A stunned silence hung over the crowd of disciples for a moment, broken only by the morning wind whistling through the broken door of Li Tian's hut. Then, the whispers began, sharp and disbelieving.
"Did you see that? Li Tian… he blocked Zhang Fan?"
"Impossible! It must be a trick. Zhang Fan wasn't serious."
"Maybe he slipped? There's no way that waste has cultivated Qi."
"Look at his eyes… he's not even bowing his head anymore."
The murmurs grew into a buzzing hive of gossip. The scene was unthinkable: Li Tian, the sect's benchmark for failure, standing tall while Zhang Fan, an inner disciple, stared at his own hand in confused fury. The world had tilted on its axis.
Elder Zhao's voice, laced with impatience and authority, cut through the noise. "Enough! Zhang Fan, explain this disturbance. Why is a servant disciple's door broken, and why are you brawling like common street thugs?"
Zhang Fan flinched, then his face twisted into a mask of righteous indignation. He pointed a shaking finger at Li Tian. "Elder! This… this servant has grown insolent! I came to remind him of his duties, and he attacked me! He used some underhanded trick!"
The lie came easily to him, a reflex of his privilege. The crowd, eager for a familiar narrative, latched onto it. Nods and angry mutters spread. Of course. Li Tian had cheated. There was no other explanation.
"A trick?" Elder Zhao's gaze, cold and analytical, shifted to Li Tian. "Is this true?"
Li Tian met the Elder's eyes. The fear he might have felt was buried under a mountain of newfound resolve. "I defended myself," he said, his voice clear and steady, carrying over the whispers. "He entered my home uninvited and struck first. I merely stopped his hand."
A few disciples gasped at his audacity. Speaking to an Elder with such calm defiance was unheard of for someone of his status.
"Lies!" Zhang Fan spat, his face flushing with humiliation. The truth in Li Tian's words only made him angrier. He needed to re-establish his dominance, here and now, in front of everyone. "You think a cheap parlor trick makes you my equal? You're still the same trash who licks the dirt from my boots!"
He took a step forward, his Qi flaring around him, a visible aura of white energy. The air grew heavy. "I'll prove it to everyone! If you're so brave now, then face me! No tricks, no lies! Let's see you withstand a single strike from my full power!"
The challenge hung in the air. This was no longer a casual slap; this was a formal test of cultivation. The crowd fell silent, all eyes fixed on Li Tian. This was his moment to crumble, to reveal his defiance as a fleeting illusion.
Li Tian felt the eyes upon him, felt the weight of their judgment and mockery. But he also felt the warm, steady stream of Qi circulating within him. The Heaven Swallowing Art whispered in his mind, a promise of devouring power. A fire burned in his chest, fueled by ten years of swallowed humiliation.
"I accept," Li Tian said, the two words simple, yet they echoed with the force of a gong.
A wave of excitement rippled through the disciples. This was better than they could have hoped for.
Zhang Fan's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Fool." He didn't wait for a signal. He lunged, his body becoming a blur. This time, he used a basic sect technique—the [Mountain-Splitting Fist]. His right fist, wrapped in concentrated Qi, shot forward like a hammer, aimed directly at Li Tian's chest. It was a blow meant to break bones, to incapacitate. It carried the full force of his early Qi Condensation cultivation.
Time seemed to stretch. Li Tian didn't try to dodge. He planted his feet, rooted himself to the ground, and focused every ounce of his will. He wasn't just blocking; he was opening himself. The Heaven Swallowing Art cycled at a frantic pace. A faint, almost invisible whirlpool formed around him as the art greedily pulled the surrounding spiritual energy into his body.
He crossed his arms over his chest, channeling the newly absorbed Qi into a desperate defense.
BOOM!
The impact was thunderous. A shockwave of force exploded outwards, kicking up dust and causing the nearby disciples to stagger back. Li Tian's feet skidded backward in the dirt, carving two shallow trenches. A searing pain shot through his arms, and his bones groaned in protest. The difference in their raw power was still immense.
But he held.
He wasn't sent flying. He wasn't broken.
Zhang Fan's fist was pressed against Li Tian's crossed arms, his expression one of absolute, uncomprehending shock. His powerful strike, the one that should have shattered the servant's body, had been stopped. He could feel a strange, resilient energy coursing through Li Tian's defense, an energy that felt ancient and insatiable.
The silence that followed was absolute. Deafening.
Every disciple stared, their jaws slack. The whispers had died. The smirks had vanished. There was no trick. No slip. Li Tian had just, with his own power, withstood a full-force attack from an inner disciple.
The "servant" had not just stood up; he had stood firm.
Then, Li Tian pushed. It wasn't a mighty shove, but a firm, deliberate extension of his arms, fueled by the last dregs of the Qi he had absorbed.
Zhang Fan, off-balance and mentally shattered, was forced to take a single, stumbling step backward.
That single step echoed louder than the collision itself.
A collective intake of breath swept through the crowd. Disbelief turned to awe, to confusion, to fear. The world they knew had truly ended.
"Impossible…!" someone finally whispered, the word carrying the weight of everyone's thoughts.
Zhang Fan's face went from shock to purple-faced rage. The public humiliation was complete. He, a scion of the Zhang family, had been pushed back by a latrine cleaner. "You… you freak!" he snarled, his voice trembling with fury. "This isn't over! The sect trials are today! I will crush you in front of the entire sect! I will expose whatever demonic trick you're using!"
Elder Zhao, who had watched the entire exchange with an unreadable expression, finally spoke. His eyes, narrowed and thoughtful, lingered on Li Tian for a long moment—just long enough for a flicker of surprise to pass before it vanished, leaving only cold indifference, as though nothing had happened.
"Enough spectacle," the Elder declared, his voice cutting the tension. "The monthly trials are beginning. All disciples, to the martial arena. Now." He turned, his robes swirling. "That includes you, Li Tian."
The command was given. The crowd, still buzzing with shock, began to move, casting backward glances at the lone figure standing by the broken hut.
Li Tian took a deep, shuddering breath. The pain in his arms was real, but it was a sweet pain. The pain of survival. Of defiance. He looked at the faces of the disciples parting before him, their expressions now a mix of fear, curiosity, and resentment.
His heart burned, not with anger, but with a fierce, triumphant fire. This walk to the arena was different. He was not being dragged as a object of ridicule. He was walking as a participant.
The path of cultivation had begun, and his first step was a declaration of war against the entire world that had scorned him. The trial ground awaited, and with it, a chance to turn their shock into utter terror.