For a heartbeat, the arena remained frozen in silence.
Pin Sujin stood at the very edge of the platform, chest expanding with a deep inhale. Dust drifted from his cracked gauntlets, settling slowly at his feet. His balance was steady—too steady. A man of his strength did not fall unless he chose to.
Then—
He laughed.
A deep, thunderous, joyous sound burst from his chest, echoing off the stone walls of the Great Tower like rolling boulders down a canyon.
"Hahahahaha!"
Spectators flinched. Zhao Sect disciples stiffened. Even some guards exchanged uneasy glances.
But Pin Sujin wasn't crazed.
He was thrilled.
"It's been decades!" he roared, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "Decades since someone forced me back even a single step!"
He clapped his massive hands together, grin splitting his face.
"You—Zhao Ming—are a prodigy of a kind I haven't seen in years!"
Zhao Ming, however, was not smiling.
His stance lowered instinctively. His palms trembled—not with fear, but with confusion and rising dread.
He should have fallen. How did he resist that?
Zhao Ming swallowed hard, a cold sweat trailing down his spine.
Lei Sheng's counter technique wasn't meant to be subtle. The force he had returned should have toppled any foundation below mid-tier masters.
So why…?
Pin Sujin walked forward from the edge, steps ground-shaking yet relaxed. He stopped a few paces from Zhao Ming, towering above him, but his smile had softened strangely.
"You're anxious," Pin Sujin said simply. "Wondering why I survived."
Zhao Ming tensed.
Pin Sujin pointed at his own chest.
"This body—" he tapped the stone-hard muscles, "—was trained for enduring calamity, not defeating opponents. If I could not withstand a single counterstrike, I would have died long before today."
Zhao Ming exhaled shakily.
Pin Sujin's grin widened again.
"But you pushed me farther than anyone in years. And that is enough."
He turned toward the edge of the arena.
Zhao Ming blinked.
"What are you—?"
Before he could finish, Pin Sujin bent his knees lightly, then—
Jumped.
Straight off the ledge.
The crowd gasped.
A guard blurred forward, catching him with a stabilizing technique before he could hit the lower platform. The Rock Palm landed safely, hands raised in surrender.
"I forfeit!" Pin Sujin called up, voice booming with satisfaction. "Let the young man climb."
Silence.
Then murmurs.
Then disbelief.
Even Zhao Ming stood speechless, hands half-raised, unsure whether to protest or bow or run.
Pin Sujin looked up at him.
"We who are old should not bar the path of true talent," he said. "My generation is ending. Yours is beginning."
He struck his chest proudly.
"And I refuse to be the old stone blocking the new fire."
Zhao Ming swallowed.
He knew Pin Sujin wasn't weak.
He wasn't losing.
He was choosing.
Choosing not to be an obstacle.
Zhao Ming bowed deeply—more deeply than he had bowed to anyone in years.
"Thank you."
Pin Sujin grinned like a man half his age.
"Go," he said. "Go up. The Cloud needs monsters like you."
Zhao Ming stepped away from the arena's center, mind still spinning, heart pounding with disbelief.
The judge finally raised his voice.
"Winner—Zhao Ming!"
The arena erupted.
Zhao Sect disciples stared in shock. Some in fury. Some in awe. And somewhere in the shadows of the stands, a pair of red, owl-like eyes narrowed with interest.
But Zhao Ming didn't notice.
He stood alone at the arena's edge, chest rising and falling slowly.
He had survived the mountain.
Not by force.
Not by luck.
But by growing into someone Pin Sujin deemed worthy.
And tomorrow—
he would face a storm even greater.