The Heaven-Falling Arena was not designed for a "friendly spar." It was a massive, circular bowl of reinforced obsidian, engraved with high-tier defensive formations that could withstand a strike from a Nascent Soul Realm expert. Today, the stands were packed with the elite of the Lu Empire and the fierce, red-cloaked warriors of the Qin delegation.

  I stood at the center, feeling the weight of thousands of eyes. Across from me, Qin Chenfeng was doing laps around the arena at a speed that left afterimages. He looked like a blur of red lightning, his boots kicking up sparks against the obsidian floor.

  Stage One: The Illusion of Struggle, I reminded myself.

  If I simply stood there and took his hits, people would call me a genius of defense. If I hit him once and he fell, I’d be the next Emperor. My goal was a "Strategic Draw"—the corporate equivalent of a meeting that ends with everyone agreeing to "circle back next week." To do this, I had to look like I was fighting for my life while secretly controlling every atom of the exchange.

  "Are you ready, Little Prince?" Chenfeng shouted, his voice coming from three places at once due to his speed. "Or are you still looking for your ducky?"

  "The ducky is in the bath!" I yelled back, putting on my best 'panicked five-year-old' face. I took a clumsy stance, deliberately letting my center of gravity wobble.

  The gong sounded.

  Chenfeng vanished. My Origin Dao Body screamed at me—it could feel the air pressure shifting to my left, the heat of his Qi gathering in his palm, and the exact trajectory of his foot. To my senses, he was moving in slow motion, like a video played at 0.25x speed.

  Control it, Xian. Don't react too fast.

  I waited until his palm was an inch from my shoulder, then I "stumbled" backward. To the audience, it looked like I barely dodged. In reality, I had calculated the wind resistance to make it look like his own speed blew me away.

  "Fast! He's so fast!" I cried out, flailing my arms.

  "Hah! You can't hide from the Wind Dao!" Chenfeng laughed, pivoting mid-air. He launched a flurry of kicks. Thwack-thwack-thwack!

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  I blocked them with my forearms, but I made sure to let my feet slide back across the obsidian, creating loud, dramatic screeching sounds. I even forced a bit of blood to the surface of my skin to make it look like my capillaries were bursting from the pressure.

  In the VIP box, my eldest brother Lu Tianhao leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. Beside him, the Qin Eldest Prince, Qin Zhanlong, gripped the armrest of his chair. They were both Peak-level geniuses; they could see the truth. They saw that every time Chenfeng’s foot landed, my body didn't actually vibrate from the impact. I was absorbing the kinetic energy and venting it through my heels into the floor.

  Stage Two: The Controlled Counter, I thought.

  I couldn't just defend. A draw requires both sides to look dangerous. I lunged forward with a "clumsy" punch. I infused it with just enough Qi to crack the air, but I aimed it exactly where I knew Chenfeng would parry.

  BOOM.

  Our energies collided. The shockwave shattered the tiles beneath us. I let myself be "thrown" back into the arena wall, creating a massive crater. I coughed, making sure to look winded.

  "Is that all?" Chenfeng panted. He was sweating now. His 8-year-old body was pushing its limits, while I was basically doing the physical equivalent of a light morning stretch.

  "I... I can still... breathe!" I shouted, moving into Stage Three: The Mutual Collapse.

  This was the trickiest part. I needed us both to go down at the same time. I waited for Chenfeng to gather his ultimate move—a spiraling vortex of wind Qi that gathered around his dagger. It was a 7★ Heaven-Grade technique. At his age, it was a suicidal move that would drain him completely.

  "Storm-God’s Judgment!" he roared, lunging at me.

  I met him in the middle. I didn't use a technique. I just focused my Qi into a localized "Space Lock" that would cancel out his wind without hurting him. To the audience, it looked like a blinding explosion of white and red light.

  Now!

  As the smoke cleared, I collapsed face-first into the dust. Two seconds later, Chenfeng, completely drained of Qi, fell to his knees and passed out.

  The arena went silent.

  The referee, a confused Elder from the Heavenly Pulse Sect, looked between the two fallen children. "It... it’s a draw! Both competitors are unable to continue!"

  I lay there with my face in the dirt, a small, internal "Shark" smile on my lips. Mission accomplished. No winner, no loser, no Emperor.

  I felt a shadow loom over me. It was Lu Tianhao. He picked me up, dusting off my robes with a strange, knowing look in his eyes. He glanced at Qin Zhanlong, who had just jumped down to retrieve his brother.

  The two eldest princes locked eyes. They knew. They knew I had just performed a masterclass in theater. But Zhanlong looked at his unconscious brother, then at the peaceful Lu Empire, and gave a small, respectful nod. For the sake of the alliance, they would let this "draw" stand.

  But as I looked at Chenfeng’s face, I saw his eyes flutter open for a second. He wasn't looking at the crowd. He was looking at my hand—the hand that had stopped his "Storm-God’s Judgment" without a single scratch.

  The hurricane was quiet, but the storm wasn't over.