Night settled over the Great Tower like a shroud.
The cafeteria on the second floor dimmed as lanterns flickered low, their warm glow casting long shadows on the stone walls. Most participants had retreated to their dormitories, but Lin Xue sat alone at one of the central tables, elbows resting lightly beside a cup of untouched tea.
Outside the wide archway leading to the tower balcony, footsteps echoed.
Defeated challengers—bruised, bandaged, and limping—were escorted out by Tower guards. Their expressions ranged from disappointment to humiliation, some eyes burning with resolve, others dulled by despair.
The losers were not permitted to stay.
Cloud City had no room for stagnation.
Lin Xue watched silently.
Not out of cruelty—
but out of clarity.
Tomorrow, any of us could be them.
She inhaled deeply.
The day's fights replayed in her mind, sharp and cold:
Pin Sujin shattering precision with raw, immovable strength.
Zhao Ming flowing like water, redirecting everything thrown his way.
Zhao Yuan, with that suffocating arrogance, waiting for a worthy prey.
Lin Xue clenched her fingers around the edge of the table.
Pin Sujin countered her approach.
Zhao Ming countered her force.
Either one could extinguish her flame if she hesitated.
But Zhao Yuan—
He was a wall she could break.
Maybe not easily.
But breakable.
His rank—thirteenth—meant talent, prestige, and cultivation. Yet Lin Xue sensed something brittle beneath his aura, something over-polished, over-assured.
He could be split.
He could be burned through.
She lifted her gaze toward the moonlit balcony.
Three paths.
Two counters.
One opening.
When morning came, she needed that opening.
Dawn arrived.
The cafeteria filled with tension rather than conversation. Disciples of the Zhao Sect whispered among themselves. Pin Sujin stood alone, silent as ever. And Zhao Ming, hood still draped over his head, sat near a window, quietly sketching on a strip of parchment.
Lin Xue stepped inside.
A guard raised a jade plaque.
"The Round Two matchups are as follows."
Silence fell.
Pin Sujin vs. Zhao Ming.
Gasps broke across the room.
Lin Xue's heart tightened for a brief moment.
That was the worst matchup either of them could ask for.
Pin Sujin's power was a mountain.
Zhao Ming's style was a stream.
If the mountain moved, the stream would break.
But if the stream could flow just right…
Her thoughts were interrupted as the guard spoke again.
Lin Xue vs. Zhao Yuan.
The cafeteria buzzed instantly.
Zhao Yuan stood, expression brightening—not with joy, but with anticipation. He rested one hand on his hip, looking straight at Lin Xue across the room.
A smile stretched slowly across his lips.
"So," he called out, voice rich with arrogance, "you and I at last."
He stepped forward.
"I'm glad the Tower recognized fate when it saw it."
His eyes sharpened with cruel delight.
"I will enjoy destroying you."
Lin Xue didn't flinch.
She didn't look away.
She let her embers ignite softly beneath her skin—just enough for him to feel the heat, nothing more.
Then she spoke, voice low and precise:
"Come try."
Zhao Yuan's smile faltered for the briefest instant.
Then he laughed.
And the entire cafeteria felt the temperature rise.
Two fights.
Two flames.
Four destinies.
Tomorrow, the Great Tower would burn.
One way or another.