Ling Shuang vs. Zhu Zhuqing

"Fourth match—Sky Abyss Academy's Ling Shuang versus Shrek Academy's Zhu Zhuqing!"

The commentator's voice still carried an unresolved tremor.

He no longer dared to make any predictions.

Deep in the stands, a betting house owner with a face full of flesh tore the odds sheet in his hand into a flurry of snow.

Before the match, he had given Sky Abyss Academy odds of seventeen to one.

Now, he only wanted to find an empty corner and cry over his life for a while.

Zhu Zhuqing stepped onto the arena without a sound.

Whenever her feet touched the ground, she instinctively shed all their weight.

It was a habit carved into her bones by her Netherworld Spirit Cat martial soul.

Even without releasing her martial soul, she moved like a ghost in the night, leaving no trace.

On the other side, Ling Shuang took the stage.

She wore a pale blue-green dress, her hair loosely tied in a low ponytail, with several stray strands hanging beside her cheeks.

She walked at an unhurried pace, as though she were not here for a duel watched by the entire continent, but merely visiting a neighbor.

The two stopped at the center of the arena.

Zhu Zhuqing studied her opponent.

Ling Shuang was half a head taller than her, slender, with skin so pale it was almost translucent. A faint smile rested on her lips.

That smile was gentle and warm.

But Zhu Zhuqing did not relax in the slightest.

The bloody lessons of the first three matches had already proven one thing—no one from Sky Abyss Academy could be judged by appearances.

"Hello," Ling Shuang spoke first, her tone so friendly it felt surreal.

Zhu Zhuqing did not respond.

She was waiting.

Waiting for that single word.

"Begin!"

The instant the referee's voice tore through the air, Zhu Zhuqing vanished from where she stood.

It was not a metaphor.

Before more than twenty thousand pairs of eyes, her existence was erased from thin air—cleanly and completely.

Netherworld Spirit Cat, second soul skill—Netherworld Invisibility.

Not a single gaze in the entire arena could catch her trail.

Ling Shuang stood where she was, completely still.

The soil beneath her feet bulged slightly. Several emerald vines tentatively pushed out of the ground and spread outward in a leisurely manner.

Heavenly Net Immortal Vine.

Her martial soul.

At that moment, the vines' growth speed looked almost laughable, like an old man taking an evening stroll. They could not even move half a meter in a second.

Zhu Zhuqing, meanwhile, was twice as fast as sound.

The first strike descended.

A line of blood burst across Ling Shuang's left shoulder. Her sleeve was ripped apart by sharp cat claws, exposing her pale forearm.

By the time the blood droplets scattered, Zhu Zhuqing had already withdrawn from another direction.

The entire attack had taken less than 0.2 seconds.

In the stands, dead silence replaced the gasps.

Too fast.

So fast that even thought could not keep up. Ling Shuang could not possibly have reacted!

Ling Shuang lowered her head and glanced at the wound on her shoulder, her brows knitting slightly.

Her expression did not seem to be caused by pain.

It was more like she was checking the quality of an object.

Then she raised her head and continued standing in place, the smile on her lips unchanged.

The second strike.

It came from behind.

A Netherworld Claw swept across Ling Shuang's waist, raising a gorgeous yet deadly mist of blood.

Ling Shuang staggered a step, but she still did not fall.

The vines beneath her feet continued growing slowly, covering only a radius of three meters.

Three meters.

Before Zhu Zhuqing's absolute speed, three meters was no different from nothing.

The third strike, her right arm.

The fourth strike, her left leg.

The fifth strike, the center of her back.

The seventh strike.

Zhu Zhuqing's attacks were precise and restrained. Every claw tore through flesh at exactly the right point, yet cleverly avoided all tendons, bones, and vital areas.

This was not mercy.

It was an assassin's pride.

She wanted to toy with her opponent like a cat with a mouse, making her experience the gap while fully conscious and surrender willingly in despair.

At this moment, Ling Shuang had seven wounds on her body.

Her pale blue-green dress was soaked with blood, like a strange dark map.

Her face was somewhat pale, but the gentle smile on her lips had never disappeared.

"Why don't you surrender?"

Zhu Zhuqing's voice came from the northeast corner of the arena, cold and direct, without a trace of unnecessary emotion.

"Your vines can't touch me. You can't even determine where I am."

"There's no point in continuing."

Ling Shuang tilted her head, as though seriously considering this philosophical question.

"You're right."

Her tone was utterly sincere, as if she were discussing the price of vegetables with a neighbor.

"I really can't touch you."

"But—"

Her gaze passed through the dripping blood and landed precisely on an empty spot near the edge of the arena.

More accurately, it landed on a cluster of pebbles Zhu Zhuqing had inadvertently crushed beneath her shoes when she passed by.

"Have you counted how many times you attacked me?"

For the first time, Zhu Zhuqing's breathing paused.

Seven times.

"Every time, the tips of your claws touched my blood." Ling Shuang extended her hand, palm open toward the air.

There was a shallow cut on the skin of her palm.

The liquid seeping from it was not red.

It was pale green.

"That isn't blood." For the first time, Zhu Zhuqing's voice shook violently.

Ling Shuang smiled.

Gentle and sincere, yet chilling the spines of every person watching her.

"The sap of the Heavenly Net Immortal Vine is colorless and odorless."

"Mixed into my blood, how could you possibly tell?"

Zhu Zhuqing abruptly lowered her head and looked at her right hand.

Within the dark-red liquid staining her poison-dipped blade-like claws were tiny emerald particles, nearly impossible to notice.

Those particles... were writhing.

"Every time you attack me—"

Ling Shuang's voice slowed. She enunciated each word clearly, as if reciting a beautiful poem.

"Is the same as planting a seed in yourself with your own hands."

Zhu Zhuqing violently flung her hand!

Too late.

A green thread as thin as spider silk burst through the skin of her right wrist.

Then came a second, a third...

The same happened to her left hand.

And her ankles.

At the wound on her waist—the place she had inflicted herself and where the most "blood" had splashed—emerald vines had already wrapped around three times!

Zhu Zhuqing tried to activate her invisibility. Her figure had only begun to blur when it was instantly interrupted.

The vines were living things.

They possessed independent life auras.

As long as they grew from her body, her invisibility could never be completed.

It was like tying a string of bells that would never stop ringing onto a top-tier invisible assassin.

"Don't pull."

Ling Shuang reminded her kindly, her voice soft.

"The more you pull, the tighter they'll get."

Zhu Zhuqing refused to believe it.

She forcefully tore at the vine around her right wrist—the roots had long since seeped deep into the fibers of her clothes. Every vine she tore apart gave rise to two fresh vines that burst wildly from the break.

Three seconds.

In only three seconds, Zhu Zhuqing's hands were completely bound, unable to move.

Ling Shuang slowly walked over to her.

She did not activate any offensive soul skill. She merely crouched down and drew a clean handkerchief from her sleeve.

Then she carefully and gently wiped away the cold sweat beading on Zhu Zhuqing's forehead.

The motion was like an older sister caring for an ill younger sister.

"You're fast," Ling Shuang said.

"Truly fast. I've never seen anyone as fast as you."

Zhu Zhuqing stared at her, teeth clenched tightly, saying nothing.

"But hunters never need to catch up to their prey."

Ling Shuang stood up and elegantly brushed nonexistent dust from her skirt.

"A hunter only needs to—"

"Make the prey step into the trap itself."

The arena was deathly silent.

Zhu Zhuqing closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, all the killing intent and unwillingness had faded from her cat-like eyes, leaving only clear calmness.

"I lost."

The head referee raised his hand.

This time, his arm did not shake.

Not because he was calm, but because he had already gone numb.

"Fourth match—Sky Abyss Academy's Ling Shuang wins!"

Four to zero.

Sky Abyss Academy, four to zero.

The entire venue remained silent for three full seconds, then erupted in a strange wave of sound.

It was neither cheers nor boos, but the uncontrollable murmuring of more than twenty thousand people at once.

Like a pot of water about to boil, its lid held down with all possible force.

Everyone was asking the same question—asking those beside them and asking themselves.

Just what kind of hell had this Sky Abyss Academy crawled out of?

At the competitors' seats, Su Chen finally changed his posture.

He straightened from the back of his chair, picked up the tea that had long gone cold from the table, and took a sip.

He set down the cup. His gaze crossed the noisy arena and landed on the person opposite him.

Tang San.

Tang San was also looking at him.

There was no anger, no anxiety, not even the slightest wavering in those deep blue eyes.

There was only something Su Chen knew well.

Calculation.

Calculation cold to the extreme, absolutely rational.

Using all the information gathered from the crushing losses of the first four matches, he was rapidly assembling a complete puzzle in his mind—one about Sky Abyss Academy.

Su Chen understood.

So he smiled.

It was a smile carrying appreciation, and a hint of anticipation.

He turned to the person beside him and said softly.

"The fifth match, you're up."