I'll make you the furnace and the cauldron, so you can refine Yin and Yang and prove the Great

As the morning light shone brightly, the noise in the square gradually subsided, and everyone's attention was focused on the arena that had been reinforced by an array.

The two figures stood thousands of feet apart, facing each other from afar. Wang Hao stood with his hands behind his back, his moon-white robe fluttering gently in the breeze of spiritual energy, his nonchalant smile never fading. He scrutinized Li Hanshan, his gaze carrying both a scrutinizing quality and a condescending composure.

"Seventh level of Nascent Soul, your foundation is indeed well-tempered." He spoke, his tone as if he were commenting on a reasonably pleasing object. "However—there is something in this world called talent. Some people cultivate their whole lives and still can't cross that threshold, while others are born standing at the finish line of others." He tilted his head. "Unfortunately, I am the latter."

Li Hanshan did not respond, but quietly pushed his Pure Yang Meridian to its limit. Purple and golden spiritual light slowly emerged around him, forming a thin halo, like the rising sun.

He could sense that the spiritual energy within Wang Hao's body was operating in an extremely special way—the trajectory of that spiritual energy was different from any other cultivator he had ever seen, carrying a near-perfect sense of harmony, as if guided by some unseen river, endlessly and without ceasing.

"Divine Body," Li Hanshan murmured to himself. This was the special physique Ye Shuanghua had mentioned, the foundation for being able to fight beyond one's level and crush opponents of the same level.

Wang Hao didn't give him any more time to observe. The moon-white figure vanished abruptly on the arena, leaving only a slowly dissipating afterimage. Li Hanshan's divine sense locked onto his location almost instantly—forty-five degrees to the left, a hundred feet away, at an astonishing speed.

He turned to the side, and a golden palm print swept past the spot where he had just stood, the force of the palm leaving a long white mark on the array patterns on the arena surface. The power of that palm print far exceeded that of an ordinary peak Nascent Soul cultivator's attack; the spiritual energy it contained was as pure as metal that had been repeatedly tempered hundreds of times, carrying a savage and unreasonable destructive force.

"Not bad." Wang Hao's voice came from the side. His figure appeared like a ghost a few feet to Li Hanshan's left, and he had already struck out with his second palm. "And what about this one?"

This palm strike was even faster than before, splitting into three in mid-air and simultaneously blocking Li Hanshan's retreat from three directions. Pure Yang energy surged around Li Hanshan, and a thick, purplish-gold flame condensed in front of him, blocking all three palm strikes. Three deep cracks appeared on the surface of the fire shield, sparks flying everywhere. He was forced back several steps by the impact, the stone slab beneath his feet shattering, and the array patterns on the arena surface flickering wildly.

"Seventy percent of your strength." Wang Hao's voice rang out again. This time, he was already directly above Li Hanshan, striking out with a palm from above. "Eighty percent."

The moment the palm struck, Li Hanshan felt an unprecedented sense of oppression. It was a power that a peak Nascent Soul cultivator shouldn't possess—purer and more solid than Wu Qingfeng's half-step Divine Transformation stage, carrying a heavy force that seemed capable of crushing everything. He pushed his Pure Yang Meridian to its limit, the surface of his Divine Infant blazed with golden light, and a flaming longsword condensed in his hand, which he then slashed out to meet the palm print.

Boom! The sword energy and the palm print collided in the center of the arena, exploding into a blinding light. Li Hanshan's knees buckled slightly from the force, the stone slab beneath his feet shattered completely, and he was as if nailed to the arena, unable to move an inch for a moment.

"Ninety percent." Wang Hao's voice rang out unhurriedly, as if uttering a number that pleased him. The third palm strike followed immediately, faster and more powerful. Li Hanshan gritted his teeth, his pure Yang fire burning wildly within him. He unleashed three consecutive strikes with his flaming sword, weakening the palm strike layer by layer as it approached, yet he was still forced back several feet by the final aftershock. His arms trembled slightly, and a burning pain shot through his tiger's mouth.

A collective gasp filled the square. "Wang Hao is too strong... that old man can't hold on at all!" "He forced him to the edge of the ring with just three palm strikes, the difference in strength is too obvious." "It's over, that old man isn't going to make it."

Ye Shuanghua stood on the edge of the platform, her fingers unconsciously clenching her sleeves.

She saw that although Li Hanshan's flames were still burning, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that his spiritual energy was being consumed at a much faster rate than Wang Hao's. Wang Hao's moves were like flowing water, continuous and relentless, each strike heavier and more stable than the last, as if there was no end in sight. Meanwhile, every time Li Hanshan defended, it only accelerated the loss of his spiritual energy, like continuously pumping water from a dried-up riverbed.

Chen Jie finally laughed out loud. He stood with his hands behind his back at the edge of the platform, turned to a disciple beside him and whispered, "See? That's the difference. No matter how lucky that old man is, he's powerless against a true genius. Wang Hao hasn't even used his full strength yet."

Wang Hao stood in the center of the arena, looking down at Li Hanshan. His breathing remained steady, and there wasn't even a trace of sweat on his forehead; those few blows just now seemed like a mere warm-up for him. "Is that all you've got? This old man from the Northern Wilderness branch sect, so this is all you've got." His tone was filled with undisguised disappointment. "I thought I could play a little longer."

He raised his hand, his fingers slightly spread, and a golden light, brighter than any of his previous strikes, gathered in his palm. The light, like sunlight compressed to its extreme, radiated a chilling heat and sharpness. "The final strike," he said. "After this strike, you can leave."

Li Hanshan stood at the edge of the arena, neither answering nor retreating. His gaze fell on the golden light that was taking shape, and he could clearly feel that the power contained within it far exceeded that before. He finally confirmed one thing—although Wang Hao's total spiritual power was suppressed to the peak of the Nascent Soul stage, the quality of his spiritual power was indeed far superior to that of others of the same level. The unique sense of harmony of that "divine body" made every move he made have a near-perfect trajectory.

To defeat him, you can't rely on attrition. You have to win with a single decisive blow.

Li Hanshan took a deep breath, compressing the flames within his Pure Yang Meridian to their absolute limit. Without dodging or avoiding, he faced the gathering golden light and fiercely unleashed the Divine Soul Sword, which had been tempered deep within his sea of ​​consciousness.

The golden sword shadow silently pierced through Wang Hao's protective aura and precisely penetrated his sea of ​​consciousness. At the same time, the wisp of ancient sword intent he had comprehended from his dream was condensed on the edge of the sword of his soul, and with a sharpness that even he himself found unfamiliar, it slashed fiercely at the barrier of Wang Hao's sea of ​​consciousness.

Wang Hao's movements were interrupted for an extremely brief moment. His body stiffened slightly, and the golden light in his palm trembled in mid-air as if a broken fuse had been snapped. Although the interruption was so brief that most of the spectating disciples didn't even notice it, Li Hanshan's divine sense detected it. That gap of less than a breath was his opportunity.

Li Hanshan moved. Pure Yang fire exploded beneath his feet, and his figure flashed across the arena like a purple-gold lightning bolt. His flaming longsword condensed in the air into an unprecedentedly dazzling sword light, carrying the dual sharpness of pure Yang energy and a wisp of ancient sword intent, and slashed fiercely towards Wang Hao's chest.

Wang Hao regained consciousness at the last moment and tried to dodge, but it was too late.

The sword light struck his protective aura with pinpoint accuracy, cleaving the golden shield in two like a blade cutting through water, leaving a shallow bloodstain on his chest. Although the injury wasn't serious, the impact sent him flying off the stage and crashing down.

"Divine sense at the Nascent Soul stage!"

Wang Hao spat out a mouthful of blood. He looked down at the bloodstain seeping from his chest, and the lazy smile on his face vanished completely, replaced by an unexpected look of astonishment.

Li Hanshan stood in the center of the arena, the flaming longsword in his hand slowly dissipating. His aura had deteriorated to its lowest point, but his gaze remained as steady as ever. He spoke, his voice hoarse yet clear: "You flatter me, Senior Brother Wang."

A deathly silence fell over the square. A moment later, like water being poured into a boiling pot of oil, an uproar erupted. "Wang Hao has been wounded! He's actually injured!" "That old man's sword strike… I didn't even see it!" "A seventh-level Nascent Soul cultivator wounded Wang Hao? How is that possible?!"

Wang Hao clutched the bloodstain on his chest, remaining silent for a long time. He raised his eyes to look at Li Hanshan, and for the first time, a genuine seriousness appeared in those eyes that had previously held arrogance.

"Interesting." He spoke slowly, his voice devoid of its previous mockery and languor, replaced by the excitement of a hunter encountering true prey. "You do have some skill. It seems I underestimated you—in that case, then—"

Just as he was about to reactivate his cultivation technique, the array on the arena suddenly emitted a rapid buzzing sound. A silver-white light descended from the sky and landed in the center of the arena. Ye Shuanghua's figure appeared between the two, her Jinghong Sword already drawn three inches from its sheath. Her sword intent acted as an invisible barrier, isolating the spiritual energy fluctuations between the two.

"Enough." Ye Shuanghua's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly drowned out the noise in the square. "Wang Hao, according to the competition rules, you were knocked off the stage by Li Hanshan and injured by him. This battle is already decided."

Wang Hao's expression changed slightly. He stared at Ye Shuanghua for a few moments, then glanced at Li Hanshan, a faint smile slowly appearing on his lips.

He withdrew the spiritual energy that had not yet fully coalesced and took a half step back: "Since Senior Sister Ye has spoken, we should give her this face."

He turned and walked off the stage, his steps regaining their usual composure. Only when he reached the edge of the stage did he slightly tilt his head. "Li Hanshan, right? I'll remember you. Next time we meet, I won't hold back."

Li Hanshan stood there, watching the moon-white figure disappear into the crowd, and his tense body finally relaxed.

He felt a sharp emptiness deep within his meridians, as if all his spiritual energy had been drained by that sword strike. But his gaze remained calm, showing no trace of pride despite the hard-won victory.

The discussions in the square continued, even more heated than before. Those who had initially thought Li Hanshan was doomed exchanged bewildered glances, while those who had secretly bet on Wang Hao turned ashen-faced. Chang Sheng's mouth hung open, as if something was choking him, unable to utter a single word. Chen Jie stood at the edge of the platform, his smile completely frozen.