46: Chapter 46 "Mountain-Leaning Strike"! The Mad Lion Flies Three Meters Backward

As Chen Wu's right shoulder sank, Grandpa Wang's bronze statue suddenly emitted a dragon-like hum. The seal script characters "Hardness Cannot Last" on the base cracked with a fine line, and a stream of pale cyan Qi flowed along the light beam into the octagon cage, intertwining with Chen Wu's golden "Qi" into a spiral. This was the manifestation of the Baji Fist Ancestral Master's Fist Intent, which added the most critical ancient energy at the moment the "Mountain-Leaning Strike" was about to release its power.

"Remember the key to the 'Mountain-Collapsing Strike'!" Grandpa Wang's voice came through the statue, carrying the vigor of a century ago. "Feet treading on Yellow Springs, hands propping up the Azure Sky, shoulders carrying Mount Tai—the release of power should be like an old wall collapsing; seemingly slow, but actually unstoppable!"

Chen Wu's heels suddenly sank half an inch into the octagon cage floor, and solid "Qi" climbed up his spine section by section, condensing into a walnut-sized energy core at his acromion. This was no longer just pure Baji Fist power, but a brand-new force that fused the ancient martial intent from the bronze statue, the Neutralizing Energy of Taiji, and the resonant form of "Qi." When his shoulder blades trembled slightly, Elder Zhou outside the cage suddenly opened his eyes and murmured, "It's the 'Mountain-Toppling Strike'... the Ancestral Master has manifested..."

The Genetic Medicine inside Li Meng's body was still raging. The backup controller Zhang Tao had hidden in his teeth was bitten through, and the final neural interference wave turned into a green line, rushing straight into the boy's brain. "Kill! Kill! Kill!" Three blood-red characters exploded in his pupils, and his originally clear eyes were completely swallowed by violence. Beads of blood seeping from under his fingernails condensed into eerie red dots on his gloves.

"Mad Lion... Heart-Devouring!" The boy's roar shattered the gym's glass curtain wall, and the fragments fell like a rain of stars, only to turn into powder the moment they touched Chen Wu's "Qi" field. His body, on all fours, suddenly bounced up like a spring compressed to the limit, lunging at Chen Wu with 1,300 kilograms of impact force. His open mouth even revealed slightly elongated canine teeth—the ultimate modification of the Genetic Medicine had begun.

The number of online viewers for the global livestream broke 150 million at this moment. Slow-motion footage captured the terrifying details of Li Meng's pounce:

 "Muscle fibers are restructuring! He's a monster now!"

 "Brother Wu's 'Qi' core is glowing! What kind of energy is that?"

 "152 million online! My screen is shaking!"

 "The bronze statue's eyes are lit up! Look!"

The octagon cage's ropes suddenly tightened, and the steel wires beneath the black foam padding popped out, forming a temporary protective net—this was the emergency plan Lin Xue had activated. But Li Meng's claws simply swept past, and the steel wires curled and snapped like noodles. The protective net, capable of withstanding 800 kilograms of impact, was laughably fragile before the Genetic Medicine.

Chen Wu's "Qi" core suddenly turned from gold to cyan-gold. At the moment the ancient bronze energy perfectly fused with the modern "Qi" field, he remembered the old wall in the corner of Grandpa Wang's yard that had survived artillery shells—having endured a hundred years of wind and rain, it could still maintain its Foundation amidst tremors.

"Now!" Chen Wu's heels suddenly lifted and then stomped down heavily. Under this stomp, spiderweb-like cracks appeared on the metal floor of the octagon cage, while his shoulder tilted forward slowly at an angle that defied human ergonomics.

The power release of the "Mountain-Leaning Strike" was never a linear impact. When Chen Wu's shoulder made contact with Li Meng's chest, the first force was an outward elastic force, shedding thirty percent of the boy's lunging momentum; 0.3 seconds later, the second force was a spiral force, winding up Li Meng's spine and causing his center of gravity to lean back involuntarily; finally, and most crucially, the third force—the "Mountain-Toppling Energy" borrowed from the bronze statue—pressed down vertically along the contact point like a silent avalanche.

There was no world-shaking roar.

Only a dull "thud," like a giant boulder falling into a deep pool.

The red battle robe on Li Meng suddenly shattered inch by inch. On his exposed skin, dark green veins twisted frantically like stepped-on poisonous snakes. His pupils dilated suddenly, reflecting the cyan-gold "Qi" flow on Chen Wu's shoulder—that power did not harm his internal organs, but like an invisible mountain, it arrogantly pushed aside all his force-generating nodes.

"Ugh..." A half-stifled groan escaped the boy's throat. As his canine teeth retracted, a blood arrow sprayed from the corner of his mouth. But this blood was bright red, untainted by the dark green of the Genetic Medicine—the moment Chen Wu's "Qi" made contact, it rushed into his blood vessels like a high-pressure water gun, forcing the residual toxins to the surface of his body.

In the next second, Li Meng's body suddenly lost support. He wasn't struck flying, but drifted backward at an extremely strange angle, like a puppet whose bones had been removed. The cyan-gold "Qi" flow pulled a long trail behind him, like dragging a green flame about to go out.

"He's flying..." The commentator's voice carried a sob, completely forgetting professional conduct. "He's flying..."

Li Meng's body went over the tightened ropes and hit the second layer of the protective net—an alloy net specially made by the Bureau of Abnormal Incident Management. This net, which could catch a high-speed motorcycle, let out a tooth-grinding metallic groan upon contact with the boy's body, denting deeply before finally bouncing him back into the octagon cage with a loud "bang." He flew back a full three meters before crashing heavily onto the red padding.

The global livestream feed lagged for five seconds at this moment. When the signal was restored, the 155 million viewers saw Li Meng lying face down on the ground, with the blood beads slowly seeping from his back forming a peculiar pattern on the mat—not a scattered bloodstain, but the cyan-gold character for "Mountain" (Mountain).

After five seconds of silence, the bullet chat erupted into a tsunami of amazement:

 "Three meters... he flew back a full three meters!"

 "That blood character is 'Mountain'! It's the mark of the 'Mountain-Leaning Strike'!"

 "157 million online! My grandfather has practiced Baji Fist for sixty years, and now he's watching the livestream on his knees!"

 "The bronze statue is glowing! Ancient energy really exists!"

In the VIP box, Elder Zhou suddenly pulled out the IV needle from the back of his hand, staring fixedly at the "Mountain" blood mark on the screen. "It's the proof of the 'Mountain-Collapsing Strike'..." The old man's hands were shaking violently. "A hundred years... someone can finally land a 'Mountain-Leaning Strike' with a mark..." The Taiji book in his arms suddenly flipped open on its own, stopping at a damaged page recording the "Mountain-Toppling Strike," where the ink was slowly seeping with gold.

Chen Wu stood still. The cyan-gold "Qi" flow on his right shoulder gradually dissipated, revealing skin that had turned red from the shock. His "Listening Energy" was still locked onto Li Meng's heartbeat—though weak, the rhythm was steady. The dark green toxins were being expelled along with the blood beads seeping from his skin, like a long-overdue purification ritual.

Li Meng's body on the ground suddenly twitched. It wasn't a violent reaction from the Genetic Medicine, but a subtle tremor like an infant's. His right hand struggled to lift, knuckles turning white from the effort, but he wasn't attacking; instead, he traced a partial Taiji arc toward the VIP box—that was the first Move Elder Zhou had taught him when he was eight.

Chen Wu's "Qi" spread along this partial arc. The moment it touched Li Meng's fingertips, it suddenly turned into countless tiny warm currents, drilling into his pores. This was no longer a confrontation, but the gentlest healing—when the cyan-gold "Qi" flow and the red light of the peace lock converged at the boy's heart, a blood bead the size of a fingernail rolled from the corner of his mouth, dripping a perfect red dot on the ground.

"Master... I'm sorry..." Li Meng's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet it clearly reached the entire venue. The livestream equipment captured the tear rolling from the corner of his eye, reflecting the lights at the top of the octagon cage like a dying star, yet in the final moment, it revealed a glimmer of liberation.

Chen Wu slowly walked to his side, not looking at the countdown timer the referee held up. Solid "Qi" condensed into a soft energy pad in his palm, which he gently placed under Li Meng's forehead to prevent him from being frostbitten by the cold metal floor. "It's okay now." His voice was very soft, like coaxing a child who had been wronged. "Your Taiji... you've practiced it longer than I have."

The boy's body suddenly trembled violently. It wasn't from pain, but a reaction of exhaustion after a large amount of toxins were expelled. His left hand broke free from the glove and tightly grabbed Chen Wu's pant leg. The red string of the peace lock in his palm dug into his flesh, leaving a red mark identical to the one on Chen Wu's wrist—this was a silent bond belonging to two Martial Artists.

The 157 million viewers in the stadium fell into a collective silence. The glow of the light sticks all turned into a soft white, like a moment of silence across borders, or a long-overdue blessing. When the medical staff rushed into the octagon cage with a stretcher, even the emergency doctors, accustomed to life and death, were stunned—though Li Meng's back was a bloody mess, the cyan-gold "Mountain" mark could be seen slowly fading, revealing the skin underneath gradually regaining its color.

"This isn't trauma... it's detoxification." Chen Wu stopped the nurse who wanted to give Li Meng a sedative, his fingertip lightly tapping the boy's back. Cyan-gold "Qi" flowed from his fingertip, forcing the last cluster of toxins hidden in the kidneys out of the body. "He needs rest, not medicine."

The nurse's monitor suddenly let out a "beep-beep" prompt. The various indicators that were on the verge of collapse were returning to normal at an alarming speed. Especially the heart rate, which had dropped from 210 beats per minute just now to 95 beats per minute, steady as a sleeping infant.

As the stretcher carrying Li Meng passed the VIP box, Elder Zhou struggled to stand up from his wheelchair. The old man's body was still trembling, but he tightly grasped the boy's hand and stuffed the Taiji book that had flipped open on its own into his arms. "Remember... Taiji is not weakness... it is the courage to know when to turn..."

Li Meng's fingers moved slightly, as if trying to grab something. Chen Wu stepped forward quickly and passed a sliver of his "Qi" to him. The cyan-gold energy flowed along their touching fingertips, and at the corner of the boy's closed eye, it condensed into a transparent tear—that was the last residual toxin of the Genetic Medicine, completely purified by the "Qi."

When Zhang Tao was being taken away by the special forces, he happened to cross paths with the stretcher. Seeing the color gradually returning to Li Meng's face, he suddenly struggled like a madman: "Impossible! The side effects of the Genetic Medicine are irreversible! This violates science!" His roar came to an abrupt halt when it met the gaze Chen Wu cast his way—those eyes held no triumph of victory, only a kind of calm that saw through everything, like looking at a clown.

The LED screen at the top of the gym suddenly lit up. The bullet chat from 158 million viewers formed a massive cyan-gold mountain shadow, enveloping the entire venue. Within the outline of the mountain shadow, the phantom of the Baji Fist Ancestral Master gradually emerged, facing Grandpa Wang's bronze statue from afar, completing a gaze across a hundred years at the dome.

"The match is over! The winner—Chen Wu!" The referee's voice finally rang out, but it seemed somewhat redundant.

Chen Wu did not celebrate; he simply walked to the center of the octagon cage and bowed deeply toward the bronze statue. When he stood up, he found that the seal script "Hardness Cannot Last, Softness Cannot Defend" on the ancient statue had disappeared, replaced by a new line of carvings: "The balance of hard and soft is the true mountain."

Lin Mo rushed into the cage holding a tactical tablet. The test report on the screen showed: the residual amount of Genetic Medicine in Li Meng's body had dropped to 0.01%, and the antibodies produced by the combination of the peace lock and Chen Wu's "Qi" could permanently resist the genetic modification of the Grey Shadow. "Brother Wu! We did it!" The boy's voice carried a sob, but it was filled with wild joy.

Chen Wu's gaze fell on the three-meter-long backward flight trajectory Li Meng had left behind. The cyan-gold "Qi" trail had not yet completely dissipated, like a path connecting the past and the future. He knew that this "Mountain-Leaning Strike" had not hit Li Meng, but the evils that attempted to use technology to distort human nature, and the prejudices that questioned traditional martial arts.

When he walked out of the gym, the twilight was already deep. Chen Wu's phone received an MMS from Lin Xue: Elder Zhou was holding Li Meng's hand, gesturing the opening stance of Taiji in the hospital room, while the boy on the bed had a faint smile on his lips.

The evening breeze lifted Chen Wu's training uniform, revealing the cyan-gold mark on his shoulder that had not yet faded. In the distant starry sky, a new star suddenly lit up, its light identical to the ancient energy of the bronze statue. He clenched his fist, feeling the cyan-gold energy still surging within him—this was no longer just power, but a Legacy, a responsibility, a "mountain" built by the faith of countless Martial Artists that could withstand all darkness.

The final frame of the global livestream stopped on the bullet chat sent by 159 million viewers simultaneously:

"The mountain remains, the Dao remains, the Martial Artist is undefeated."

The lights of the octagon cage slowly went out, leaving only that cyan-gold "Mountain" mark in the center, flickering quietly in the darkness like an eternal monument, witnessing how martial arts, amidst the siege of technology and conspiracy, used the most ancient "Mountain-Leaning Strike" to crash open a path to the light. And that three-meter distance of flying backward measured not victory or defeat, but the weight of human nature, the firmest footprint of justice ultimately triumphing over evil.