The Inner Sect Training Grounds bustled at dawn, but Fang Xi's eyes were fixed on only one man.
Han Mu — tall, self-satisfied, surrounded by a small entourage of weaker bootlickers — laughed as a servant polished his blade.
Second generation trash. Born to privilege, inflated by reputation. But soft at the core.
Han Mu had just stepped into the early Foundation Layer, making him far stronger than Fang Xi in raw cultivation.
But Fang Xi didn't need strength.
He needed leverage. Precision. And timing.
Step One: Observation
Over the next three days, Fang Xi mapped Han Mu's schedule with obsessive care:
Morning sparring at the Azure Courtyard
Afternoon elixir lessons with Elder Ji
Evenings spent alone at the Moon Lotus Garden, cultivating under a spirit-gathering array
But that array was flawed.
Ancient. Poorly maintained. It amplified Qi… but also caused backlash if disrupted at the right moment.
Perfect.
Fang Xi memorized the glyph pattern. Reproduced it on parchment. Spent each night slowly synchronizing his breathing with the flow.
Until on the fourth night, it clicked.
Breakthrough Under Pressure
He sat cross-legged in his chamber.
The candle burned low.
The ink-scroll of Han Mu's formation glowed faintly with residual energy.
Fang Xi closed his eyes.
He wasn't thinking about revenge, or the Ink faction, or even Han Mu.
He was thinking about control.
The precise threading of energy through body and soul.
The seventh Qi thread lay dormant — like a coiled snake inside his dantian, waiting.
I cannot force it like before. This one needs… submission.
So he slowed.
Let his spirit sink.
Each breath curved inward.
Each heartbeat stretched like a string drawn taut.
The diagram burned in his mind — Han Mu's array, the pulse of stolen power, the flaws of arrogance.
And then — something inside him gave.
Not snapped. Not cracked.
Yielded.
The seventh thread bloomed inside him, smooth and fast.
Painful — but clean.
Fang Xi's eyes opened slowly.
Seventh thread. Stable. No side effects.
And I didn't waste a single wisp of Qi.
Step Two: The Bait
He planted the tampered array fragment earlier that day, hidden beneath one of the carved moonstones in Han Mu's garden.
When Han Mu sat that night, he would unknowingly activate the broken sequence — which, if timed correctly, would flood his meridians with chaotic Qi, inducing internal backlash.
But only if he was already at the edge.
So Fang Xi needed to push him closer.
He left an anonymous note in Han Mu's robe locker:
"They say Elder Ji favors the Song girl more than you. You'll never lead."
He poisoned the smallest elixir in Han Mu's satchel — not to kill, but to slow his bloodflow.
He bribed a cleaning boy to swap his spirit-ink brush with a worn one.
Tiny pressures. Increments of irritation. Delays. Doubts.
And that night, when Han Mu sat under the Moon Lotus Tree…
The Collapse
A scream rang out.
Qi thundered — uncontrolled, wild, crackling against the mountainside.
Fang Xi didn't need to be there.
He watched from across the cliff's edge, cloaked in shadow.
Han Mu writhed on the ground, meridians glowing red-hot, blood seeping from his nose and ears. His cultivation destabilized — violently. He would survive.
But his foundation was broken.
He would never break through again without years of recovery.
Not unless he risked permanent disability.
You'll live, Han Mu. But now you're beneath me.
The Message Delivered
The next morning, a paper crane landed softly at Fang Xi's window.
No words. Just a blood-red mark: ✓
Acceptance.
He had passed the test.
The Ink faction now recognized him not as an errand boy, but as a player.
That night, Fang Xi cultivated in silence.
The seventh thread glowed faintly in his core, feeding on his calm satisfaction.
But deep inside, he knew.
This wasn't victory.
This was an invitation.
To a deeper game, with darker rules.