BANG!
A powerful kick caught Lin Ling'er on the shoulder. A sickening crack was heard. She cried out in pain, stumbling to one knee. A thin trickle of blood escaped the corner of her lips.
"Ling'er! Surrender!" The Lin Clan's Second Elder shouted, his voice filled with paternal urgency and anger.
Ji Meili laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "Surrender? So the famous Lin Clan genius is just a coward who gives up when things get tough? How pathetic!"
The words were a poison dart aimed directly at Lin Ling'er's pride. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back to her feet. Her left arm hung limply at her side. Her vision swam, but her eyes burned with defiance.
"For the Lin Clan... I will not... surrender so easily!" she gasped, raising her right hand again in a fighting stance.
This foolish bravery was exactly what Ji Meili wanted. Her smile widened. "Stupid girl. You were given a chance."
She launched her final, vicious assault. Blow after blow rained down on the injured Lin Ling'er. A punch to the ribs. A chop to the leg. Lin Ling'er could barely stand, let alone fight back. Her yellow dress was now stained with dust and blood. She was a portrait of stubborn, heartbreaking resilience.
"Enough! Ling'er, I order you to surrender!" The Second Elder roared, standing up from his seat. He could not watch his daughter be beaten to a pulp.
Lin Ling'er, her mind foggy with pain, opened her mouth. The word "I..." began to form on her lips.
Seeing this, a flash of cruel intent passed through Ji Meili's eyes. She had no intention of letting her finish.
"Too late!" she shrieked.
Gathering all the spiritual energy of the 6th Level into her right palm, her hand glowed with a malevolent grey light. This was not a strike to win a match. This was a strike aimed directly at Lin Ling'er's dantian, her core of cultivation. A fatal blow meant to cripple her for life!
Time seemed to slow down.
"YOU DARE?!" The Second Elder erupted from his seat. His powerful aura flared, and he moved to intercept the blow.
But a hand landed firmly on his shoulder, holding him back with an iron grip. It was Patriarch Lin Zhen. His face was pale, his knuckles white where he gripped his cane, but his eyes were terrifyingly calm.
"Patriarch! She will cripple Ling'er!" the Second Elder yelled in desperation.
On the other side of the avenue, Patriarch Ji Shan let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Brother Lin Zhen! What is the meaning of this? Do the elders of the Lin Clan plan to intervene in a fair duel between juniors? How shameful!"
All eyes were on Lin Zhen. The fate of his granddaughter hung in the balance. To intervene was to admit defeat and lose all face. To not intervene was to watch his granddaughter's future be destroyed.
In that split second, Lin Zhen made his choice.
He smiled. It was a cold, hard smile that did not reach his eyes. He looked directly at Ji Shan, his voice cutting through the chaos with unnerving calm.
"Brother Ji is too quick to judge. The Lin Clan can afford to lose a single match."
His words were a dismissal of the entire event, as if Lin Ling'er's suffering was a trivial matter. But his eyes, for a fleeting moment, met those of his son, Lin Canghai, conveying a silent, urgent message.
Thwack!
The sound of the impact was sickening. Ji Meili's palm struck true, landing squarely on Lin Ling'er's lower abdomen.
A wave of destructive spiritual energy shot into her body. Lin Ling'er's eyes widened in shock and agony. A spray of blood erupted from her mouth as she was thrown backwards like a broken doll. She landed in a heap at the very edge of the stage, unmoving.
The avenue was dead silent.
Ji Meili stood triumphantly in the center, brushing off her robes as if she had just done a minor chore.
"It seems the Lin Clan's genius was overrated," she announced to the stunned crowd.
Lin Zhen did not even look at her. He simply turned to two of his personal guards who were standing at attention nearby. His voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. "Take Ling'er to the healing hall. Now."
The guards, their faces grim, rushed forward. They carefully gathered the unconscious form of Lin Ling'er and swiftly carried her away from the gruesome stage.
The Second Elder watched them go, his body trembling with a mixture of fury and heartbreak. He understood the Old Patriarch's decision, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. He had to sit there and do nothing while his daughter was nearly murdered in front of him.
Ji Shan continued to smile, immensely pleased with the outcome. Not only had they won the match, but they had also publicly humiliated the Lin Clan and potentially crippled one of their promising young talents.
Lin Yun watched the entire scene unfold, his heart cold. The power struggle among the top clan he'd read about several times in those novels had now become reality. It was fierce and brutal, leaving no chance for weaklings to participate.
The silence that followed Lin Ling'er's defeat was heavy and oppressive. The festive mood of the birthday banquet had been utterly shattered, replaced by a grim tension.
The Lin Clan members sat in stunned, furious silence, while the Ji, Nangong, Wang, and Zhou clans barely concealed their smug satisfaction.
Ji Meili did not leave the stage. She stood there, bathing in the uncomfortable quiet, her eyes sweeping over the Lin Clan's seating area like a predator scanning its next meal. Her gaze, filled with contempt, drifted over Lin Feng's stern face, past Lin Wanrou's furious glare, and then... paused.
It landed on Lin Yun.
A slow, venomous smile spread across her lips. This was perfect. The famous waste, the third young master who was a walking joke.
"Since the Lin Clan's genius young mistress was so... disappointing," Ji Meili began, her voice saccharine sweet, "perhaps the Lin Clan has other hidden talents?"
She pointed a delicate finger directly at Lin Yun.
"You there. The Third Young Master, Lin Yun, isn't it? Why don't you come up and entertain us all? Don't worry," she added, her tone dripping with false benevolence, "I know you're only at the 3rd Level of the Qi Condensation Realm. I, in the spirit of fairness, will suppress my cultivation to match yours. It wouldn't be sporting otherwise."
A wave of angry murmurs erupted from the Lin Clan.
"Absolutely not!" Lin Wanrou was the first on her feet, her voice sharp as a blade. She stepped in front of her younger brother as if to physically shield him. "My brother is not a fighter. This is beneath you, Ji Meili!"
Mu Qiuxue reached out and clutched her husband's arm, her face pale with concern.
"Canghai," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He can't. You know he can't."
Patriarch Lin Canghai's face was a mask of solemn conflict. One hand was clenched into a fist on the table. On one side was the already battered reputation of the Lin Clan.
Refusing the challenge would paint them as cowards, especially after Ji Meili's "generous" offer to suppress her cultivation. On the other side was the safety of his weakest son.
He knew Lin Yun's limits. Sending him up there was like sending a lamb to the slaughter…