In a dark, towering fortress nestled between cloud-shrouded peaks, the Obsidian Moon Sect loomed like a silent omen. Within its heart, past twisting corridors and echoing halls, stood a grand chamber. A massive map of the Murim world covered the far wall, inked with the shifting territories of sects, strongholds, and sacred grounds.
Before the map stood a tall, imposing figure clad in obsidian robes with silver linings—Lord Wei Long, the master of the Obsidian Moon Sect. His eyes, cold and unreadable, fixated on a silver marker placed at the edge of a small, overlooked region.
From the shadows behind him, a cloaked man stepped forward and knelt low.
"My lord," the man said, voice low and urgent, "it appears someone possesses a… double chi core."
Wei Long didn't flinch. He didn't even turn. "Are you sure," he said slowly, "you're not losing your mind to delusions?"
"No, my lord. I saw it with my own eyes."
In a blink, the master vanished—and in the next breath, he reappeared behind the kneeling man. A dark, ethereal scythe manifested in his hand, its blade humming with silent menace as it pressed against the man's neck.
"If this information is false," Wei Long whispered, voice calm yet terrifying, "you will be the first to vanish from these halls."
The man did not tremble. "Understood, my lord."
Meanwhile, at the Shaolin Sect's encampment, cheers roared in celebration of Sun Shi's second-round victory. Disciples surrounded him with awe, some clapping his back, others offering water or words of praise. Even the stern instructors couldn't help but grin.
The sect chief, an elderly man with a long, white beard and kind yet tired eyes, approached with a warm smile.
"Congratulations, young one," he said.
But Sun Shi merely shook his head. "It's too early to celebrate."
The chief raised a brow. "Making it to the final round is already a miracle for us."
Sun Shi looked toward the distant sky, where clouds shifted like flowing silk. "If we want to rise… to truly rise… this is far from enough."
"I see," the chief said softly. "Well, take a rest. You've earned it."
That night, beneath the silver moonlight, Sun Shi wandered to the edge of a quiet pond. The water reflected the stars, undisturbed and serene. As he stood, lost in thought, he noticed a figure nearby—Lan Mei, her presence as silent and graceful as a falling petal.
"You're my next opponent, right?" he asked, stepping closer.
Lan Mei didn't turn. "There are no other finalists. Are there?"
"Right, right…" Sun Shi chuckled awkwardly. What a cold response.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "So uh… good fighting earlier. That Lotus Style is something else."
She didn't reply.
After a pause, she finally said, "Who are you?"
"Sun Shi of the Shaolin Sect—"
"That style you used today," she interrupted, eyes narrowing, "was the Drunken Step of the Mistvale Sect, and the second was Tai Chi of the Southern White Heron Sect. Those are sacred forms. Only taught to inner disciples. How do you know them?"
Sun Shi hesitated. "It's… complicated."
Lan Mei sighed, her voice as cold as her demeanor. "No matter how many styles you know, it won't help. You won't defeat me. You should give up."
Sun Shi stared at her, lips twitching into a smirk. "Wow, very arrogant."
"It's the truth."
He leaned back, hands behind his head. "Maybe. But if I give up now, I've already lost. If I face you—even if I lose—I still stood. And if I win… then I'll prove even your truth can be wrong."
Lan Mei's eyes widened for the briefest second.
The next day, the air vibrated with excitement. Thousands gathered as banners of every sect waved in the wind.
"The Final Round Begins!" the announcer's voice echoed.
From opposite ends of the ring, Lan Mei of the Falling Lotus Sect and Sun Shi of the Shaolin Sect stepped forward.
"Begin!"
Lan Mei vanished from sight. Sun Shi barely dodged as her palm sliced past his face like a gust of wind. She struck again and again—each movement graceful yet ruthless.
So fast! Sun Shi thought, narrowly avoiding another strike.
Then came her voice: "Third Petal: Raining Lotus!"
She darted forward, a blur. Sun Shi moved to counter, but she left behind an afterimage—appearing behind him in an instant. She grabbed for a pin—
—but Sun Shi twisted midair and unleashed a sharp Yaw Yan strike, his shin slamming into her ribs.
Lan Mei winced and backed off. "What kind of style is that?"
Sun Shi grinned. "Secrettt."
Her expression darkened. "I see… I've been too gentle."
She lifted her hand. Frost gathered.
"Sixth Petal: Snow Lotus!"
Her palm shimmered with a brilliant blue aura, and as she struck, a wave of cold exploded. The impact sent Sun Shi skidding backward, clutching his side. The arena gasped.
"I guess this is your end," Lan Mei said.
Sun Shi stood, trembling—but smiling.
"I… refuse… to LOSE!"
He dropped into a deep stance—Yaw Yan's Dance of Death.
"Malefic Force!"
With a surge of focus, he channeled Yin energy into his left hand—launching it toward Lan Mei. She froze, immobilized by its spiritual binding.
Then with his right hand, he surged forward—mixing Yang into the flow.
"Dance of Death: Malefic Force!!"
A brilliant burst of yin and yang energy erupted as the two forces met at Lan Mei's core—binding her in perfect harmony before exploding into a shockwave that cracked the stage beneath them.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Lan Mei collapsed, unconscious.
"S-Sun Shi of the Shaolin Sect…" the announcer stammered, "W-WINS!"
Across the crowd, chaos erupted. The Shaolin Sect roared with joy. In contrast, the Falling Lotus Sect's chief stood trembling, face tight with rage, before turning and storming out of the arena.
Sun Shi, bruised and battered, stood alone in the center of the ring—breathing hard, but victorious.
In the shadows far away, Lord Wei Long watched from a scrying mirror, expression unreadable.
"…A double chi core… and mastery of lost arts," he murmured. "This boy will be a problem."