"Lau is my best," Xu Ran said. The lie was bold. Blatant. But his eyes, hard and cold, dared anyone to challenge it.
The friction lasted three days. Arguments. Glares. Refusals to train together. Han Bo, pride wounded, refused to acknowledge Lau's existence. Zhou Wei and the others trained with reluctance, their movements stiff, their cooperation forced.
But Lau, in those three days, showed nothing. He trained. He followed. He kept his mouth shut and his brown eyes steady. He didn't demonstrate power. Didn't transform. Didn't glow with demonic energy. He was just a boy. Plain. Quiet. Unremarkable.
And then, on the third day, Han Bo challenged him to a spar.
Lau won. In one move. His hand, thin and unremarkable, caught Han Bo's fist. His foot, planted, didn't move. His body, thin, didn't strain. He held Han Bo's fist, the fist of a Core Formation cultivator at peak strength, and stopped it. The way one might stop a child's swing.
