Step, step, step!

Bai Qi’s robe fluttered as he strolled down the wide, long street, neither walking fast nor deliberately lingering.

Practitioners emerging from one Martial Arts Hall after another, whether strong or weak, stout or thin, tall or short, resembled layers of dark clouds pressing down, intending to swallow that upright figure whole.

But Bai Qi’s gaze was steady, his state of mind unchanged, allowing the intense resentment, hatred, murderous intent, and various fierce emotions to assault him like a torrential downpour.

"I am Sumeru, the evil heart is the ocean, troubles are the waves, poison is the evil dragon, illusions are the spirits..."

Bai Qi chewed over the profound essence of the "Coiling Dragon Suppressing the Yellow Springs Sutra," the golden Dao Seed nurtured by the talisman gleamed vibrantly, flowing with waves of enlightenment, causing the vast ocean of his mind to quake, a Giant Buddha Mountain rising out of nowhere, its radiant surface illuminating his entire being.

Faced with the oppressive aura of the Hundred Rings Square’s martial artists, his spirit honed even sharper, and as he advanced further, each crystal-clear and firm thought shattered like glass, emitting a "crack," or like molten iron, reforming anew.

"This ’Coiling Dragon Suppressing the Yellow Springs Sutra’ combines Buddhist and Daoist insights, truly extraordinary."

Bai Qi’s brows jumped energetically, his Qi Blood particularly vibrant, rushing to his head in pulses, resembling "fetal movement."

"Though it lacks records on Daoist skills or magical artifacts, the effects on nurturing the spirit, calming thoughts, and visualization are indeed top-notch.

How long has it been, and my embryonic skill is about to succeed.

To practice in public and break through in battle feels so exhilarating!

No wonder Master enjoys showcasing his prowess before others!"

His mind operated constantly, capturing the tumultuous thoughts of surprise, astonishment, wonder, and bewilderment with clarity... transforming all those complex glances and chaotic emotions into simple, understandable meanings.

...

...

"This young master is truly unwavering amidst the Eight Winds!"

Housekeeper Gui followed closely behind, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

He breathed heavily, his complexion slightly pale, as if struggling through a swift river.

The fierce eyes of the practitioners, almost tangible, weren’t directed at him, yet the rushing current still frightened him, making his legs weak.

Only the tall figure walking ahead reassured Housekeeper Gui, like a towering tree sheltering him from the wind and rain, blocking all pressure.

Thus, he clung closely, daring not to fall behind.

"Why is there such a gap even though both are at the Second Bone Training Barrier?"

...

...

"Gathering the Qi Blood of a hundred people, yet unable to force this youth back a single step? Instead, it tempers his mind!"

"Unfazed by the crumbling mountain before him! Ninghai Zen’s disciple is truly no ordinary talent!"

"Gentlemen, this young man has traversed more than half of Hundred Rings Square! I ask, who can stop him now? Who dares to block him?!"

"I shall fight for the honor of the martial world! I won’t let down Elder Weng’s trust!"

"Brother Du, why use a bull-killing knife for a chicken? Being at Second Bone Training Barrier at this age is remarkable, but on the platform, success and failure are determined by progress and retreat..."

Hundred Rings Square stretches twenty-nine miles, with all Martial Arts Halls located on Four Directions Street, and Bai Qi passed through, walking unhurriedly, paying no mind to the many disciples emerging. In less than half a stick of incense, he had bypassed seventy to eighty halls.

"Master! I’m off!"

A moment later, a young man in tight clothing knelt outside the door, kowtowing three times heavily.

At the end of his gaze was an elderly man over fifty years old.

Thin and emaciated, his face eerily pale like a clay statue, he sat on a large huanghuali wood chair, his sleeves limply hanging:

"Qing’Er! Even if you risk your life, you must let him experience the might of my ’Five Dragon Sect!’ Break one of his arms, destroy this promising seedling! Only then can I die in peace!"

The old man’s eyes suddenly widened, recalling the painful memory of that blue-clad demon tearing off his arms.

"Tonight, this Hundred Rings Square bears the weight of ten years of hatred and vengeance!

Ninghai Zen, either your disciple retreats, or your disciple—dies!"

...

...

"Five Dragon Sect, Yan Qing! Set the stage here!"

On Four Directions Street, the young man in tight clothing leapt out, clasping his fists in salute.

Then, with a light step, he traced a line in the moist soil:

"If you wish to pass, lend a hand first!"

An industry cannot do without its jargons, and these jargons exist because of the rules.

Common phrases like "draw the line" or "lend a hand" appear often in storybooks.

These are classic phrases used in martial arts contests and matches.

The line drawn underfoot signifies blocking the way.

If one wishes to pass, they must cross this barrier.

Of course, they could also choose to retreat and fight another day.

But to those in the martial arts world who value reputation over life, this is tantamount to conceding, accepting defeat.

So, whenever one draws the line, the other must test their mettle.

Back and forth, enmities form, entangling indefinitely.

"Five Dragon Sect?"

Bai Qi’s gaze flickered, hesitating for half a beat, then spoke:

"The skill is decent."

Yan Qing frowned, a hint of puzzlement in his eyes.

Decent skill?

When have you seen Five Dragon Sect’s skill?

But before he could think clearly, the young Bai, not yet twenty, with an exceptionally upright stance, nodded in agreement:

"I’ll take it!"

With those words, a muffled thunder erupted, shattering the moist soil from yesterday’s spring rain like a surging black tidal wave.

"Such fierce strength!"

Yan Qing was also at the Second Bone Training Barrier, having reached the "Refined Silver Marrow" stage.

He was meticulously nurtured by his master, practicing diligently every day for over twenty years, never once slacking.