SSS rank Mother-In-Law to an Invincible Family-Chapter 478: Su Min versus Hao Lin

Another match started moments later.

A duel between two inner disciples, both skilled in movement techniques. They flashed across the stage, leaving afterimages, kicking up bursts of wind as they clashed midair. The crowd leaned forward.

In the outer corner, a group of younger disciples sat together, pointing and whispering, excited by every burst of light and clash of blades.

"Do you think we’ll be up there next year?" one asked.

"Only if you stop skipping morning drills," another said.

They all laughed.

But in their hearts, they hoped. They wanted to be there too.

The Empyrean Harmony Sect was steeped in tradition. Advancement wasn’t handed out. It was earned, shown, and recognized. Today was proof of that system, not perfect, but fair.

The sky slowly brightened as the matches continued. The warmth of the sun mixed with the tension on the arena floor. Fighters bowed. Names were called. Dust rose. Cheers followed.

Then the announcer’s voice rang out again.

"Outer disciple round—stage five. Su Min versus Hao Lin."

The crowd shifted, some murmuring, some leaning forward. A few people near the edge stood up.

Su Min was known.

Not famous, but known. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t show off. But those who trained in the lower yards had seen him working every morning before the drills started.

He was the type to help others correct their forms quietly, then return to practicing his own.

His opponent, Hao Lin, was louder, more confident, and, some said, arrogant. He had good technique and wasn’t afraid to talk during matches. He liked to push buttons.

Both stepped onto the stage, robes fluttering slightly in the wind. They faced each other and bowed.

Su Min’s clothes were plain. No symbols. Just a simple brown belt tied tightly and a short sword at his hip.

Hao Lin’s outfit had red stitching along the sleeves, showing he’d placed in the top ten in last month’s internal sparring round. His boots were reinforced. His fists were wrapped.

"You ready?" Hao Lin asked with a grin.

Su Min nodded once. "Always."

The referee stepped back.

"Begin."

Hao Lin charged first, closing the gap with fast footwork. He led with a low feint, aiming for Su Min’s left ankle, then twisted upward with a sweeping palm strike to the ribs.

Su Min blocked the sweep and pivoted slightly, letting the palm glance off his forearm. He countered with a straight punch to the center of Hao’s chest, but Hao stepped to the side and ducked under it.

They moved fast, but not wildly.

Clean footwork. Real focus.

Su Min hadn’t used his sword yet. He didn’t need to.

Hao Lin tried to keep the pressure up, sending two fast kicks in a row—one high, one low. Su Min dodged both by shifting his stance and stepping into a tighter space.

The crowd reacted with small gasps and comments.

"He’s not backing down."

"No wasted movement."

Su Min stayed calm. His face barely changed.

Hao Lin gritted his teeth. He didn’t like not getting a reaction.

"You gonna draw that sword or just dance around all day?" he muttered as he launched another strike.

Su Min didn’t reply. He spun his body, ducked under a roundhouse, and tapped the pommel of his blade with one hand, loosening it just slightly in the sheath.

Not yet. But close.

Hao Lin noticed.

He pressed harder now, pushing his speed. His next few attacks came faster and sharper: a high jab to the face, a turning elbow to the chest, and a low knee aimed at the thigh.

Su Min blocked one, dodged two, but the fourth strike grazed his shoulder.

A small mark. Nothing serious. But the first hit of the match.

Cheers went up.

Su Min didn’t flinch.

Instead, he exhaled—and drew.

The sound was soft—metal against wood. A short, clean, and sharp blade flickered into view.

This changed the rhythm.

Now every step mattered more.

Hao Lin slowed down. He knew getting reckless against a drawn blade was stupid.

Su Min didn’t chase. He just waited.

A breeze passed.

Hao Lin narrowed his eyes and darted in, this time going for a diagonal strike with his whole body behind it.

Su Min stepped once, twisted his wrist, and the blade met Hao’s sleeve, cutting through the outer cloth and scratching the skin beneath.

It wasn’t deep. But it was clean.

Hao pulled back with a wince.

Su Min moved forward once, not fast, but firm.

Two more swings.

One was blocked.

The other hit flat against Hao’s ribs, but with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

He staggered back three steps, coughing.

The crowd made noise again, more this time.

"Su Min landed two."

"Lin’s on the back foot."

Another deep breath.

Su Min held his blade low, not showing off, just ready.

Hao Lin growled.

"You think that’s enough?"

He charged again—but now he was angry.

Anger wasn’t helpful.

Su Min sidestepped the first punch, let the second pass his shoulder, then tapped Hao’s thigh with the back of the blade.

That wasn’t just a hit.

That was a signal.

He could’ve cut deeper.

He didn’t.

The referee stepped forward, hand raised.

"Point Su Min. Match time: five minutes, twelve seconds. Victory by clear edge in control and contact."

The arena paused for a breath.

Then applause followed. Not explosive, but strong. Real.

Su Min bowed once to his opponent, once to the referee, then stepped off the stage.

Hao Lin stayed behind for a second, chest rising and falling.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t throw a fit.

He just lowered his head, then followed quietly.

Back near the outer disciple platforms, several others who had sparred with Su Min before exchanged looks.

"He did it."

"He’s gonna make it."

In the stands, one of the junior elders marked something on a jade tablet.

On the higher platform, Bai Xueyan tilted her head.

"That one had good footwork," she said.

Liu Anwei gave a small nod. "No extra movements. No ego."

"He’ll last."

"He’ll grow."

They didn’t say anything else.

Down below, Su Min was being called over to a side area where the advancement checks were done.

It was a simple inspection, with a short list of names. If everything matched, he’d be promoted by evening.

He didn’t celebrate.

He just drank a bit of water, tied his sword back into place, and waited for the next name to be called.

For him, it wasn’t about being better than Hao Lin.

It was about moving forward.