The arena was a cauldron of whispers, the crowd's shock rippling through the stands like a restless tide.
Master Shen's command—"Get out, Fu Yang!"—still echoed, his voice thick with fury, his scarred face a mask of barely restrained anger.
Fu Yang, unruffled, stepped away from the fighting circle, his robes pristine despite the brutality he'd unleashed on Li Wei. The memory of Li Wei's scream, raw and anguished, hung heavy, a wound in the air that silenced even the boldest spectators.
Fu Yang returned to his seat among the competitors, his steps measured, his expression calm as a still pond. The other disciples nearby shifted uncomfortably, some rising to change seats, their eyes darting away from him.
, their whispers a low hum.
"He's cruel,"
one muttered. "That wasn't a fight, coward.
Another hissed, "Who surrenders, then fights like that humph trying to show off?"
Fu Yang ignored them, his gaze fixed on the arena floor, his mind turning over the day's events(. I am trying to stay low, he thought, but they keep pushing me into the light.)
In the stands, Rion Yan leaned back, his arms crossed, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Hahaha, what a show!" he said to Bai Nian, his voice light but edged with curiosity. "That Fu Yang is a cruel one, isn't he?
A different mindset from the rest, that's for sure. What do you think, Bai Nian?"
Bai Nian opened his eyes slowly, his gaze sharp and thoughtful. "Mmm, you're right," he said, his voice low, measured. "That boy's mind works differently. There are reasons behind his actions, I'm sure of it." His eyes flicked to the raised platform where the elders sat, noting the return of Li Tian, who had slipped back into his seat after a brief absence.
"But don't forget his time in the medicine hall. You know what happened there."Rion Yan chuckled.
h
Than his gaze shifting to Cin Yan, who stood among the disciples below. She stiffened, her head turning—up, down, right, left—as if sensing a hidden watcher. Rion Yan's smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Then he turned back to Fu Yang, his expression sharpening. "
Fu Yang, seated below, felt a chill crawl up his spine—a terrifying gaze, heavy with intent, pressing against him. His heartbeat quickened, but he kept his face impassive, his eyes locked on the arena.
(Someone's watching,) he thought. He forced his breathing to steady, refusing to let the pressure unravel him.
"Mmm, you're right. I had expectations for him, but maybe he's not so special after all. Just another disciple with a temper."
The tournament pressed on, the afternoon sun sinking into evening, casting long shadows across the packed earth. Match after match unfolded— the clash of fists, the roar of the crowd. But the energy had shifted since Fu Yang's exhibition match; the disciples fought with a cautious edge, as if wary of crossing an unseen line.
By dusk, the final bout concluded, with Cin Yan securing victory over an outer disciple with a precise, elegant strike, earning a thunderous cheer.
The disciples assembled in neat rows on the arena floor, their eyes fixed on the massive scoreboard looming above. The results flickered into view, etched in glowing runes:
Cin Yan: 1st (won all 5 challenges, defeated only outer disciples)
Sha Tian: 2nd (won all 4 challenges, defeated only outer disciples)
Fu Yang: 3rd (won 2 challenges, defeated one outer and one inner disciple)
Zong Fan: 4th…
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Cin Yan's flawless record drew admiration, but Fu Yang's third-place finish—despite his surrender and brutal display—sparked heated whispers.
"He only fought twice," one disciple muttered. "How is he third?" Another countered, "He crushed an inner disciple. That's not luck."
Elder Xiang Xi, a stern figure in flowing black robes, stepped forward to address the assembly. His voice carried the weight of authority. "Disciples, you have all fought with courage in the Grand Tournament. Win or lose, you have shown the strength of our sect. To the victors, we offer rewards as a mark of your achievement."
He gestured, and assistants brought forth pouches of spiritual stones, their faint glow pulsing with qi. Cin Yan received a hefty sack, her expression cool but pleased. Sha Tian accepted his with a nod. When Fu Yang's turn came, he stepped forward, accepting a small pouch. He glanced inside—three spiritual stones, their light dim compared to the others.
Only three? he thought, his jaw tightening. This damned system rewards compliance, not strength. He bowed stiffly and returned to his place, ignoring the sidelong glances from his peers.
The ceremony ended, the elders dispersing, the crowd thinning as disciples trickled out of the arena. Fu Yang rose, slipping through the departing throng. Many stepped aside as he passed, quickening toward his quarters.
.
.
Two days later, the disciples gathered in the sect's training pavilion, a grand structure of polished wood and stone nestled beneath Mount Qingyun. The air hummed with spiritual energy, the scent of incense mingling with the faint pulse of qi. Fu Yang stood among the group, his presence quiet but magnetic, drawing wary glances.
Chen Hua, the outer sect disciple who had shone in the tournament, stood nearby, her sharp eyes studying him with open curiosity.
Master Wan entered, his robes billowing, his gaze sweeping over the disciples. It lingered on Fu Yang, heavy with unspoken judgment. Fu Yang met his eyes briefly, recalling the examination where he'd uncovered loopholes in the the history of wan clan but when master wan also studied deeply he also found many loopholes, but knowing his affiliation with the Wan clan made silence the safer choice.
.
.
"You have all passed the examination and proven your worth in the tournament," Master Wan began, his voice resonant, commanding attention. "You are qualified to choose your path as disciples of our clan. But remember: the path to true mastery demands more than strength—it demands refinement, control, and sacrifice.
He paused for twenty seconds, letting his words sink in. The disciples stood silent, some nodding, others exchanging glances. "Those who understand my meaning, I congratulate you," Master Wan continued.
"Now, to the main topic. Today, you will learn the first step of the Skin Tempering Method, a technique to forge your bodies into vessels of unyielding power."
The disciples stirred, excitement tempered by apprehension. The Skin Tempering Method was a legend within the sect, a process that could transform a cultivator's body into a living weapon, impervious to all but the mightiest blows. Yet its risks were equally renowned—failure could cripple one's cultivation or worse.
Master Wan gestured to a table behind him, where vibrant spiritual plants glowed with faint light, their leaves shimmering with qi. Beside them lay a massive beast hide, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly. "This is the hide of a spiritual boar from Nian Village," he said, indicating the coarse, dirt-flecked fur. "Common, but sturdy. The Skin Tempering Method requires three components: first, spiritual plants like the Jade Lotus, which purifies and strengthens your qi channels; second, the hide of a spiritual beast to channel the tempering process; and third, your own will. Through control and refinement, the hide fuses with your body, allowing you to sense spiritual energy as the beast once did."
Chen Hua raised a hand, her voice steady but curious. "Master, how do we obtain these materials? Does the sect provide them?"
Master Wan's lips twitched, a rare hint of amusement. "The clan provides knowledge, not handouts. But as the first batch of inner disciples, you are fortunate. The sect will provide beast hides based on your tournament performance. The top performers will receive Black Boar or Iron Serpent hides. The rest will receive Brown Boar hides."The disciples erupted in cheers, thanking the clan for its generosity.
Master Wan raised a hand for silence. "Quiet down, in the next room there are manuals of the Skin Tempering Method, tailored to the beast hide you receive. Inner disciples, step forward one by one and collect your manuals."
Outer disciples watching from the sidelines whispered enviously. "They already got beast hides?" one said. "That's why I want to be an inner disciple," another replied, nudging his companion.
The disciples lined up, each taking a manual. Cin Yan, however, remained in place, her expression unreadable. Master Wan glanced at her but said nothing, his silence sparking curious glances among the others. Fu Yang stepped forward, receiving a manual for the Black Boar Skin Tempering Technique, its pages heavy with intricate diagrams and runes. He tucked it under his arm, his mind already racing with possibilities
"The rest of you will receive your hides and manuals tomorrow," Master Wan continued. "You have ten days to master the technique. Work alone or seek guidance from me or other instructors, but know this: the Skin Tempering Method tests both body and spirit. Fail to prepare, and you risk crippling your cultivation—or worse."
The disciples bowed, their faces a mix of determination and dread. As they dispersed, Fu Yang lingered, his eyes on the spiritual boar hide, its runes whispering secrets he couldn't yet grasp. He sensed a presence behind him—Chen Hua, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes boring into him.
"You're not what you seem, Fu Yang," she said, her voice low but probing. "Surrendering, then crushing Li Wei like that—what was that about?"
Fu Yang turned, noting her petite frame but fierce gaze. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and on impulse, he reached out, patting her head as if she were a child. "You ask too many questions, Chen Hua."
Her face flushed with indignation. "Aah! Are you mocking me because I'm short?" she snapped, swatting his hand away. Before he could react, she grabbed his wrist and bit down, her teeth sinking into his skin like a playful kitten.
"Um." Fu Yang blinked, his expression caught between surprise and amusement. What is this girl?
Chen Hua released him, stepping back with a huff, her cheeks red. "Answer my question next time, or I'll bite harder!" she warned, turning to leave.
Fu yang • __ •