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

Amidst the intense scrutiny of the world.

On the arena, Zhao Shoudao remained silent. He raised his right hand, fingers slightly spread, palm down, and pressed it lightly against the surface of the arena. Li Hanshan witnessed a strange sight—the smooth blue stone slab beneath his feet began to ripple, like water with pebbles thrown in. Then, the patterns on the stone slab's surface, like crumpled paper, began to twist, deform, and bulge. Countless tiny fragments of stone rose from the cracks in the slab, suspended in mid-air, like clay being crushed and reshaped by invisible fingers, gradually coalescing into enormous gray stones, densely packed around Zhao Shoudao, numbering at least a thousand.

Zhao Shoudao flicked his wrist. Thousands of gray stones simultaneously lit up with an earthy yellow light, like a sea of ​​stars ignited, then transformed into a dense rain of stones, pouring towards Li Hanshan. The speed of those stones far exceeded the limits of the naked eye; each one was imbued with the pure spiritual power unique to the third level of the Nascent Soul stage, slicing through the air with a sharp, piercing sound, like a storm of boulders.

These are no ordinary stones; their power is enough to pierce through gold, split rocks, and shatter high mountains.

Li Hanshan did not retreat. Pure Yang Fire surged around him, its purplish-gold light like the rising sun breaking through the mist. He didn't try to dodge; the stones were too fast to avoid. He raised his hand, pure Yang energy condensing into a fireball in his palm, precisely striking the first stone flying towards him. The fireball exploded into a burst of purplish-gold flames upon impact. The stone, scorched red-hot by the pure Yang fire, didn't shatter; it was merely deflected, grazing his shoulder and leaving a deep crack in the defensive array behind him.

The second, the third, the fourth. The stones came crashing down like an endless tide, wave after wave. Li Hanshan intercepted them one by one with fireballs, deflecting, burning, and weakening them before they made contact. However, the weight and speed of each stone far exceeded that of ordinary spells, and each collision drained a portion of his spiritual energy. He felt that the spiritual energy contained within those stones was as heavy as a mountain. Although the surface of the stones that were hit would turn red-hot, the earthen-yellow spiritual energy at the core would still maintain its complete structure, like a stone egg with a charred outer shell but an intact interior.

Zhao Shoudao stood behind the rain of stones, his face still expressionless, revealing neither joy nor anger. He watched Li Hanshan struggle amidst the stone rain, his movements still composed, but each interception clearly more strenuous than the last. He spoke slowly, his voice somewhat broken by the sound of the stones cutting through the air: "Your spiritual power is indeed pure; the quality of your pure Yang fire is top-tier in the Nascent Soul stage. But no matter how high the quality of spiritual power, the total amount will always differ."

He paused, then said, "I don't want to bully the younger generation, so I'll give you a quick death." He clenched his right fist.

The stones that were flying through the air changed direction simultaneously. No longer attacking one after another, they suddenly converged, merged, and compressed, instantly condensing into a gigantic gray hand tens of meters in size, its five fingers spread wide, palm facing down, like a stone mountain falling from the sky, crashing down on Li Hanshan. The surface of the gigantic hand was covered with dense, earth-yellow patterns—the full force of a third-level Nascent Soul cultivator's earth manipulation technique. The moment it struck, the entire arena trembled violently, the defensive array hummed under the strain, and cracks rapidly spread from the edges of the array walls towards the center.

Li Hanshan could feel the pressure—heavier than any attack he had faced before. Luo Lie's Heavenly Fire was blazing, Wang Hao's God-Slaying Spear was sharp, but the pressure from Zhao Shoudao's palm was pure "weight," like an entire mountain pressing down on his shoulders. His knees bent slightly, and the spiritual energy in his Pure Yang Meridian circulated wildly instinctively, yet the force still caused his meridians to ache faintly. But he did not retreat, nor was he crushed; his eyes remained firmly locked on the descending gray giant hand.

He neither dodged nor retreated. The flaming staff reformed in his palm, and this time, instead of slashing upwards, he aimed the tip at the ground and plunged it into the stone slab beneath his feet. Purple-gold flames, like a ignited spring, surged along the staff into the cracks of the stone slab, spreading backwards along the array patterns that Zhao Shoudao had crumpled, burning through and cracking the yellowish-brown veins on the surface of the stone. Simultaneously, he channeled pure Yang energy into the stone slab beneath his feet, as if embedding a continuous furnace into the core of the arena, beginning his struggle with Zhao Shoudao for control of the arena.

The giant gray hand abruptly stopped just before it was about to strike his head. It hovered in mid-air, as if suspended by an invisible rope, unable to fall even an inch. Zhao Shoudao frowned slightly—he sensed that the spiritual connection between himself and the ground was being severed and eroded by a pure yang energy. That force, like a dense root system, penetrated the earth-controlling array he had set up, gradually pushing his spiritual energy back out of his control.

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd that had been holding their breath in the square. "He's fighting Zhao Shoudao for territory!" "He can actually interfere with the magic of a third-level Nascent Soul cultivator?" "That flame is burning the Earth Control Array... How did he do that?" Chen Jie, leaning against the stone railing, tensed slightly, his gaze fixed on the blue figure on the arena who was stabbing a flaming staff into the stone slab. The smile on his face faded slightly.

Wang Hao leaned against a distant stone pillar, his moon-white robe fluttering gently in the wind. His gaze fell on Li Hanshan's flaming staff, which was embedded in the ground. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice carrying a suppressed seriousness: "He's undermining Zhao Shoudao's foundation. Zhao Shoudao's earth manipulation technique relies on ground array patterns for transmission. He directly burned through the array patterns. Even if Zhao Shoudao's spiritual power is strong, without control over the ground, this move is half useless."

Xuan Yinzi appeared beside Wang Hao at some point, sitting in a small sedan chair. His tone was languid and mocking: "Unfortunately, he can only hold out for a short while. Zhao Shoudao has lost his Earth Control ability, but he still has the spiritual power of a third-level Nascent Soul cultivator. The spiritual power Li Hanshan consumed to burn the array patterns is probably more than Zhao Shoudao used to maintain Earth Control." As he spoke, he finally took a bite of the spiritual fruit in his hand and slowly chewed it, but his gaze never left the arena.

On the arena, the moment Li Hanshan burned through the last array rune, the giant gray hand finally disintegrated completely, turning into countless fragments of stone scattered across the arena. Zhao Shoudao slightly tilted his head, watching the fragments slowly losing their spiritual light, his tone carrying a hint of surprised calmness: "Interesting. It's indeed rare to see someone at the Nascent Soul stage achieve this level."

He withdrew his right hand, palm facing upwards. This time, the earthy yellow light surrounding him did not spread to the ground, but instead converged entirely in his palm, transforming into a grayish-yellow staff. Unlike ordinary magical artifacts, this staff was formed from layers of earthy-yellow spirit stones, like a rock layer compressed for millions of years, each edge gleaming with a heavy luster. The staff had no superfluous decorations, only a few rough lines running along its spine, radiating the unique, heavy, oppressive aura of a third-level Nascent Soul cultivator.

Zhao Shoudao gripped his staff, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground, not in a hurry to strike. He simply looked at Li Hanshan, his tone as calm as ever: "You used pure Yang fire to sever the array patterns of my earth-controlling technique, consuming at least thirty percent of your spiritual power. My previous spells, however, consumed less than ten percent. For every inch of space you gained, you paid several times the price. This is the essence of the difference in cultivation—not the superiority of spells, but the accumulation of spiritual power." He raised the tip of his staff, pointing it at Li Hanshan, "This next strike, I will not hold back."

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhao Shoudao's figure vanished from the spot. The gray staff suddenly shone brightly in the center of the arena, like a compressed, earthy-yellow beam of light, precisely slashing towards Li Hanshan's chest.

This was the full-force attack of a third-level Nascent Soul cultivator.

Li Hanshan's pure Yang fire condensed into a thick fire shield before him, its surface shimmering with dense light patterns, compressing all his spiritual power within it. The moment the gray staff struck the fire shield, he felt an irresistible force emanating from it, as if he had been crushed by a ten-thousand-ton boulder. His knees buckled again, the stone slab beneath his feet shattered, and he was propelled backward several feet by the force, carving two deep furrows in the arena floor.

But he did not fall. The fire shield trembled violently after taking that blow, its surface glowing and shimmering erratically, yet it ultimately stabilized on the verge of shattering. Li Hanshan gritted his teeth, and pure Yang energy surged continuously from his dantian into the fire shield, repairing the spreading cracks one by one. His face paled slightly, and his spiritual energy was being consumed at a visible rate.

His body looked swaying precariously, but his back remained straight and his gaze steady.

Zhao Shoudao sheathed his staff, stood up, looked at Li Hanshan, remained silent for a moment, then nodded: "He caught it. Good."

He raised his staff again, its blade still sharp and fierce. Li Hanshan blocked several more blows, each step he took leaving deep footprints on the arena floor, the flames of his pure Yang fire flickering but never extinguishing. The murmurs in the square had long since died down, replaced by a breathless silence, only the dull thud of the staff colliding with the fire shield echoing through the air. Those who had been mocking Li Hanshan were now speechless, their mouths agape. Chang Sheng's smile froze completely, and Wu Qingfeng clenched his fists, his knuckles white.

Chen Jie's expression turned grim as he watched the scene on the arena. Zhao Shoudao was indeed suppressing Li Hanshan, but the old man refused to fall. Every time he retreated, he regained his footing; every time his spiritual energy was depleted, he would squeeze out new reserves from the depths of his dantian, like an underground river that was repeatedly trampled but never ceased to flow. Time passed, and although Zhao Shoudao's attacks with his gray staff remained heavy, he was still unable to completely defeat Li Hanshan.

"The incense stick's time is almost up," Wang Hao's voice came from beside the stone pillar, carrying an undisguised interest even after being flattened. "If Zhao Shoudao doesn't show his true abilities soon, this old man might really not make it."

Xuan Yinzi put down the spiritual fruit in his hand and sat up straight. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the figure struggling to stand behind the fire shield on the arena.

On the high platform, Chen Jie suddenly turned to look at Zhao Shoudao, his voice filled with barely suppressed urgency: "Senior Brother Zhao! The incense stick's time is almost up!"

On the arena, Zhao Shoudao was naturally aware of the situation. His gaze fell upon the swaying yet resilient figure in blue, and after a moment of silence, he slowly retracted the gray staff into his palm. He clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, a completely different kind of pressure emanated from his body—the primordial spirit power unique to Nascent Soul cultivators, formed after a thousand years of tempering, flowed out like water from a deep well whose lid had been lifted, silently enveloping the entire arena.

Zhao Shoudao said calmly, "Sorry, we don't have enough time."

That primordial spirit power was like an invisible mountain, pressing down on Li Hanshan. Li Hanshan felt his spiritual energy begin to stagnate, the burning speed of the pure yang fire suddenly decreased, his meridians felt as if they had been filled with viscous mud, and even the circulation of spiritual energy became sluggish.

At this point, there were only thirty breaths left.