Watching the two youths squaring off upon the high platform, every eye present shifted over with keen interest. They were all eager to know — this boy who, after a lapse of three years, had once again wrought a miracle — whether his progress in the cultivation of Dou Techniques would prove just as terrifying.
In the seats of honor, Xiao Zhan frowned as he watched Xiao Ning ascend to challenge. His expression carried a hint of unease. Though Xiao Yan's Dou Qi had exceeded his wildest expectations, when it came to Dou Techniques, he had never once seen his son go to the Technique Hall to learn from the clan's dedicated technique masters.
For Dou Techniques differed from the preliminary training of Dou Qi. A low-grade Yellow technique could still be mastered through one's own fumbling. Yet certain medium- and high-grade Yellow techniques demanded the personal instruction of the clan's technique masters. And in all these years, Xiao Zhan had never heard a single one of the clan's technique masters say that Xiao Yan had ever come to them for training. Xiao Ning, by contrast, was a regular.
From all Xiao Zhan knew, Xiao Ning — who stood at the eighth grade of Dou Qi this year — had already mastered at least three medium-grade Yellow techniques, along with one high-grade Yellow technique. Such a battery of techniques was more than enough to make him hard to match even among foes of the same rank. In this contest, Xiao Yan seemed fated to be at a disadvantage.
"Heh, Patriarch Xiao, what say you — can young Master Xiao Yan win?" At Xiao Zhan's side, Ya Fei, her gaze riveted upon the field, asked with a light laugh.
Xiao Zhan slowly suppressed the anger that Xiao Ning had stirred within him, replying with a composed smile: "Xiao Yan is none too skilled in Dou Techniques, and he has only just stepped into the eighth grade of Dou Qi. To face a Xiao Ning who has trodden this level for a full year — I fear his odds of victory are not great."
"Oh, is that so?" A tantalizing gaze rippled with a subtle play of light, and Ya Fei batted her long, slender lashes. Her lovely eyes, faintly languid, rested upon the boy in black who stood at his ease upon the field. Her rosy lips suddenly parted, and a knowing smile stole across her beautiful, playful face: "For some reason, I find myself full of confidence in young Master Xiao Yan. I believe he is sure to claim the victory."
Xiao Zhan blinked, as if surprised at where such confidence in her could have come from, and shook his head with a chuckle: "Then let us hope, Lady Ya Fei, that your kind words prove true."
...
Gazing at Xiao Yan, who stood at ease before him, Xiao Ning sneered. His fists clenched slowly, and a faint Dou Qi began to course swiftly through his body, carrying with it a surge of formidable force.
After a brief stillness, Xiao Ning stamped his foot against the ground, and his form shot straight toward the Xiao Yan who stood but a step away. As he charged, Xiao Ning's palms curled slightly, the sharpened nails upon his ten fingers glinting with a wintry gleam.
When only half a meter separated them, Xiao Ning's form abruptly halted. His right claw carved a cunning arc in the air, lunging straight for Xiao Yan's throat: "Medium-grade Yellow technique — Claw-Split Strike!"
His face calm, Xiao Yan watched the hand claw hurtle toward him, unhurriedly raising his own palm. The slightly curling fingers snapped suddenly open, and a powerful surge of pushing force blasted outward...
Caught by that enormous, unforeseen force, Xiao Ning's face changed color. His body reeled as though struck by a heavy hammer, and it was only after retreating more than a dozen steps that he managed, in some disarray, to bring himself to a halt.
Up on the platform, Xiao Zhan's expression shifted slightly at the sight. At his side, though, Ya Fei only smiled a graceful smile, raising the white jade teacup before her and sipping lightly, her rosy lips parting with elegance.
"This little fellow truly does keep his abilities well hidden..." A winsome smile curling at the corners of her lips, Ya Fei murmured to herself.
"You—what- what technique is that?" Rubbing his chest, which still felt tight, Xiao Ning's face changed color as he demanded, blustering in his panic.
Xiao Yan cast him a faint glance, then lowered his eyes to study his own hand. This Blow-Flame Palm — however clumsy its name — the powerful surge of pushing force it produced truly suited Xiao Yan well.
Seeing that Xiao Yan paid him no heed, the skin on Xiao Ning's face quivered slightly. He gritted his teeth and, his anger mounting, once again hurtled toward Xiao Yan.
His outthrust palm did not close. Xiao Yan narrowed his eyes, watching the Xiao Ning who drew closer and closer, a cold curve slowly pulling at the corners of his lips.
Abruptly he clenched his spread right hand, and a fierce suction force shot out from the center of his palm: "Mysterious-grade technique — Suction Palm!"
Seeing Xiao Yan clench his hand once more, Xiao Ning instinctively dug his feet into the ground. Yet before the pushing force could arrive, a pulling force seized him and flung him violently forward.
His body traced an arc through the air, hurtling straight at Xiao Yan, who wore a nameless, faint smile upon his lips.
Though his form had been drawn up by the suction, the closer Xiao Ning drew to Xiao Yan, the more unable he was to keep the smile of joy from breaking across his face. His Dou Qi coalesced swiftly upon his fist.
"Iron Mountain Fist!" With a fierce shout, Xiao Ning's fist clenched with a snap, and a sharp, whistling force rang low through the air as it swung down toward Xiao Yan's shoulder. Judging by that stance, had it landed, Xiao Yan's arm would certainly have met with a grave wound. It seemed the boy had never once, from the very start, intended to pull his blows.
The Iron Mountain Fist was a high-grade Yellow technique of no small power, and one had to stand at least in the seventh grade of Dou Qi to warrant the right to practice it.
Eyes narrowed, feeling that sharp whistling force, Xiao Yan slowly let out his breath. The circuit by which his Dou Qi flowed shifted abruptly: "Mysterious-grade technique — Blow-Flame Palm!"
As the silent command fell, a wild surge of pushing force once again shot from the center of Xiao Yan's palm.
"Boom!" The air rippled faintly, and a formless backlash struck hard against the body of Xiao Ning, who had come hurtling over. Sandwiched between those two opposing forces, his face instantly drained to a bloodless white.
"Puh."
Of the two opposing forces, in the end it was the pushing force that won out. After a moment's standoff, Xiao Ning was sent by that force crashing down to the ground, skidding more than a dozen meters before, little by little, coming to a stop. And at the same moment, a mouthful of blood burst forth in a miserable spray.
Gazing at Xiao Ning, who lay sprawled and limp in the distance, then casting a glance over the momentarily hushed scene, Xiao Yan slowly lowered his hand and let out a soft breath: "You lost..."