Zhang Fan's voice was a weapon, honed by privilege and cruelty. "Li Tian! You worthless gutter rat! You think hiding in your filth will save you from your duties?"
The sound slammed into Li Tian, a familiar echo of a thousand past humiliations. For a heartbeat, the old reflexes took over. A cold knot of dread tightened in his stomach. His shoulders tensed, ready to hunch. His eyes dropped to the floor, the ingrained posture of a servant awaiting punishment. The memory of the arena—the shattered sword, the laughter, the final verdict—threatened to swallow him whole.
But then, he felt it.
A warmth. A current.
It was faint, a mere trickle compared to the torrent he'd experienced during the night, but it was undeniably there. The Heaven Swallowing Art had left its mark; a single, complete revolution of Qi now flowed sluggishly but persistently through his previously barren meridians. It was a tiny, humming engine of power nestled in his dantian.
The fear didn't vanish, but it was met head-on by something new, something solid and sharp. A spark of defiance ignited in his chest, fanned by the memory of starlight and an Immortal Emperor's voice.
Yesterday, I was powerless. Today… today I am awake.
He took a deep breath, and the air itself tasted different. It was charged with possibilities he could now sense. He unclenched his fists, feeling the latent strength in his fingers. A strange calm settled over him.
The flimsy hut door shuddered under a heavy kick. "I'm not asking, trash! The latrines won't clean themselves! Or should I tell Elder Zhao you're too much of a coward to even do that?"
With a splintering crack, the door swung inward, revealing Zhang Fan's sneering face. He filled the doorway, his fine blue silk robes a glaring insult to the hut's poverty. His eyes, full of contempt, scanned the cramped space before locking onto Li Tian, who stood calmly in the center of the room.
"Well? Still feeling sorry for yourself?" Zhang Fan stepped inside, his presence making the hut feel even smaller. He wrinkled his nose. "It stinks in here. But I suppose that's fitting. A servant's hovel for a servant's son. Your father knew his place, crawling in the dirt. You should learn from his example."
Yesterday, those words would have been a dagger to the heart. Today, they were just noise. Li Tian met his gaze, his own eyes no longer downcast. They held a quiet, unnerving stillness.
Zhang Fan's smirk faltered for a second. This wasn't the reaction he expected. There was no cowering, no stammering apologies. The silence stretched, becoming a challenge in itself.
"What's wrong with you?" Zhang Fan took a menacing step closer, his voice dropping. "Did I break you yesterday? Or are you finally realizing how utterly pathetic you are? A Mortal Grade Zero. You're not even a person. You're a stain on the sect."
Li Tian remained silent, but internally, he was preparing. He focused on the trickle of Qi, urging it to flow faster, to gather in his arm. He felt a subtle heat building in his palm. This was a test. The real trial wouldn't be in the arena later; it was here, right now.
The continued silence enraged Zhang Fan. Arrogance demanded a reaction. "You need to be taught a lesson! Know your place, you dog!"
He moved with the casual cruelty of someone swatting a fly. His hand, infused with the faint white glow of his Qi Condensation cultivation, shot out in a sharp, open-palmed slap aimed at Li Tian's face. It was the ultimate humiliation, a blow meant not just to hurt, but to demean.
Time seemed to slow.
Li Tian saw the attack coming with crystalline clarity. Every detail was sharp: the condescending curl of Zhang Fan's lip, the lazy confidence in the strike. But his body was no longer sluggish. The Qi in his meridians surged in response to his will.
He didn't dodge. He didn't flinch.
His own hand snapped up, not as a block, but as a mirror. He channeled the raw, devouring energy of the Heaven Swallowing Art into his palm.
CRACK!
The sound that echoed in the small hut was not the sound of a face being struck. It was the crisp, solid impact of palm meeting palm.
Zhang Fan's smirk vanished, replaced by a blank stare of utter shock. His slap had been arrested mid-air. Li Tian's fingers were wrapped around his wrist, and the grip was like a band of tempered steel. A strange, voracious energy pulsed from Li Tian's hand, not the gentle flow of Qi Condensation, but something wilder, hungrier. It didn't just resist Zhang Fan's Qi; it seemed to consume it.
"You… you dare?" Zhang Fan stammered, his confidence shattered. He tried to pull back, channeling more Qi into his arm to break the grip. The white glow around his wrist brightened. But Li Tian held fast, his arm unwavering. The difference in raw power was still vast, but the quality of the energy Li Tian wielded was on a different plane altogether.
With a sharp shove, Li Tian released him, sending Zhang Fan stumbling back a step. The inner disciple stared at his own wrist, then at Li Tian, his face a canvas of confusion and dawning, horrified understanding.
"Impossible…" Zhang Fan whispered, the word trembling. "You… you have Qi. You're cultivating? But… you're Mortal Grade Zero! The test… it's impossible!"
Li Tian finally spoke, his voice low and steady, carrying a chill that hadn't been there before. It was the voice of someone who had touched the stars and found them within his grasp.
"You keep calling me trash," Li Tian said, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "But it seems the heavens have decided to recycle."
The commotion had not gone unnoticed. The shouted insults, the kicked-in door, the clash of energy—it was a beacon for gossip-hungry disciples. A small crowd had begun to gather outside the broken doorway, their eyes wide with disbelief. They pointed and whispered, seeing the impossible: the sect's number one waste, standing firm against an inner disciple.
Before Zhang Fan could recover from his shock or the gathering crowd could process what they were seeing, a deeper, authoritative voice cut through the murmurs.
"What is the meaning of this disruption?"
Elder Zhao stood at the periphery of the crowd, his expression stern, his gaze sweeping over the scene. His eyes lingered on the broken door, on Zhang Fan's stunned face, and finally, for a long, calculating moment, on Li Tian.
The monthly trials were about to begin, and the first shockwave had already been felt.