The mid-morning sun bathed the Qin Clan's sparring arena in a golden hue, though the temperature seemed to drop with each passing second. Tension thickened the air.
Qin Zhen stood alone on the arena platform, robes rippling in the faint breeze. His presence, quiet but resolute, contrasted starkly with the scoffing and laughter echoing from the crowd gathered around.
Disciples of every rank filled the stands outer hall initiates in plain linen tunics, guards in light armor, and a few seated elders-in-training murmuring from the shaded gallery. Some stood on tiptoe for a better view. Others simply smirked.
"He has guts, I'll give him that," one young disciple whispered.
"Or no brains," replied another. "Didn't he get crippled after failing the Beast Spirit Awakening three years ago?"
"Maybe he's hoping to go out with flair. One last beating to be remembered by."
Their laughter rippled across the arena.
A boy among the crowd whispered, "Is this really the same Qin Zhen who used to be the genius of our outer hall?"
"No way. That genius died when his dantian shattered. This is just the shell."
But Qin Zhen remained silent.
His gaze swept the stands indifferent, steady. Then it fixed on his opponent.
Qin Wu.
Standing opposite him, Qin Wu radiated confidence and disdain. He was taller by half a head, broad-shouldered and built like a stone furnace. Spirit energy pulsed around him like heat from smoldering coals. Behind him, partially manifested in translucent red mist, the outline of a Crimson-Eyed Tiger loomed jaws open in a silent snarl, fangs dripping with phantom blood.
"So the cripple wants to dance," Qin Wu sneered, cracking his knuckles. "I suppose I should feel honored."
"You don't have to feel anything," Qin Zhen said, his tone flat. "You just have to slap me. Isn't that what you promised yesterday?"
Gasps broke out among the onlookers.
"He's provoking Qin Wu?!"
"Is he suicidal?"
Even Elder Meng, a gaunt figure seated beneath a pinewood awning to the side, raised an eyebrow. He had seen many things over his decades in the outer hall, but this...
He waved a wrinkled hand. "Begin."
The air seemed to freeze in that moment.
Then Qin Wu moved.
A thunderous step forward sent a crack through the arena floor. Spirit energy surged from his feet up through his shoulders, condensing around his palm in a warm orange glow the signature hue of the Tiger Claw Sweep, a martial technique known for brute force and bone-breaking impact.
"Take this, cripple!" Qin Wu bellowed.
He lunged.
But Qin Zhen was no longer standing there.
[Skill Activated: Ghost Step – Second Layer] +35% evasion
Speed boost: +1.2 for 3 seconds
He vanished not with a dramatic flash, but like mist swept away by wind. One moment, there. The next, gone.
Qin Wu's palm struck only air, the force of his blow causing a gust that ruffled robes and hair in the audience.
Then
SMACK.
A clean, almost delicate sound echoed across the platform. A sound too soft to be a punch. But unmistakably, a slap.
Qin Wu's head jerked sideways, mouth opening in shock as spit flew from his lips. He stumbled, struggling to maintain his footing.
Gasps swept through the crowd like a wave hitting the shore.
"What just happened?!"
"Where did Qin Zhen?"
"He... slapped him?"
Standing beside his dazed opponent, Qin Zhen slowly lowered his hand. His eyes held no triumph, only stillness.
"You said one slap, right?" he asked, voice low. "That was mine. Want to try yours now?"
Qin Wu's face turned crimson with rage and humiliation.
"YOU!"
With a roar, he charged blindly. The phantom tiger behind him roared in unison, its ghostly claws overlapping his own as he raised both arms, preparing to tear flesh from bone.
But Qin Zhen had already seen it.
The overcommitted stance. The unguarded flank. The anger clouding judgment.
[Bloodline Pulse: 5% Triggered] Temporary Boost – Strength +1.5, Reflex +1
[Combat Technique: Abyss Palm – First Form: Vein Breaker]
With a breath as calm as still water, Qin Zhen pivoted. His fingers only two darted like vipers toward Qin Wu's shoulder.
A dull thud. Barely audible.
But the effect was immediate.
Qin Wu froze mid-charge, expression warping into shock and pain. Then his right arm dropped limply to his side. The color drained from his face as he collapsed to one knee.
"My... arm?" he choked.
"I shattered your shoulder meridians," Qin Zhen replied coolly. "Not permanently. But enough to teach you restraint."
He stood over his cousin, eyes sharp.
"Next time you raise your hand to someone weaker, remember how you fell to someone you called a cripple."
Qin Wu looked up, veins bulging in his forehead, trembling. His mouth opened, but no words came.
Silence reigned.
Then whispers. Stunned. In awe. And fear.
"He defeated Qin Wu... in under a minute?"
"That slap did he dodge and circle behind him mid-technique?"
"I didn't even see the technique. It looked like a breeze just just passed through him!"
Up in the gallery, Elder Meng slowly rose to his feet. His gaze fixed on Qin Zhen with newfound scrutiny.
"That boy... he was crippled."
He reached for a jade tablet and began scribbling something.
[Challenge Completed] Reward: +3 Clan Reputation
Evaluation Unlocked: Eligible for Inner Hall Testing
[New Quest: Break the Outer Hall Rankings]
Qin Zhen said nothing more. He turned, descending the stone steps of the arena to a path that wound past stunned disciples.
Some parted as he passed. Others stepped back instinctively.
Only moments ago, he had been an afterthought a relic of failure. Now, the air around him felt sharper, more dangerous.
They had seen something real today. A shift.
A legacy once thought extinguished had stirred again.
Far across the clan compound, past gardens and courtyards and shadowed pagodas, a servant knelt before a sealed chamber. He pressed his forehead to the polished stone.
"My lord. Word has reached us. Qin Wu... has fallen."
There was a pause. Then the door creaked open just enough for the servant to enter.
Inside, the chamber was lit only by flickering blue talismans pinned to the walls. At its center sat an old man before a chessboard carved of jade and black glass. His beard was silver, eyes hidden beneath thick lids.
He picked up a piece a white pawn and crushed it between two fingers.
"So," he whispered. "The cripple walks again."
His fingers moved with slow deliberation, placing a new piece at the center of the board.
"Prepare the Bloodline Stone," he murmured. "If the blood of our ancestors stirs in that boy again... I will see it myself."
The servant bowed low. "Yes, Patriarch."
Back in the arena, Qin Zhen walked toward the courtyard's edge where a single figure waited beneath a pine tree.
It was Qin Mei his younger cousin, barely fourteen, who had once brought him food in secret when the clan shunned him. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
"You... you really did it," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "There'll be more."
"You're going to make them all eat their words, aren't you?"
"No," he said, brushing pine needles from his shoulder. "I'll make them remember who I was. And fear who I'm becoming."
As they walked together toward the training halls, whispers trailed behind him like shadows. Every step left a mark.
Today, the slap echoed.
Tomorrow, the heavens would.