Water.
It flowed from the mouth of the open jar, a sinuous, shimmering ribbon that hung in the air before Juxian. It didn't splash. It didn't drip. It coiled and floated, a living serpent made of pure, clear liquid, reflecting the arena's light.
Gen stared. All his tension, the focus of the fight, stuttered for a second. He lowered his bamboo staff, letting the end thump onto his shoulder. A slow, incredulous grin spread across his bloody face.
"Are you kidding me?" Gen laughed, the sound sharp and bright in the silent arena. "All that talk about mountains and apes, and your secret weapon is… a leaky pot? Did you forget to patch it before you left home?"
The tension among the observers broke into murmurs of confusion. They had expected some monstrous summoning, a blast of sealed power, a demonic spirit. Not… water.
Lorel blinked. "He… he is a master of **Shidow** as well," she murmured, her brow furrowed. "That much is undeniable. But why carry the water with him? He could just pull it from the air."
Beside her, Duo Yi watched the floating ribbon with intense interest. "The Second Wheel, **Shidow**, manipulates only what already exists," she explained, her voice analytical. "It cannot create water where there is none. Certain cultivators… they carry the elements essential to their art. It is a commitment. A declaration of their chosen path." She tilted her head. "Perhaps the water is not just a tool. Perhaps it *is* his style."
On the arena, Juxian seemed unperturbed by Gen's laughter or the crowd's confusion. With calm, deliberate movements, he reached for the ties of his simple grey shirt. He pulled it over his head, revealing a torso of lean, sculpted muscle, every line speaking of power held in perfect, relaxed control.
"Hey," Gen called out, his grin turning cocky. "I've got abs too, you know. Want to compare?"
From the sidelines, Liang's voice carried over, full of mock-seriousness. "Gen, be fair. Yours are… compact. Efficient. Like pebbles. His are more like… arranged river stones."
Gen shot a glare over his shoulder without turning. "Shut up, you walking twig! At least mine exist!"
Juxian, however, wasn't done. His hands went to the tie of his trousers.
A collective, scandalized gasp swept through the chamber. Several female cultivators shrieked. Many men cursed in disbelief.
"What in the name of the old heavens is he doing?!" someone yelled.
Chubbs was a blur of outraged motion. He lunged from his spot and planted himself squarely in front of Lorel, his broad back acting as a living screen, his arms spread wide. "The absolute nerve! The unmitigated gall! My lady, avert your celestial eyes! This… this *exhibition* is an affront to decency!"
Duo Yi, meanwhile, did not look away. Her gaze was clinical, sweeping over Juxian's form as he stood now only in his close-fitting undergarments. "Hmm," she mused, her voice loud enough to be heard in the sudden uproar. "The musculature is mature. The ligament structure appears optimal for fluid kinetic transfer." Her words cut through the noise, causing several people nearby to stare at her in stunned disbelief. Duo Yi seemed utterly unaware of their looks, her focus complete.
Gen's smirk finally faded, replaced by a frown of genuine irritation. "Is this a joke? A fight or a bathhouse show?"
"No. No, wait," Juxian said, his voice still that same calm pool.
He raised a hand. The floating ribbon of water responded. It didn't attack. It *flowed*. It swept over his body in a glistening wave, covering him from the neck down. It didn't soak him; it clung to him, a second skin of constantly moving, liquid light. It made his form shimmer, distorting the lines of his muscles, making him look like a statue carved from a living, rushing stream.
"The **Jingdao of the Agile Mountain**," Juxian explained, his voice resonating slightly through the water, "is a concept that involves many Wheels. At my level, I could only express its weight and its surprising movement through pure **Jingdao**." He took a step forward, and the water rippled, reflecting light in hypnotic patterns. "But the fight with the deity… it forced a door open. My Second Wheel, **Shidow**, is now fully awake. I can finally use my jar not just to carry water, but to *command* it." He met Gen's eyes. "Watch out."
He moved.
There was no gathering of power, no dramatic leap. He simply *was there*, his water-sheathed fist already in motion.
Gen reacted on instinct, his bamboo staff coming up in a reinforced parry.
***THUD-CRACK!***
The impact was not the clean, hard ring of stone on stone. It was a wet, deep, shuddering blow that carried the weight of a landslide *and* the relentless push of a river current. Gen's feet left grooves in the stone as he was shoved bodily backward, his arms ringing with the strange, permeating force.
*It's heavy, but it's… slippery. It's moving even as it hits.*
Gritting his teeth, Gen spun on his heel, using the momentum to whip his bamboo staff in a wide, devastating horizontal circle. It was an attack with no blind spot, aiming to strike Juxian no matter where he tried to dodge.
Juxian didn't dodge. He raised his water-covered arm.
The bamboo staff struck. But instead of a solid impact, it *slid*. The flowing water on Juxian's skin seemed to guide the strike upwards, robbing it of its power, diverting its force along the liquid surface. As the staff passed harmlessly over his shoulder, Juxian's other hand shot out. It didn't punch. It grasped Gen's shoulder.
The touch was like being pinned by a waterfall. Immense pressure focused into a single, flowing point. A sickening *crack* sounded—not of breaking bone, but of Gen's reinforced grip on the bamboo failing. His fingers went numb. The staff clattered to the ground.
Desperate, Gen lifted his leg in a vicious front kick, aiming for the gut. His golden heel, powered by the **Eternal Body**, connected.
And slid off. The water rippled, dispersing the force across Juxian's torso in a shimmering wave.
Before Gen could recover, Juxian lifted him clear off the ground with terrifying, fluid ease and slammed him down hard in the opposite direction.
***WHUMP.***
The air left Gen's lungs in a pained grunt. He felt his body scream in protest, a chorus of aches promising breaks if this continued. He rolled, pushing himself up on trembling arms.
Outside the arena, the shock was no longer about nudity. It was about the terrifying skill on display.
Duo Yi was nodding vigorously, her earlier clinical detachment replaced by fervent understanding. "Now I see it! The concept is brilliant! The **Agile Mountain** combines immovable weight with a river's fluidity. At the **Jingdao** level, it's just heavy and hard to pin down. But this… this is the real thing. He lacks the **Zhidow** to *create* the river, so he carries its essence. His awakened **Shidow** gives him absolute control over it. The water doesn't just protect him; it *is* his movement, his defense, his force. It takes his entire foundation to a new realm."
Lorel bit her lip, her knuckles white. Gen was trapped. Every mighty blow was rendered useless. Every move was countered by a flowing, unstoppable force. "He… he can't hurt him," she whispered.
Liang, seeing his friend being battered, cupped his hands around his mouth. "GEN! If you lose, who's getting the cure for Lolly?!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the technical awe.
On the arena, the words hit Gen like a physical blow. Another of Juxian's flowing, mountain-heavy fists sank into his stomach. Blood flooded his mouth, hot and metallic. He stumbled, his vision swimming. Yet, he forced his knees to lock. He stood, swaying but upright, wiping the blood from his chin with a trembling hand.
It wasn't just for him. Liang was right. It was for Lolly. For Uncle Black green wood that had trusted them. For the promise he'd made. He looked at Juxian, shimmering and invulnerable in his mantle of water, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, Gen truly felt it—the despair of facing something truly insurmountable. A mountain you couldn't climb because it was also the river that would drown you.
*Brute force won't work. Never has against something like this.* The thought was clear, born of pain and desperation. *His whole body is a flowing shield. A fist is too big, too blunt. If a mountain is too vast…*
Another blow, a flowing palm strike to the chest, lifted him and sent him skidding backwards. He tasted more blood.
Juxian didn't press. He stopped, gathering himself. The water around him swirled faster, concentrating around his right fist. The dense, earthy bronze of his **Jingdao** glowed at its core, amplified and guided by the swirling liquid. The very air tightened. He drew his fist back. "It's over," he stated.
The gathered energy rippled outwards, a visible wave of pressure that split the arena floor in a jagged line leading straight from his feet to where Gen struggled to rise.
Juxian shot forward. Not with a punch, but as the embodied culmination of his technique—the **River-Piercing Mountain**.
Duo Yi, watching the final, inevitable approach, shook her head slowly. A flicker of genuine disappointment crossed her features. "Against anyone else here, his chances would be significant. But against a natural counter to his entire strength-based style… it was sealed from the start."
"HE'LL WIN!"
The voice was Lorel's. It wasn't a shout, but a clear, firm declaration that rang across the stunned spectators. All eyes turned to her. Her face was flushed, but her twilight eyes were fixed on Gen. "He will win," she repeated, softer now, but with absolute certainty. "Because… look at his eyes."
Duo Yi followed her gaze, surprised by the sheer, blind faith in the other girl's voice. She looked at Gen, who was pushing himself up from his knees. And she saw it too. Not despair. Not rage. A fierce, blazing focus. And the ghost of a smile on his bloody lips. A smile that said he knew something they didn't. A strange pang, something sharp and unfamiliar, twinged in Duo Yi's chest. *Such trust…* she thought, the concept foreign and strangely alluring. *To have someone believe in you like that, without reason…*
On the arena, the two combatants became blurs of converging light—one a shimmering river of contained force, the other a bolt of desperate golden sun.
They met.
Juxian's **River-Piercing Mountain** fist, a confluence of crushing weight and guided, liquid power, landed squarely on Gen's chest.
At the same instant, Gen didn't throw a punch. He opened his fist. All the raging, defiant energy of his **Eternal Body**, all the power he usually dispersed in a wide-area blast, he focused down. He concentrated it not into his palm, but into the tip of his extended index finger. It was a negation of his own usual style—the ultimate reduction.
"**End of the World Finger**," he murmured, the words lost in the roar of collision.
His finger, shining with a point of light so intense it looked black, touched not Juxian's core, but the shimmering water-skin just above his wrist, an instant before the full, flowing force of Juxian's punch could fully transmit.
***BOOOOOOM.***
A sphere of silent, blinding white light consumed the center of the arena. Then sound and force exploded outward in a ring, hammering against the twin barriers, which flared brilliantly but held. The two figures were hurled apart like leaves in a typhoon.
Gen landed in a ragged heap near one edge, smoking, his clothes scorched, his finger blackened and bleeding.
Juxian landed on his feet at the opposite edge, skidding to a halt. The water sheath around him was gone, evaporated into a cloud of steam that hissed around him. His arm, where Gen's finger had touched, was bare, the skin red and blistered, the bronze glow flickering unsteadily. He stared at his arm, then at Gen, his calm finally shattered into pure, unvarnished shock.
The light faded. The arena was a ruined bowl of cracked and steaming stone.
Silence.
Both young men stood, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and damage, chests heaving. They looked at each other across the devastation.
There was no certainty. No victor's pose. Only the heavy, echoing aftermath of a clash that had defied every expectation, and the unresolved question hanging in the steam-filled air: who was left standing when the dust truly settled?