having the fortune to avoid a disaster. You can't control everything."
The younger disciple's eyes widened as he absorbed the lesson. "So… it's not just about brute strength?"
The older disciple nodded. "No. It's about how you face adversity. You can have all the talent in the world, but if you don't have the right mindset—if you're too proud or too fearful to take the right actions—you'll never reach your full potential. Luck plays its part, but it's not everything."
The younger disciple processed this carefully, nodding slowly. "I get it. It's about being smart, knowing when to act, when to retreat…"
The older disciple gave him a small, approving smile. "Exactly. That's the true key to cultivation."
The younger disciple seemed to absorb everything, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "But… if someone has more talent, why wouldn't they reach the highest levels?"
The older disciple's expression softened, but there was a trace of solemnity in his eyes. "There's a paragon from the past—someone with medium talent. Yet, through sheer will and adaptability, he became one of the most revered figures in cultivation history. The key was not his talent, but how he shaped his path."
The younger disciple's jaw dropped. "A paragon? With only medium talent?"
The older disciple's gaze grew distant, as if recalling something long past. "Yes. He wasn't born with extraordinary talent like others, but his mindset and ability to seize opportunities took him further than even the most gifted. And that's the real lesson—talent alone isn't enough."
The younger disciple stared, his notebook forgotten for a moment as he processed the weight of the words.
After a few moments of silence, the older disciple gave a curt nod, indicating that the lesson was complete. The younger disciple looked up, eager to continue listening but also realizing the vastness of what he had just learned.