The silence in the arena didn't last. It shattered into a thousand pieces of frantic sound.
"Did you see that? He didn't just block it… he ate it!"
"A talisman! It had to be a one-time defensive talisman!"
"No talisman feels like that. That energy… it felt hungry. It felt wrong."
"Mortal Grade Zero? They lied to us. He's been hiding his power."
"Or he found something. Something old."
The whispers were no longer needles; they were a turbulent sea, pulling Li Tian in every direction. He stood in the center of the combat ring, his body screaming in protest. Every muscle fiber burned from the strain of devouring the Mountain-Crushing Fist. His meridians felt raw, scraped clean by the violent influx of foreign Qi. But he stood. And as he slowly straightened his back, the sea of voices around him hushed, parting before his unwavering gaze.
Across the ring, Zhang Fan was a portrait of cracked pride. The dust staining his fine blue robes was a blasphemy. The dull ache in his chest where Li Tian's fist had landed was a brand of humiliation. He didn't look at the crowd. He couldn't bear their pity or their shock. His eyes were locked on Li Tian, promising a death that would be slow and creative. A crony, a fellow inner disciple with a weaselly face, scurried to his side.
"Brother Zhang, that was… unfortunate luck. Tomorrow, in the Valley…" the crony whispered.
Zhang Fan's voice was a venomous drip, meant only for his follower. "Luck has nothing to do with it. That servant has stumbled upon a remnant. In the Scarlet Mist Valley, there are no elders to intervene. Find out which sector his entry token assigns him to. There's a cliffside haunted by a pack of Scarlet-Furred Apes. We'll… guide him there. Let the beasts do the work. I want to hear him scream."
On the high dais, the elders were already rising, their low voices a sharp contrast to the crowd's roar.
"Zhang Fan's use of a forbidden technique cannot be overlooked," muttered the elder with the long white beard, his expression stern.
"Overlooked?" countered the severe-looking woman. "It was the catalyst. Did you feel the nature of that boy's Qi? It wasn't just different. It was primal. Voracious. I haven't felt anything like it since… the ancient records."
Elder Zhao said nothing. He simply watched Li Tian walk away from the ring. His fingers tapped a slow, thoughtful rhythm on the stone railing. His eyes, cold and analytical, held no concern for rules or fairness. They saw only a variable. An anomaly. And in the cultivation world, anomalies were either exploited or eradicated.
The walk back through the sect grounds was different. The jeers that had once followed him were muted, replaced by staring eyes and hushed conversations. Disciples who would have purposefully bumped into him now subtly shifted out of his path. Their scorn had been tempered by a new, wary respect. Fear was a powerful teacher.
A young servant boy, no older than twelve, who usually ducked his head when Li Tian passed, hesitantly approached, holding out a water skin. "Brother Li… for your thirst," he stammered, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and admiration.
Li Tian stopped. He took the water skin and drank deeply. The cool water was a balm. He handed it back and met the boy's gaze. "Thank you," he said, his voice steady. The two words carried a weight they never had before. It was the acknowledgment of an equal. The boy blinked, then nodded rapidly before scurrying away, a strange new hope on his face.
Back in the shattered solitude of his hut, Li Tian finally let out a shuddering breath. The pain was deep, a reminder of the recklessness of his actions. He looked at the cracked iron ring on his finger. It was warm, a steady, comforting pulse against his skin, like a second heartbeat.
'Defiance draws the heavens' gaze,' Ao Shun's warning echoed in his mind. He had felt that gaze today. Swallowing an enemy's attack was a desperate gamble. The recoil could have torn him apart from the inside. He had been lucky. Luck was not a strategy.
"I will not bow again," Li Tian whispered to the silent hut. The declaration was simple, absolute.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, ignoring the pain. He wouldn't try to absorb vast amounts of Qi tonight. Instead, he focused on the Heaven Swallowing Art at its most minute level. He practiced cycling the tiny dregs of Zhang Fan's violent Qi that still lingered in his system, not to devour them, but to gently expel them, to "bleed off" the poisonous energy. It was a delicate process, like drawing splinters from his soul. With each successful micro-cycle, his breath grew steadier, his meridians feeling cleaner, less inflamed. It was a small gain, but it was control. It was progress.
Whispers about the Scarlet Mist Valley slithered through the sect like a poisonous fog. "They say the mist itself dissolves bone." "The beasts are mutated, hungry for human flesh." "It's an old battlefield—full of lingering ghosts and shattered spirit tools." "No rules. The strongest take what they want. Many don't come out."
Li Tian listened, but the fear didn't touch him. The arena had been a cage. The valley was a wilderness. And in the wilderness, even a lone wolf could survive.
As midnight draped the world in silence, a faint crimson glow began to rise over the distant mountain peaks—the Scarlet Mist, creeping into the valleys below. At that exact moment, the ring on Li Tian's finger pulsed once, sharply, like a sudden knock on a door.
A cold whisper, thin as a razor's edge and ancient as the stars, brushed against his mind. It was not Ao Shun's resonant tone. This was different, hungrier.
"The valley hungers for a feast… let us not disappoint it."