He Yitian took a deep breath, sparing another glance at Fan Haori before him, and turned back to his original spot, proclaiming loudly, "Father, your son returns victorious."

He Quanxin roared with laughter. "Good, truly worthy of being my He family’s descendant."

While his praise was generous, his heart was utterly astonished. He knew precisely what Yitian’s true cultivation level was, so how had he improved so swiftly?

Furthermore, witnessing the previous clash of internal energy made his astonishment fluctuate wildly. Yitian’s stamina was incredibly prolonged; if he had been in the other’s place, locked in a prolonged exchange of internal energy held precisely at the Seventh Layer, he suspected he too would have been dragged to death by that seemingly endless reserve.

Of course, this was hardly the moment for questioning. He could only tuck his bewilderment away for later discussion.

He Yitian, however, knew the truth well. He cast a look of gratitude toward his sixth brother but paused, slightly stunned. His sixth brother stood there, his face carrying an expression of effortless calm, as if his spirit were wandering elsewhere. It was as if his consciousness was not tethered to his body; moreover, he couldn't even sense the living aura of He Yiming.

If his eyes hadn't confirmed the visual presence, he would have doubted anyone was standing there at all.

Suspicion tightening his chest, he hesitated, wondering if he should step forward to examine the situation closely. Just then, however, he detected movement behind him and his attention was instantly, involuntarily drawn away.

※※※※

A flash of movement, and Fan Shuhe appeared behind his son. He gently patted his son’s back, channeling a surge of potent internal energy across.

His father-son pair, like the He Quanxin father-son duo, shared a lineage.

Possessing the same Water-elemental cultivation technique gave them an undeniably unique advantage in healing.

However, Fan Haori suddenly wrenched himself away, looking into Fan Shuhe’s eyes, shaking his head slightly with a trace of shame on his face. "Father, I lost."

Fan Shuhe silently watched his son. The look of self-mocking sorrow etched onto his face weighed heavily on his heart.

He knew that while his son appeared outwardly charming and adaptable—even humbling himself before Lü Xinwen—deep down, he possessed immense pride. Losing today to someone his own age was undoubtedly a tremendous blow.

In that moment, he clearly saw the flicker of dejection and confusion in Fan Haori's eyes.

He knew even better that if Fan Haori could not see through this defeat, progress for him from this day forward would likely be impossible.

The thought struck him like a needle, piercing his heart.

Fan Shuhe’s expression gradually smoothed out, resembling someone who had suddenly steeled their resolve after facing an intractable dilemma.

Patting his son’s shoulder, Fan Shuhe’s heart suddenly filled with an unprecedented surge of boldness. "It's fine. I will stand up for you."

Fan Haori started in surprise as Fan Shuhe strode forward.

In that moment, his father's silhouette appeared so solid and dependable!

Every step Fan Shuhe took was grounded like a mountain, as if a colossal boulder were shifting; his demeanor was one of ultimate stability.

The gazes of Yuan Zeyu and the others sharpened, all feeling a sense of awe mixed with dread.

It was common knowledge that Fan Shuhe was a master of the Tenth Layer of Water-elemental internal energy. Yet, this Tenth-Layer master displayed steps so weighty, completely devoid of the usual light, ethereal quality associated with Water techniques.

However, the more pronounced this strength became, the more grave and uneasy the onlookers felt.

What did it signify when a master of the Water element could manifest such incredible power?

He Yiming’s eyes seemed to shift slightly. He sensed an immeasurable fighting will, a complete mobilization of one’s aura with absolutely no reservation—the essence of true battle intent.

In his short sixteen years, he had witnessed experts as numerous as carp crossing a river, including not only Houtian masters but also Xiantian powerhouses.

Yet, from none of them had he ever felt such an intense degree of fighting will.

A common man, enraged, spills blood five steps from his door.

He Yiming inexplicably felt a terrifying sensation.

He suddenly understood: this was a true master stepping onto the stage of battle with the mindset of forsaking his own life, approaching the contest with a devout reverence.

"Brother He, your son possesses remarkable skill; I, Fan, admire it. However, it seems it is now time for you and I to face each other."

Fan Shuhe smiled faintly, his expression placid, as if discussing a trivial matter.

The smile on He Quanxin’s face vanished completely. He clearly perceived the intense aura of danger emanating from the man. But at this juncture, retreating was not an option.

"If Brother Fan wishes to test my methods, then I, He, dare not refuse."

The supporters of both sides fell silent. As He Quanxin stepped forward, the people from both factions tensed involuntarily.

In the minds of most present, He Quanxin and Fan Shuhe represented the final trump cards for their respective families today.

Once the victor between them was decided, the day’s contention would effectively be over, and the ownership of Yuan Manor rested entirely upon this single battle.

When Fan Haori challenged He Yitian, everyone expected a prolonged spectacle. But unexpectedly, as soon as the fight between the two juniors concluded, Fan Shuhe was instantly eager to step forward and issue his challenge.

The ultimate showdown had arrived so quickly, so abruptly, that most people felt caught entirely off guard.

He Quanxin was just about to step out when he heard He Yiming say, "Eldest Uncle, wait."

Everyone was momentarily startled, turning to look at him, wondering what he intended to do.

He Yiming stepped forward a few paces, turned, and obscured the sightline of the onlookers. Then, he extended both hands, moving them with a blur of motion too fast for the naked eye to follow.

Having practiced the Mark Imprinting technique, his hands were incredibly agile. This flurry of movement displayed his full capacity—it was lightning-fast, leaving only a smear of afterimages, and then, nothing traceable remained.

Then, he said quietly, "Eldest Uncle, please be careful."

With that, He Yiming returned to his position, once again sinking into that state where his entire consciousness was honed down to a single point.

He Quanxin’s face looked exceedingly strange. He clenched his fists, then slowly relaxed them, rubbing them together as if experiencing some physical discomfort. However, he did not linger, instead lifting his head high and entering the center of the dueling ground.

Yuan Zeyu and his son exchanged a look, their eyes filled with deep concern.

They had no idea what strange notion had possessed He Yiming to stage such a farce at this critical juncture. Judging by He Quanxin’s expression and demeanor, he did not appear to be in peak condition. Taking the field now, the outlook was likely not overly optimistic.

"Please."

As He Quanxin clasped his hands in salute and spoke the word "Please," Fan Shuhe attacked.

The distance between them was nearly identical to that between He Yitian and Fan Haori just before they clashed. This was the standard, universal distance for a formal engagement.

Fan Shuhe slightly raised his palm, his heels lifting gently from the ground. He pushed off with his feet and instantly slid forward.

His movement was exactly like Fan Haori's initial advance, with the only difference being that his speed was quicker, more fluid, and infinitely smoother.

The transition from the placid water of an ancient well to the versatile, flowing torrent of a great river gave everyone a deeply contradictory feeling, as if Fan Shuhe were two different people, or perhaps two different fighters entirely.

He Quanxin showed no sign of relaxing. His reaction mirrored He Yitian’s exactly: he raised one palm, leaving it seemingly suspended there, quietly awaiting the impending impact.

With a sudden, dull impact, their palms collided instantly, and the powerful internal energies erupted with unparalleled force. Invisible ripples of internal energy burst forth from beneath their feet, and the ground itself cracked slightly under the hard collision of two Tenth-Layer experts.

He Quanxin’s figure remained like bedrock, enduring the onslaught of this mighty surge. After a slight tremor, he stabilized firmly.

Fan Shuhe, however, recoiled violently, taking a single step back.

Although his Water-elemental technique was formidable, his internal energy cultivation level was only roughly equal to He Quanxin’s. Due to the counter in their techniques, he was inevitably at a slight disadvantage.

Yet, Fan Shuhe’s backward step only saw his heel touch the ground before he charged forward again. This time, however, he thrust out his fingers, held together like a blade. A faint, crystalline gleam shimmered on his protruding middle finger, like a solitary drop of water reflecting sunlight from above.

He Quanxin met the attack with his unchanging defense, once again raising his palm to lightly brush against the tip of Fan Shuhe’s fingers.

Suddenly, He Quanxin’s expression shifted slightly, for he detected a strange power. This energy appeared soft as cotton, seemingly weak. But it possessed an unrelenting tenacity, an aura that suggested it could penetrate anything it encountered.

A chill crept up He Quanxin’s heart. Why did this sensation so closely resemble the characteristics of a Metal-elemental technique? Yet, as their internal energies connected, he clearly understood that Fan Shuhe was still employing Water-elemental energy; there was no change.

Fan Shuhe retreated half a step, then advanced half a step. Each retreat and advance was followed by a thrust with his finger-blade, as if that constituted his entire repertoire.

But faced with this simple, almost sleep-inducing pattern of attack, He Quanxin’s expression became intensely grim. He slightly bent his knees, steadfastly parrying every incoming blow. But that was the extent of it; he hadn't managed to land a single offensive strike, not even a token punch.

Under this not-so-fast series of attacks, He Quanxin seemed rendered utterly incapable of fighting back.

He Yiming’s eyebrows twitched slightly. He had now focused all his mental energy and true qi. This state of intense concentration elevated his sensory perception far beyond its usual level.

In his perception, Fan Shuhe was no longer the surging current of a mighty river, but rather the tiny droplets of water slowly falling from a cliff face.

Such tiny drops, though inconspicuous, possessed power that absolutely could not be underestimated.

The flow of a great river, while overwhelming and capable of flooding a thousand miles in an instant, eventually recedes. The mountains remain mountains, and the land remains the same; it cannot utterly destroy the earth beneath.

But the small drops falling from a height were different. They might never reach the water level required to submerge a massive stone, but their persistent effort could achieve a new miracle: the drip piercing the stone.

When the dripping reaches an infinite count, when it falls onto the same spot on a hard stone year after year, even the toughest stone will eventually bear a small hole, perforated by this seemingly powerless little drop of water.

Fan Shuhe, at this moment, was intensely compressing his internal energy within his body, releasing it drop by agonizing drop, aiming to puncture the great stone before him.

However, this battle technique—forcefully compressing internal energy—was inevitably bound to inflict some degree of strain and damage upon the body. Doing it for a short time was fine, but maintaining it for long periods would exhaust even an iron-willed man.

Yet, simultaneously, this self-endangering fighting style possessed an unimaginable degree of power.

Even allowing for the advantage of technique counter-selection, Fan Shuhe clearly held the decisive upper hand.

This was apparent not only to He Yiming; anyone present whose internal energy cultivation had reached the Seventh Layer should have been able to see it.

The confusion and gloom in Fan Haori’s eyes completely vanished, replaced now by excitement and shame.

Suddenly, he understood the meaning behind his father’s earlier words.

He knew his father was staking their very lives on winning this exchange.

He was announcing to everyone, in this manner: my son was struck, so I, the father, will take up the cause, even risking my life to do so.

A crystalline gleam flashed in Fan Haori’s eyes. His fists clenched unconsciously, his heart surging with emotion. He desperately wished he could step onto the field and take his father’s place.

The negative impact of the humiliation from his earlier defeat had utterly dissipated. He felt the surge of powerful internal energy rising within him, even gaining a strange conviction that given a little more time to cultivate, he could surely break through the barrier of the Seventh Layer and reach the Eighth.

On the field, He Quanxin finally could not endure any longer. His feet stumbled, and he was forced to take a step back.

The dripping pierces the stone—when the water’s power accumulates to its extreme, it too becomes unstoppable.

Fan Shuhe’s eyes lit up, sharp sparks flashing within them. The subtle, burning pain in his internal meridians seemed to cease affecting him completely at that moment.

He let out a long cry, and his previously steady posture began to rotate rapidly, surging forward wave after wave, like the rushing of a river.

If a great stone stands firm, the water cannot sweep it away. But if its foundation is loosened, a single powerful wave is enough to send the stone floating downstream.

Having staked his life as the wager, Fan Shuhe had finally won.

His fists flowed, and his entire being instantly transformed into towering, crashing waves, flooding toward He Quanxin, intent on drowning him completely.

He Quanxin lost his footing and knew immediately that things were ill-favored. But at this juncture, there was nothing he could do; he could only resist this tempestuous assault with all his might.

In a contest between masters, once one slips into a disadvantage, recovering that lost ground is invariably close to impossible.

Watching the double palms flutter around him like butterflies, He Quanxin finally felt the onset of true exhaustion.

Despite his profound unwillingness and deep regret, he let out a long sigh, finally straightening both arms and launching them outward like iron whips.

The faces of Yuan Zeyu and his son changed instantly. Though He Quanxin was at a disadvantage, given the powerful defensive nature of the Earth element technique, maintaining a purely defensive stance might have offered a sliver of hope.

But now, at this crucial moment, he chose to attack proactively.

Was this not tantamount to seeking his own demise?

A flash of ferocity crossed Fan Shuhe’s eyes. His palms pressed forward, seemingly boneless. He was absolutely certain that if he could deflect the force coming from this arm, he could exploit the resulting momentary opening to injure his opponent, or even follow up with a continuous assault until he killed him on the spot.

His hands were raised, one inside, one outside, murderous intent fully revealed, a powerful and sharp killing aura stabbing directly at the heart.

He Yitian’s eyes turned entirely crimson; he had clearly perceived the naked murderous intent radiating from Fan Shuhe.

In that instant, the two Tenth-Layer masters stood at the precipice where life and death would be decided.

However, the moment Fan Shuhe’s palms made contact with He Quanxin’s arm, his face changed drastically, and sheer horror flooded his eyes.

From He Quanxin’s arm came a surging, magnificent force.

It was a power so immense, so far beyond what he had imagined.

At this moment, he even doubted whether a peak Tenth-Layer expert of the Metal element could unleash such profound strength.

The stinging pain in his meridians intensified, but he could no longer afford to care. All his internal energy poured out like a tide, desperately trying to block this sweeping arm before him.

Block, block—unable to stop...

That arm, carrying incomparable force, burst through Fan Shuhe’s blocking palms and slammed heavily into his chest.

Fan Shuhe’s body lifted as if he had wings, flipping over in a wide arc in mid-air before falling limply.

Fan Haori moved like lightning. Ignoring his own injuries, he lunged forward and caught his father securely in his arms.

Fan Shuhe’s eyes stared wide open at He Quanxin.

At that moment, the clothing on He Quanxin’s arm was completely shredded, revealing a dazzling, golden-glowing protective vambrace from the elbow down.

A look of dawning realization crossed Fan Shuhe’s eyes. His lips trembled twice, and finally, a trickle of blood escaped. He let out a long breath, and then, all signs of life vanished.

P.S.: I’ve hidden it long enough; it’s time for the reveal. Tomorrow marks the true battle of the Xiantian realm.

Heh heh...

My apologies to everyone for making you wait so long!