The tournament ground was a sea of spectators. Seventy external disciples in plain white robes stood in disciplined rows, their hands gripping wooden training swords, their faces taut with anticipation. Twelve inner disciples, garbed in black robes that shimmered subtly in the afternoon sun, drew every gaze. Their presence alone commanded respect—or fear.
Around the perimeter, villagers jostled for a better view. Mothers held their children tightly, fathers whispered bets and wagers, and the elderly leaned on canes, commenting on each disciple's posture or stance.
"I bet on Shi Tian! Look at that body—he's built like a bull. He'll crush anyone!" a man shouted, puffing out his chest in excitement.
"Hah! You fool. Strength without technique is worthless. My money's on Princess Yan," another replied, wagging a finger in warning.
The noise swelled into a chaotic roar, clashing with the booming sound of drums that signaled the beginning of the tournament.
On the elevated stage, Bai Nian sat composed, four elders flanking him. Rion Yan arrived shortly after, greeting the elders with practiced warmth before taking a seat beside Bai Nian. Their conversation was low, almost private amid the crowd's din.
"Who do you think will win, Bai Nian?" Rion Yan asked quietly.
"Are you really asking me? Of course, your granddaughter," Bai Nian said, chuckling.
"Hahaha! I'm not talking about her. I mean from your clan."
Bai Nian's eyes flicked toward the back, where a few elders observed with keen interest. "I really don't know what you mean, Rion. Forget it. Just start the tournament."
At his signal, Xiang Xi raised his hands, and the great drums thundered in response.
Bam! Ba-bam! Ba-ba-baam!
Immediately, the arena fell silent. The sudden hush was almost oppressive, as if the noise of the crowd itself had been sucked away.
A teacher stepped forward, his voice loud and precise. "Disciples may challenge inner disciples. If an external disciple defeats three inner disciples, they will be promoted. Each of you may fight no more than five matches. Fight fairly."
Many external disciples' eyes gleamed with greed. Promotion to inner discipleship was rare—a coveted prize. Their minds swirled with ambition, envy, and the intoxicating promise of recognition. I will be the one. I will be the only one.
Three platforms were prepared in the center of the arena, each marked with a crimson circle. The first battles erupted instantly. Bam! Bam! Bam! The sound of fists and wooden weapons collided, punctuated by cries of pain.
"Aaah! My nose—!"
"I—I surrender!"
By mid-afternoon, many external disciples had fought to exhaustion. Bruises bloomed across bodies, tears streaked dirty faces, and cries of frustration echoed. Every villager and elder watched in fascination, marveling at the energy and tenacity of these young warriors.
Fu Yang, however, remained apart from the fray, seated on the grass at the edge of the platform area. His posture was casual, head lowered, eyes half-lidded. Not a single external disciple dared challenge him—not yet. His stillness exuded a dangerous calm, a confidence that drew both curiosity and irritation.
On the sidelines, a fellow inner disciple leaned toward Shi Tian. "Brother Tian, why not leave him alone? There are plenty of others you can defeat."
Shi Tian did not respond. His gaze, sharp as a blade, never wavered from Fu Yang. He wanted to see whether this boy would cower, whether he had the nerve to challenge an opponent so clearly superior in status. Mo Rian's eyes also lingered on Fu Yang, an unreadable mix of admiration and curiosity stirring within her.
Finally, after the external battles concluded, the top twenty disciples were chosen to face the inner disciples. The crowd erupted once more as the final matches were announced.
The teacher raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. "From this moment, external disciples may challenge inner disciples!"
Before anyone could move, a voice rang across the arena, cold and cutting:
"I challenge you, Fu Yang! Get on the stage!"
Shi Tian stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes blazing like fire. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to explode.
The other disciples groaned in frustration.
"Damn it! I wanted him first!"
"Too late. Once Shi Tian crushes him, he'll be sent straight to the medicine hall anyway," another muttered.
Cin Yan smirked at Mo Rian. "Weak ones are always the first target. Want to challenge him too?"
Mo Rian shook her head, her lips pursed. "No, Brother Shi Tian will handle him. Hehe."
Shi Tian roared again. "Fu Yang! Get up here now!"
Fu Yang rose without haste, his movements deliberate, each step measured. Head lifted, eyes calm, he walked to the platform with the steady grace of someone who had already calculated every possible move.
Bai Nian muttered from the stage with a faint smile, "Youth sure are hot-blooded," glancing at Li Tian.
In the crowd, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Isn't that the boy who was beaten before? Do you think he'll finally take revenge?"
"Do you really think this is a joke? Shi Tian's like a tiger ready to hunt!"
The instructor raised his hand, signaling the start. "Begin!"
Shi Tian charged, fists swinging like hammers. "Hahaha! Fu Yang, you can't run this time! No one can save you!"
Fu Yang said nothing. He shifted into a fighting stance, movements smooth and measured.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Shi Tian's fists hammered toward him, but Fu Yang dodged with minimal effort, moving just fast enough to avoid each strike. The crowd's murmurs rose in excitement. Minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen.
Though Fu Yang appeared winded at moments, he never faltered. Shi Tian, by contrast, grew red-faced and wild, each punch leaving him more exhausted.
"You—hah!—you bastard! Fight me seriously! Hu—ha—hu!" Shi Tian gasped, nearly stumbling.
The crowd's impatience grew.
"Fight back, coward!"
"At least throw a punch!"
Even the instructor frowned. "Fu Yang, show some effort."
But Fu Yang ignored the protests. His eyes, calm and sharp, studied Shi Tian, reading each move, each imbalance. And then, when Shi Tian's energy reached its breaking point, Fu Yang struck.
Whoosh! Bam! Bam!
A storm of precise punches and kicks exploded onto Shi Tian's body.
Kacha! Bam! Bam!
Blood spurted from his broken nose. Dark bruises blossomed across his chest and arms. Within a single minute, Shi Tian collapsed, unconscious, battered and broken.
Thump!
Fu Yang placed his foot on Shi Tian's head, grinding it lightly into the platform as his gaze swept over Cin Yan and the others.
Li Tian's face darkened with a dangerous rage. (Bastard… I should have killed you already!) But he said nothing.
The crowd gasped.
"What just happened? Shi Tian lost?"
"No way! That coward actually won?"
"Shameless! That wasn't fighting—it was stalling like a rat!"
Boos erupted, even from the Tian clan elders.
Fu Yang removed his foot and stepped off the platform with the same calm as before. He returned to his seat, closed his eyes, and rested as if nothing had happened. Shi Tian's unconscious form was carried away by the academy medics.
On the stage, Rion Yan's eyes gleamed with interest. "What an intriguing boy you have in your clan."
Bai Nian chuckled softly. "Tell that to the crowd."
"Hah! They don't understand the true hardships hidden along the path of cultivation."