154: Chapter 153 The Chinese Team's Final Performance

The sound of the pipa exploded in everyone's ears.

Nine figures suspended in mid-air, with completely different postures.

Guan Heng cut horizontally across the surface, Chen Yu arched backward with his face up, Brother Cai's knees were locked, and Su Chen leaned supported by a single hand.

But the moment the second heavy beat dropped, the chests of all nine people simultaneously burst into high-frequency vibrations.

This was a routine without a uniform formation, yet they achieved millisecond-level consistency in the frequency of their muscle contractions.

Rock leaned forward, his recording pen suspended mid-air in his right hand.

Without a unified reference point, his naked eyes clearly captured a certain invisible thread, tightly stitching together the nine scattered people on the stage.

The large drum entered.

The accompaniment cut into the grand national music piece, Elephant King Parade.

The heavy, ancient, and majestic brass and large drums overwhelmingly filled the entire Staples Center.

The BPM was not fast, yet it carried a heaviness that could crush spines.

"Change formation."

Su Chen parted his lips slightly.

All nine people retracted their stances simultaneously.

Guan Heng strode toward the Xun position, pressing his fists downward along his chest.

With every inch he pressed down, a layer of bulging veins popped up on his forearm muscles; the Popping current (Wave) was struck out by him using the stance techniques of Baji Quan.

There were no flashy slides, only the dull thud of soles slamming fiercely against the wooden boards.

One kick, one drumbeat.

Chen Yu cut in from the Dui position.

His movements broke the traditional force-generating habits of Street Dance.

Locking emphasized joint snapping, yet he transformed his arms into oversized wolf-hair brushes.

Horizontal folds in mid-air, vertical cleaves, sunken shoulders, locked wrists.

The negative space and pauses of cursive script were written by him into the air of the stage within four beats.

South Korean Team preparation area.

Park Dong-soo instinctively stepped back half a step, his back pressing against the metal guardrail.

He stared intently at Guan Heng and Chen Yu on the stage.

Those two people weren't even doing the same movements in the same eight-count, but the breathing spans between their gestures eerily overlapped.

The music transitioned to bianzhong striking.

Crisp and distant.

The three veterans led by Brother Cai converged at the Qian position.

The three of them intertwined their legs, opening with the core-testing Thomas Flare of Breaking.

Their legs whipped up the sound of wind in mid-air.

And at the moment of near exhaustion, the three of them pushed off the ground with one hand, forcefully twisting their waists in mid-air, abruptly stopping in a defying-gravity hovering state.

Swallows piercing the forest.

Classical martial arts body rhythm directly embedded itself into the signature heavy moves of Western Street Dance.

At this moment, the sound of the bianzhong stopped.

The sound of the suona soared straight into the clouds.

Su Chen was at the center of the Nine Palace formation.

His feet were apart, his knees slightly bent.

The moment the suona sound pitched higher, his spine folded backward to an angle ordinary people could never reach.

His hands formed the opening posture of Tai Chi pushing hands at his sides, and then, his muscle control was completely unleashed.

The fury of Krump and the precision of Popping collided within his body.

Chest, waist and abdomen, thighs.

Every single muscle locked sharply and frantically within the tail-end sound of the suona.

This was not a display of technique, but an absolute declaration of control over his physical body.

He stepped forward along with the heavy accent.

Guan Heng soared up from the back.

It was not a forced catch-and-lift from industrial choreography.

Su Chen raised his left hand, the back of his hand pressing against Guan Heng's descending lower leg, and his arm smoothly traced a semicircle, unloading all gravity.

Relying on this pushing force, Guan Heng completed a 720-degree rotation in mid-air and landed steadily.

Tai Chi deflecting force.

As natural as water flowing into a channel, without the slightest stiffness.

Rock's pen dropped onto his tablet.

The table on the screen originally used to record "neatness" and "error rate" was completely blank.

He had nowhere to start writing.

This could not be scored using conventional Street Dance standards.

The South Korean Team's routine was nine people assembled into a precision machine.

Team China's dance was an ink-wash painting slowly unfolding on the stage.

Every brushstroke varied in depth, yet together they constructed the magnificent expanse of rivers and mountains.

After half a minute of faulting, the bullet comments in the live broadcast room completely erupted:

[ I don't understand, but I'm getting goosebumps all over my body. ]

[ As soon as the suona came out, my scalp exploded directly! ]

[ How is this scored? Those South Korean Team members are nine clones, while God Su has nine regional lords gathering in one hall! ]

[ Damn! That Tai Chi relay was too outrageous, Newton's coffin lid can't be held down anymore! ]

[ There's no need for a C-position, because every single person is glowing. This profound foundation is something foreigners can never learn in a lifetime. ]

[ Chen Yu's moves just now were definitely writing! Writing cursive script with his body! ]

[ To the one above, I saw it too. This kneaded all five thousand years of China right into it! ]

[ I'm crying, being able to hear Elephant King Parade at a world competition and see this level of dance, I have no regrets in this life! ]

On the stage, Elephant King Parade entered its final grand ensemble stage.

Hundreds of instruments roared.

Su Chen changed his gesture.

The eight team members scattered in nine positions closed inward toward the center simultaneously.

Form dispersion ended, spirit concentration began.

They abandoned all complex major moves and tumbles.

The nine people stood in a row.

Shoulder to shoulder.

The drumbeats grew denser, pushing the rhythm to its peak.

The legs of all nine people lifted and fell simultaneously.

Stomping.

Simple stomping.

But in this simple stomping, the chests of the nine tightened simultaneously, and their knees sank simultaneously.

The soles of their shoes collided with the wooden floor, producing an orderly roar resembling a cavalry charge.

It was not a mechanical copy set by code.

This was a resonance of power surging from the depths of the soul.

In South Korean Team's choreography, this kind of routine required the whole team to stare into the mirror and polish the angles tens of thousands of times.

But here at Huaxia Team, they didn't even glance at each other.

The nine people closed their eyes.

Left foot, right foot.

Dive down, lock solid.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

The drumbeats in the accompaniment completely merged with the stomping under their feet.

Park Dong-soo opened his mouth wide, his breathing stagnating.

The ninety-nine percent synchronization rate he took pride in was crushed into powder in front of this simple movement.

He saw that uncrossable chasm.

These nine people entrusted their lives to the same set of beliefs.

The music reached its final second.

A heavy crash of cymbals.

The nine-person formation instantly stretched out, changing from a straight line into a fan shape.

The three-dimensional framework of the Thousand-Hand Guanyin.

Guan Heng on the first layer knelt on one knee, smashing his fists against the floor, freezing at the strongest force-generating point of Krump.

Chen Yu on the second layer did a one-handed handstand with his body arched sideways, freezing in the hovering posture of Breaking.

Brother Cai on the third layer crossed his arms to lock his neck, freezing in the absolute freeze of Locking.

And at the very top, Su Chen stepped with both feet on the inner thighs of Guan Heng and Brother Cai, his body suspended in mid-air.

He struck an exquisitely stretched posture of drawing a bow to shoot an eagle in mid-air.

Electric currents burst from his suspended fingertips, transmitting downward along his body, penetrating the shoulders of Guan Heng and Brother Cai, and reaching Chen Yu on the ground.

In this instant, the muscles of all nine people formed a perfect closed loop.

The music cut off abruptly.

The lights turned fully on.

Nine sweat-drenched bodies were frozen dead on the floor of the Staples Center.

No heavy panting, not the slightest sway.

One second.

Two seconds.

The entire venue fell into a death-like silence.

No boos, no cheering sounds.

Thirty thousand pairs of eyes blankly watched the blood-red frozen sculpture in the center of the stage.

The commentator at the broadcast booth had his mouth open, his microphone pressed against his chin, forgetting to make a sound.

Three seconds later.

An American spectator in the front row stood up.

He didn't understand Chinese culture, but he understood the power rising abruptly from the depths of the floor.

He raised his hands and clapped them together forcefully.

Slap.

This crisp sound broke the silence.

Rock pushed his chair away and stood straight.

The other four international judges stood up simultaneously.

Afterwards, international students in the stands, overseas Chinese, the French delegation, the Russian delegation...

All thirty thousand spectators in the audience spontaneously stood up.

Thunderous applause erupted suddenly.

The lights of the cheering sticks waved frantically, and the screams flipping the dome of the venue converged into a torrent.

No halftime host, no score broadcasts.

The applause lasted for a full four minutes.

Guan Heng maintained his kneeling posture, sweat flowing down his eyelashes into his eyes, causing a stinging sensation.

But he didn't close his eyes.

He saw those standing spectators, saw the waving Five-starred Red Flag.

Su Chen leaped down from the height, landing steadily.

He didn't look at the judges' seating, nor did he look at the South Korean Team.

He turned around, looked at the eight brothers behind him, and nodded.

This nod was the posture of handing in the test paper.

Park Dong-soo collapsed back into his chair.

His hands couldn't stop shaking.

The industrial standard was broken.

Team China used a system they completely failed to understand to establish a new system of weights and measures on the world's highest stage.

The applause gradually subsided.

The nine people on the stage retreated to the left side and stood in a row.

Smith walked up the stage quickly holding a microphone.

His voice revealed undisguised excitement.

"Incredible performance. Thank you Huaxia Team, you made this stage witness history!"

The big screen was cleared.

South Korean Team's 38.5 points shrank to the lower left corner of the screen.

The very center position was left for Huaxia Team's settlement channel.

Rock stood in front of the judges' table.

He took a deep breath, his gaze crossing the screen, freezing on Su Chen's jacket printed with the character "Hua".

He raised his right hand and pressed toward the scoring device on the table.

The other four judges' movements synchronized with his.

Everyone's breathing stopped at this moment.

The big screen above the Staples Center flashed five black boxes simultaneously.