Facing Ji Meili's vicious attack, Lin Yun's Heavenly Eyes saw it all. The massive buildup of energy in her core, the shift in her center of gravity, the slight opening it created on her right side.
He didn't try to dodge completely. He couldn't. The area of effect was too large.
Instead, he calculated the path of least impact. He twisted his body, letting the edge of the palm strike graze his shoulder.
CRACK!
A searing pain exploded in his left shoulder. The force of the blow spun him around, and he tasted blood in his mouth. It was a real, serious injury. But he had turned a potentially crippling blow into a painful, but manageable, one.
And more importantly, he had used the momentum of her attack and his own spin.
This was the opportunity. The one he had been waiting for.
As he spun, his right arm, which had been held close to his body, coiled like a spring. Every last drop of his remaining spiritual energy, fueled by the pain and his sheer will, surged into his fist.
The Fire Fist again!
The Fire Fist technique activated not as a simple flame, but as a concentrated, superheated point of orange-red light.
Ji Meili was off-balance, her right side completely exposed, her ribs unprotected. She saw him spinning, saw the glow, but her mind, clouded by rage and the certainty of her victory, was too slow to react.
It was the perfect counter.
"HAH!"
With a guttural shout, Lin Yun completed his spin and drove his Fire Fist forward with every ounce of strength he possessed. He wasn't aiming to push her back. He was aiming to break her.
The fist, blazing with concentrated fire, connected squarely with her ribs.
Bang!
The sound was not loud, but it was sickeningly distinct—a dry, brittle SNAP that echoed in the sudden silence.
"AHH!" Ji Meili's eyes bulged. All the air was driven from her lungs in a choked gasp.
A look of pure, uncomprehending shock replaced the fury on her face. The force of the blow, combined with her own forward momentum, lifted her off her feet.
She flew backwards in a graceful, almost slow-motion arc, her grey robes fluttering. She cleared the edge of the stage and landed with a heavy, bone-jarring thud on the hard ground outside the barrier, skidding to a halt at the feet of the stunned Ji Clan members.
She did not get up. She curled into a fetal position, clutching her broken ribs, wheezing in agony.
Absolute, dead silence.
No one moved. No one breathed.
The entire avenue was frozen, a painting of stunned disbelief.
Lin Yun stood panting in the center of the stage, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his shoulder was a mess of torn fabric and bruising. He was swaying on his feet, his spiritual energy completely drained.
But he was standing. And she was not.
He had won.
The silence was a physical weight, pressing down on the entire avenue. The only sounds were Lin Yun's ragged breathing and Ji Meili's faint, pained whimpers from where she lay in the dust. The air crackled with the aftermath of the impossible.
It was City Lord Su who finally broke the stalemate. His voice, calm and authoritative, cut through the tension like a knife.
"Patriarch Ji," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Your disciple is injured. It would be wise to see to her treatment."
All eyes turned to Ji Shan. The Ji Clan patriarch's face was a thundercloud of suppressed fury. His knuckles were white where he gripped the armrest of his chair.
Ji Meili herself was not his direct descendant, so her personal suffering was secondary. But the blow to his clan's reputation was a deep, searing wound. Their promising disciple, at the 6th Level, had been publicly defeated and crippled by the Lin Clan's infamous "waste."
The humiliation was absolute.
He could not vent his rage without looking like a sore loser, especially under the watchful eyes of City Lord Su and the enigmatic Rong Yanan. With a grimace that was more a snarl than a smile, he gave a stiff, jerky wave of his hand.
A senior elder from the Ji Clan contingent, his face equally dark, moved with swift efficiency. He flew to Ji Meili's side, his spiritual sense sweeping over her. Satisfied that her injuries, while severe, were not immediately life-threatening, he gathered her broken form and swiftly carried her away from the humiliating scene.
On the other side, Patriarch Lin Canghai spoke, his voice firm but carrying a note of paternal concern. "Yun'er, you've done well. Come down and tend to your wounds."
No one objected. The Ji Clan was in no position to demand anything. Lin Yun, his body screaming in protest, gave a slight nod. He moved carefully, each step sending a fresh jolt of pain from his injured shoulder.
As he stepped off the stage and back onto the Lin Clan's side, he was immediately surrounded.
Lin Feng was the first to reach him. The eldest brother, usually so stern and unreadable, placed a steadying hand on Lin Yun's good shoulder. His eyes, sharp and discerning, held a glint of genuine, unvarnished respect.
Lin Feng was the first to reach him. The eldest brother, usually so stern and unreadable, placed a steadying hand on Lin Yun's good shoulder. His eyes, sharp and discerning, held a glint of genuine, unvarnished respect.
"Well done, Little Brother," Lin Feng said, his voice low and earnest. "That was not luck. That was skill, timing, and immense courage. You have brought great honor to our family today."
The praise from his prodigious elder brother sent a warm flush through Lin Yun that momentarily overshadowed the pain.
Before he could respond, Lin Wanrou was at his other side, her beautiful face etched with worry. "Your shoulder! Little Brother, are you alright? That sounded terrible!"
Her hands fluttered nervously, afraid to touch him and cause more pain.
Just then, a petite figure darted through the crowd. It was Yu Tao'er, her maid, her eyes wide with anxiety and tears threatening to spill over. "Young Master! Oh, you're hurt!"