The girl’s grip was like a vice, her tears soaking Ji’an’s red silk.
Suddenly, a blur of golden light flashed past.
Gu Zhiwei, the Golden Retriever, appeared like a streak of lightning. His face was set in a mask of stern, heroic purpose. He hovered over the clinging girl, his hand moving with such speed that even the Sect Leader couldn’t have tracked the motion.
Yoink!
With a sneaky touch, Zhiwei snatched the girl’s Sovereign Token from her sash.
FLASH!
The girl vanished in a beam of white light, eliminated from the tournament, and Ji’an was suddenly standing with her pants securely tied.
Ji’an stared at Zhiwei, her eyes wide. "Did you just... did you just save my dignity by eliminating her?"
Zhiwei smiled, a bright, golden, completely innocent grin. "You looked distressed, Brother Lin. And honestly, she was ruining your movement speed. A true friend does not allow a brother to be pantsed."
Ji’an blinked. ’Wow, looks like my dirty tricks got smashed on him, too. The golden retriever has learned to play dirty,’ she thought, a surge of pride hitting her.
But there was no time to celebrate.
A cold, heavy pressure settled over the arena as the air began to vibrate with the hum of a thousand invisible blades.
Lu Jianheng, the Sword Lord, stepped out of the mist.
His face was a mask of cold, agonizing fury. He didn’t look at the crowd, at the tokens, as his eyes locked on Lin Ji’an.
"That’s enough of your games, Lin Ji’an," Jianheng whispered, his voice trembling with the crushing weight of his repressed jealousy and his martial honor. "Draw your weapon. I will not have my Dao heart shattered by a man who treats the arena like a kitchen."
He drew Autumn Shine.
The sword didn’t just gleam; it screamed.
A wave of blue, freezing sword-aura erupted from the blade, carving deep, jagged furrows into the indestructible jade floor of the arena.
Ji’an’s expression shifted.
The frantic, manic villain energy vanished, replaced by the calm, focused, razor-sharp concentration of a chef who had finally found a worthy ingredient.
She untied her spatula, letting it drop into her palm. She shifted her weight, the Szechuan Red silk settling against her fitted waist.
"Fair fight, then?" Ji’an asked, her voice dropping to a low register.
"The only fight," Jianheng replied.
He moved.
It wasn’t a sword strike. It was a teleportation of intent.
The Sword Lord vanished, reappearing directly in front of Ji’an, his blade descending in a high-velocity arc meant to cleave her through the shoulder.
CLANG!
Ji’an blocked it, not with the center of her spatula, but with the reinforced edge of the iron.
The sound wasn’t a clang; it was a thunderclap.
The two blades locked, sending a fountain of white-hot sparks showering across the arena floor. Jianheng’s eyes were glowing with a feral, blue light, his every muscle straining as he poured the entirety of his Golden Core Qi into the blade.
Ji’an stood her ground, her boots holding firm against the jade.
She was holding back.
She knew it.The Clash of the Sword Lord
Jianheng knew it.
Even as she blocked his ultimate strikes, even as she wove through the devastating geometry of his Autumn Moon techniques, she was modulating her force. She was playing with him, treating the duel not as a death match but as a sparring session meant to test his potential.
Jianheng felt the hesitation in her wrists. He felt the way she pulled her kinetic force at the very last microsecond of every collision.
It enraged him.
"DO NOT LOOK DOWN ON ME!" Jianheng roared, his voice cracking with humiliation.
He pulled back, his blade dancing in a flurry of invisible stabs, each one capable of piercing dragon-scale armor.
Clash-clash-clash-clash!
Ji’an moved with the fluidity of water, her spatula a blur of black iron, intercepting every single strike. She wasn’t just blocking; she was dictating the rhythm. She was forcing him into a pattern, a tempo, a choreography that mocked his martial genius.
The clash between them became a blur of blue and red, sparks raining down like a fireworks display. The disciples who had been fighting nearby all ceased their combat, backing away to the edges of the arena, held in a state of absolute awe.
Outside the realm, in the sect’s spectator stands, the silence was absolute.
The Sect Leaders of the foreign sects sat leaning forward, their faces drained of blood.
They saw the Sword Lord, the peerless genius of the Celestial Sword Sect, throwing everything he had, every technique, every ounce of his soul, into the fight.
And they saw the young boy in the red robes, standing with one hand tucked in his belt, parrying the Sword Lord’s ultimate techniques with a cast-iron kitchen tool while looking like he was bored out of his mind.
"Is... is he holding back?" the Sect Leader of the Crimson Blade whispered, his voice trembling. "Is the disciple truly holding back against the Young Sword Lord?"
"If he is holding back..." an Elder from the Azure Lotus Pavilion began, clutching her chest, "then what is the true magnitude of his Culinary Dao? Is he... is he a hidden Sovereign?"
Jiu Zui sat in the VIP box, nursing his ale, watching the spectacle with a mixture of immense pride and deep, deeply protective anxiety.
’That’s my girl,’ he thought, his chest swelling. ’Keep going, brat. Break his sword, but don’t break his spirit. If you actually unleash the full kinetic force of your wok, you’ll not only shatter his spine, you’ll tear a hole in the dimension.’
In the heart of the arena, the fight reached its crescendo.
Jianheng was panting, sweat dripping from his chin, his entire soul poured into a final, suicidal dash.
He lunged, his sword glowing with a blinding, white-hot intensity, aiming for a kill-shot that would force Ji’an to reveal her true power.
Ji’an sighed.
"Class is dismissed, Sword Lord."
She didn’t use kinetic force but used leverage.