Chapter 41: Qinggong And Kenpō

The arena had barely settled from the roaring anticipation when Xuan Jing and Guŏ Suàn spoke in perfect unison—

"Do you know of something called Qinggong?"

"Do you know of something called Kenpō?"

A brief, charged silence. Then, again, in eerie synchronization—

"Yes, I do."

Yíng Yǐng lost it. He nearly collapsed onto the bleachers, cackling, barely able to breathe. "Ahaha—Jing Jing, I swear, you've met your match in annoyance! This is fucking hilarious—"

Feng Hao, horrified at Yíng Yǐng's unrestrained chaos, slapped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up, they're about to start!"

Xuan Jing exhaled slowly, expression unreadable as he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back a few loose strands.

Wei Lin, who had been observing in sharp silence, gasped dramatically. "Young Master Jing—! I took my time styling that!"

Xuan Jing rolled his eyes. "Then style it again later."

Wei Lin clutched his chest as if he had been personally betrayed.

Guŏ Suàn, meanwhile, was already stepping into a defensive stance, body low, grounded, muscles taut.

Xuan Jing sighed softly and shook his head. A defensive stance?

WHOOSH.

The air split violently as Xuan Jing vanished.

In an instant, the ground cracked beneath Guŏ Suàn as Xuan Jing's foot collided with his raised palm. The sheer force of the impact sent tremors through the arena floor, splintering the tiles beneath their feet.

Guŏ Suàn gritted his teeth, absorbing the brunt of the strike. His muscles burned, his fingers tightening around Xuan Jing's ankle before his instincts screamed at him to move.

Xuan Jing twisted midair, fluid like water, his other foot snapping forward in a fake-out

strike.

Guŏ Suàn reacted—just a fraction too late.

"Haha…" Xuan Jing smirked.

And then he dropped.

His upper body fell towards the shattered ground, hands planting firmly onto the cracked surface. With a sudden burst of momentum, he flipped, twisting his entire body like a striking serpent. His previously trapped foot slipped free from Guŏ Suàn's grasp in a blink.

Guŏ Suàn's breath hitched as Xuan Jing vanished again.

Then—

CRACK.

Xuan Jing reappeared above him, descending like a shadow. A downward axe kick came flying straight for his shoulder.

Guŏ Suàn barely had time to react. He twisted his body sharply, dodging to the side at the last moment, Xuan Jing's heel grazing past him—

BOOM.

The ground exploded.

A deep crater formed where Xuan Jing's foot struck, dust and debris flying into the air.

Guŏ Suàn exhaled sharply, heart pounding as he landed several meters away, eyes narrowed.

This wasn't a normal fight.

This was a collision of two absolute monsters.

The crowd sat stunned, breathless. No one dared to look away.

Wei Lin clicked his tongue. "Ah, he's being reckless again."

Jiǎn Lí tilted his head, watching with an intrigued expression. "He's playing."

Feng Hao, gripping the railing, whispered, "Holy fuck."

Yíng Yǐng, who had finally recovered from his earlier laughter, wiped at his eyes, grinning. "Jing Jing's having fun. Damn."

Guŏ Suàn exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. His violet eyes gleamed with something *lsharp.

Xuan Jing's Qinggong movements were light, fluid, untraceable—like a gust of wind that struck before you could register its presence.

But Guŏ Suàn… was built differently.

"Enough running," Guŏ Suàn murmured, shifting his stance.

Xuan Jing lifted a brow.

Then—

Guŏ Suàn moved.

He snapped forward, faster than before, but not in the light-footed, untouchable way Xuan Jing had been. His movement was sharp, direct, overwhelming.

Kenpō.

His body twisted into a devastating strike, an elbow aiming straight for Xuan Jing's ribs.

Xuan Jing barely had time to react. He deflected, redirecting the force—but Guŏ Suàn didn't give him time to recover.

He followed through, his movements compact, his fists relentles. A direct, punishing style meant for absolute destruction.

Xuan Jing's Qinggong-like footwork kept him from being completely caught, but—

THUD.

Guŏ Suàn's palm slammed into his shoulder.

Xuan Jing felt that one. A brief tremor through his bones, an undeniable force meant to cripple balance and drive an opponent to the ground.

Xuan Jing exhaled. "Interesting."

Then—he switched styles.

Instead of light, dancing steps—Xuan Jing's feet planted.

Guŏ Suàn's next strike met an iron wall.

Xuan Jing blocked head-on, absorbing the power and redirecting it, his stance suddenly grounded. Instead of dodging, he clashed.

Guŏ Suàn's lips curled slightly. "Oh?"

Xuan Jing's smirk was sharper this time.

A challenge.

Guŏ Suàn exhaled. "Fine then."

And in the next instant—

Guŏ Suàn became light.

Qinggong.

He vanished, using the same wind-step techniques that Xuan Jing had earlier, moving like a shadow, untouchable.

The two of them had switched roles completely.

Xuan Jing, now using Guŏ Suàn's brutal, unyielding Kenpō—

Guŏ Suàn, now dancing through the air, striking from unexpected angles.

The battle took on a surreal quality.

Blows exchanged. Cracks forming in the ground. The sheer force of their clashes sending shockwaves through the arena.

The Marked leaned forward, eyes sharp with interest.

The headmasters whispered amongst themselves.

The crowd—was on the edge of their seats.

Then—

BOOM.

Both figures collided, a final strike sending them both skidding backwards, dust swirling around them.

A pause.

Silence.

The two of them, breathing slightly heavier, staring at each other with matching sharp expressions.

Then—

Xuan Jing let out a small exhale, the barest hint of a smirk lingering on his lips. "Not bad."

Guŏ Suàn's lips curled slightly. "You too."

The crowd—

ERUPTED.