Xiao Yichen didn’t move, but he didn’t drop his smile either.

Just as the spiked gauntlet was about to shatter his jaw, the Second Prince simply... swayed.

It was a movement so minimal, so deceptively slow, that it looked entirely natural, like a willow branch bending in a breeze. The massive iron fist grazed past his cheek by a fraction of a millimeter.

"My, my. So much aggression," Yichen tutted softly, his tone resembling a disappointed tutor.

Before Kuang could retract his arm, Xiao Yichen stepped smoothly into the senior’s guard. He snapped his folding fan shut.

Thwack!

Xiao Yichen drove the solid ivory base of the closed fan directly into the nerve cluster beneath Kuang’s armpit.

Kuang’s eyes bulged out. His entire right arm went instantly, terrifyingly numb, dropping uselessly to his side. He roared in frustration, swinging a wild, desperate left hook.

But Xiao Yichen ducked effortlessly, stepping behind the behemoth. He raised his hand, and from his fingertips, dozens of impossibly thin, nearly invisible threads of condensed Qi shot out.

The threads wrapped around Kuang’s limbs, joints, and throat with the speed of a striking viper.

"You see, Senior Brother," Yichen whispered, leaning in close so that only Kuang could hear him. The gentle, scholarly smile remained plastered on his face for the audience to see, but his eyes, which were dark, fathomless, and utterly sadistic, were completely devoid of warmth. "Brute force is such a vulgar dialect. It is loud, messy, and lacks... finesse."

Yichen gave a single, delicate tug on the Qi threads.

Kuang gasped, his face turning purple. The invisible threads dug into his pressure points, completely paralyzing his nervous system.

The towering behemoth crashed to his knees, utterly immobilized, unable to even speak to shout his surrender.

Yichen stepped out from behind him, opening his fan with a graceful snap and covering the lower half of his face. His eyes crinkled in a picture-perfect display of innocent concern.

"Oh dear," Yichen called out to the referee, his voice dripping with faux worry. "I believe Senior Brother Kuang has overexerted himself. He seems unable to move. Shall we call the match before he strains a muscle?"

The referee stared at the paralyzed giant, then at the gently smiling Prince. He shivered.

"M-Match concluded! Xiao Yichen advances!"

The crowd cheered wildly, completely oblivious to the terrifying, psychopathic control Yichen had just exerted.

They only saw the elegant Prince subduing a brute without shedding a single drop of blood.

Xiao Yichen turned away from his fallen opponent. He didn’t look at the cheering girls, nor did he look at his sister, Princess Ling’er, who was watching from the stands.

Instead, he walked to the edge of the ring, his dark, calculating eyes sweeping the sidelines until they landed squarely on Lin Ji’an.

Ji’an, who was still trying to digest Wangchen’s display of possessive violence, felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Xiao Yichen looked at her. He slowly lowered his fan, revealing a smile that was entirely different from the one he had shown the crowd.

It was sharp, hungry, and dangerously intrigued. He raised two fingers to his lips, kissed them lightly, and blew a blatant, coquettish kiss directly toward the gray-robed chef.

The female disciples in the immediate trajectory of the kiss swooned, thinking it was for them.

But Ji’an knew exactly where it was aimed.

’That damned sociopath bastard,’ Ji’an thought, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. ’He is playing the angelic scholar, but he fights like a serial killer playing with his food. And now he’s blowing kisses at me?! Why are all the Protagonists malfunctioning?! I am wearing a binder and an illusion locket! I look like a guy who smells like damned garlic! Is this the set outcome? No matter what happens, they will remain a bunch of cut sleeves?!’

Before Ji’an could recover from the psychological warfare of the Second Prince, the gong sounded again, heralding the next match in Ring Three.

"Ring Three: Hu Yanlie versus Senior Brother Feng!"

The crowd’s reaction to this name was a mixture of awe and genuine, primal apprehension.

From the eastern stairs, a figure vaulted directly over the railing, ignoring the steps entirely, and landed in the center of the ring with a heavy, earth-shaking thud.

Hu Yanlie, the undisputed prodigy of the Beast Peak.

If Xiao Yichen was an elegant river, Hu Yanlie was a raging forest fire. He didn’t wear the standard silk robes of the Inner Sect.

His attire was a wild, practical mix of durable leather and the pelts of high-level spirit beasts he had hunted himself.

His chest was half-bare, displaying a torso covered in jagged, faded scars that spoke of countless battles for dominance in the wild.

His hair was a wild, untamed mane of dark russet brown, and his eyes... his eyes were entirely feral.

They were the brilliant, glowing gold of a predatory cat, complete with slitted pupils that dilated in the sunlight.

He didn’t bow. He didn’t smile. He stretched his massive shoulders, rolling his neck until the joints popped loudly.

"Feng, right?" Hu Yanlie grunted, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that sounded more like a growl than human speech. He crouched low to the ground, his fingertips resting on the black stone, his posture mimicking a beast ready to pounce. "You smell like fear. It’s boring. Try not to break too quickly."

Senior Brother Feng, a highly respected and refined swordsman from Class 4, drew a rapier with a sneer. "You filthy brute. The Dao is about refinement and control, not rolling in the dirt with animals. Today, I, this Senior Brother, will teach you some manners!"

"Match begins!"

Feng lunged, his rapier moving so fast it looked like a blur of silver light, aimed directly at Hu Yanlie’s throat.

Hu Yanlie didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t summon a protective Qi barrier.

He simply roared.

It was a literal, deafening roar that carried the oppressive, terrifying aura of a Beast King. The soundwave alone visibly distorted the air.