"Hmph. He brought it on himself—defied my Tang family and paid the price." Tang Xiangui sneered, his contempt so naked it cut. Chen Changqing's grief boiled over; tears blurred his sight and fury pushed him to lunge for the stage.
"Give me back my Xiao'er! I'll avenge him!"
"Yue'er, don't spill blood on a joyous day," Old Master Yang warned, but the warning barely left his lips before a black blur surged forward—Liu Yue, one of the Yang family's ranked fighters, a hulking man wearing the SS-rank talent Stag Beetle Armor. He moved like a battering ram.
"Someone's attacking at the wedding!" murmurs ran through the crowd. The caged gift-man's plea had ignited more than pity.
Liu Yue's armored fist rocketed toward Chen Changqing—but five meters out, time seemed to freeze. A pale palm hovered in the air, small and impossibly still; its grasp arrested the attack as if grasping the moment itself. The owner of the hand? The Little Monk.
Gasps broke out. Who was this child who dared stop a Yang family powerhouse mid-strike? The Little Monk's palm glowed faintly; his calm was an insult to the chaos around him.
Liu Yue snarled, summoning jagged black fangs along his gauntlet and launched a brutal assault. The strike came down like a boulder, yet it only shoved the Little Monk back half a pace. Then, with an almost serene motion, the monk answered with a Rising Dragon Fist—Shaolin soft power turned lethal—and sent Liu Yue tumbling.
Before Liu Yue could recover, Li Yunqi's hand fell on his shoulder. "Let me handle this," the young Li said, blue light eddying around him. From the shadows a hooded figure loomed: Cyclops, ranked tenth in the capital, his SSS-rank Black Chicken Strength radiating savage intent. Together, they were the Yang family's chosen hammer.
"Resolve this quickly—don't spoil the auspicious time!" the elders ordered. The stage became an arena in an instant.
Yet reinforcements answered the challenge. A mountain of a man arrived, planted himself beside the Little Monk and simply refused to be moved. Dashan. The Little Monk dusted his robes as though nothing extraordinary had occurred; by his side, Dashan's presence alone was a rebuttal to the top families.
Zhang Yinbai—unshaven, still blood-marked from his earlier test—was told to act. He and Li Yunqi, Cyclops and Liu Yue surged forward with terrifying coordination. The four advanced like a tidal wall.
Green light flared in response. Jiang YunHan stepped up, slow and composed, and channeled a fierce, steady power—his Black Turtle Vitality now evolved and honed. A turtle-like shell of force bloomed, protecting the Little Monk and Dashan. His SSS gift had taken a qualitative leap, and he had come to the capital confident.
"Who dares act so wildly here?" Old Master Yang bellowed, furious that his wedding might descend into open conflict. From behind him, he signaled, and a half dozen ranked experts peeled off and lunged forward to shore up the family's prestige.
Tang Shirou watched, tears trembling on her lashes, understanding at last why her friends had come. Jiang ChuXue forced herself onto the stage despite the danger, standing by Tang Shirou with open, bittersweet resolve.
"Are you all friends of Xiao'er?" Chen Changqing asked, voice ragged hope. His eyes met each of theirs. Jiang YunHan answered with quiet steel: "Uncle Chen, we're his friends. We'll get you out today."
The Yang family retaliated with speed and force. Zhang Yinbai called the opening—his strike aimed at the Little Monk. But mid-flight, green light enveloped him as Jiang YunHan stepped into the fray. SSS vs SSS: Black Turtle Vitality met Vitality. Magic and life force collided, and the stage trembled. Winds tore tables into the air; the hall seemed to hold its breath.
The two titans traded blows. Zhang Yinbai's body spasmed as the opponent's power invaded him; his bones groaned, wounds opening and closing under Vitality's restorational surge. Jiang YunHan was thrown back, spitting blood, but his turtle-like resilience flared green and he surged anew. Neither yielded easily—both built to recover, to wear down a foe in a war of attrition.
The Little Monk and Dashan, while outnumbered in the initial moments, were not doom-bound. The fight had shifted from a quick slaughter to a drawn brawl—green lights flashing across wounded bodies signaled that these combatants could heal and keep fighting. The crowd below, that had come for spectacle, now watched a different drama: a challenge between the capital's top houses and insurgent strength from the provinces.
"Is this a challenge to the top three families?" a voice muttered. For the onlookers, it was theater; for the powerful, it was a test. Li Yunqi and Zhang Yinbai wore the strain; even they could see the cost in every exchanged hit.
Old Master Yang glanced sideways, awkward and alarmed by the escalation. With a weary sigh he called, "Officer Yuan… Taixuan—take action."
A presence answered him. From behind the Yang family's ranks stepped a single figure in cyan robes, a sword at his hip—Li Taixuan. The air seemed to thin as he advanced; his gaze was flat and absolute, as if carved from steel. Ranked first in the Capital Combat Power Rankings, a military-enhanced champion, a direct descendant of Kunlun—Li Taixuan.
Where Li Taixuan walked, authority followed. Li Yunqi and Zhang Yinbai's faces shifted from confidence to something harder—respect mixed with the flicker of fear. The balance of power had just tilted again, and every heartbeat in the hall counted.