Xiao Zhen stood in silence for a moment before turning back toward the audience. His steps were stiff, measured. When he lowered his head, the flush on his face was impossible to hide. The defeat had been swift—clean enough to leave no excuses.
In a few exchanges, the image he held of himself had cracked.
"I… I didn't—"
"You didn't take me seriously," Li Yan interrupted, his voice quiet yet edged with steel. His gaze met Xiao Zhen's directly. "That was your mistake. You believed your cultivation alone guaranteed victory. You fought with arrogance."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"A battle is more than raw power. It is perception. Adaptability. Knowing when to strike—and when to yield."
Xiao Zhen's hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to find fault anywhere but within. Yet the truth in those words cut deeper than any blade. Slowly, unwillingly, he understood.
"You—" The protest died before it could take form.
Li Yan's expression softened by a fraction. "I've stood where you stand," he said evenly. "I know what it means to rely on strength alone."
For the briefest moment, his eyes drifted—touched by a memory not born in this life.
"But power alone cannot win every battle. You'll understand that in time."
Around them, the crowd murmured. Some dissected the earlier clash with animated gestures; others watched the two figures on the platform, sensing tension they could not hear.
Li Yan had no interest in prolonging the scene. Victory was not something he paraded.
He turned toward Arena Platform #30, his steps steady, devoid of swagger.
Behind him, Xiao Zhen watched in silence. His expression revealed nothing, but inside, anger and disbelief churned with a quieter, more painful realization. He had not merely lost to Li Yan—he had lost to his own conceit.
I will not underestimate anyone again.
The vow formed like iron in his heart.
He would grow stronger. Sharper. More disciplined.
But for now, all that remained was the bitterness of defeat—and the understanding that his path was longer than he had believed.
____
As Li Yan approached Arena Platform #30, his gaze swept briefly across the surrounding matches. Techniques flared and faded on distant platforms; elders observed with unreadable expressions.
There would be whispers about his previous battle.
He paid them no mind.
What mattered was refinement—each clash a whetstone against which he sharpened himself.
When the fourth round was announced, Li Yan stepped onto the platform with calm composure.
Opposite him stood Participant #5.
She appeared to be his age. Long jet-black hair flowed neatly down her back, framing sharp amber eyes that carried unmistakable confidence. Her white robes were immaculate, her posture elegant yet assured.
Xia Rou—one of the six white-ranked disciples at the peak of the Qi Gathering Realm.
Her expression remained composed, though faint arrogance lingered beneath it, as if the outcome had already been decided in her favor.
She had not witnessed Li Yan's previous match; occupied with her own bout, she knew nothing of Xiao Zhen's fall. Otherwise, her gaze might have held more caution.
Instead, she offered him a faint smirk.
Li Yan met it without reaction.
The referee elder stepped between them and raised his hand.
"Begin."
He retreated to the edge of the platform, leaving the space between them open and silent.
Both summoned their swords at the same time.
Twin flashes of light flickered as blades emerged from their storage rings—each a Tier-3 weapon. Xia Rou's sword shimmered faintly, a dark aura clinging to its edge even before she infused it with Qi.
Without pause, she channeled Darkness Qi into the blade and swept it forward in a graceful arc. A crescent of dark energy tore free, slicing toward Li Yan with a low, humming shriek.
Li Yan shifted half a step.
The crescent passed where he had stood an instant before, dispersing against the barrier at the edge of the platform.
"Impressive reflexes," Xia Rou remarked lightly, a trace of mockery beneath her tone.
She did not allow him space to breathe. Activating her movement technique—Shadow Glide—her figure blurred and closed the distance in a blink. Her sword flashed in a controlled barrage, each strike precise, each edge saturated with Darkness Qi.
Li Yan remained composed.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, he activated Nightshade Shield. A translucent barrier of dark energy unfurled around him, compact and steady. Xia Rou's blade struck again and again, yet each impact dissolved into the shield with dull reverberations.
Her lips curved faintly. "Nightshade Shield? Really?"
She retreated several steps, robes fluttering as she gathered herself. Darkness Qi surged from her core in a sudden swell, pouring into her sword. The air around her sharpened, growing heavy with oppressive intent.
"Let's see how you handle this."
Her voice rang clear across the platform.
"Alpha Dark Sword."
Above her, a formation of dark sigils spun into existence, layered and intricate. From its center, a massive black sword began to descend—slow at first, then gathering weight and presence as it formed fully. It radiated destructive force, pressing against the senses like a gathering storm.
The spectators leaned forward, breaths held.
Li Yan studied the formation calmly. "A Mortal-Tier Mid-Level technique," he said softly, almost conversationally.
Xia Rou's smirk widened. "Afraid already? Admit defeat now, and I might spare you the embarrassment."
A faint smile touched Li Yan's lips. "Fear?"
His gaze lifted.
"Let's see."
"Don't regret it," she snapped, driving the technique downward.
The colossal blade fell like a dark meteor. The platform trembled beneath its pressure.
Li Yan raised his sword.
Superior-Level Darkness Qi flowed from his Qi Core—dense, refined, incomparably pure. It surged into the blade, and for a heartbeat, the steel resisted, trembling as if unworthy of the force coursing through it.
Then the Darkness settled.
Not glossy. Not wild.
Dense.
An ink-deep sheen coated the blade, as though a storm had been compressed along its edge. The air itself seemed to grow heavier.
At the edge of the platform, the referee elder stiffened, ready to intervene.
Most in the audience believed the attack was beyond Li Yan's capacity.
But Ji Hong, seated among the elders, smiled faintly. His eyes gleamed.
"So he's finally using it," he murmured. "Superior-Level Darkness Qi."
"Xia Rou never stood a chance."
On the platform, Li Yan moved.
One clean, fluid swing.
A pitch-black arc tore through the air, silent at first—then singing with a sharp, cutting hum.
The collision lasted less than a breath.
The massive black sword met the arc—
—and split.
There was no resistance. No prolonged struggle.
The descending blade shattered cleanly into fragments of dissipating darkness. The formation above Xia Rou fractured like glass, its sigils breaking apart into fading motes.
Silence rippled across the arena.
Xia Rou stood frozen.
Her aura collapsed inward. The oppressive pressure vanished as though it had been swallowed whole. A thin line of blood traced down from the corner of her lips, stark against her pale skin. Her breathing turned uneven; the vast Qi she had poured into the technique left her core nearly drained.
Shock lingered in her amber eyes.
Across from her, Li Yan lowered his sword calmly, the dense darkness along its edge already dispersing into nothingness.
To shatter a Mortal-Tier Mid-Level technique so cleanly—so effortlessly—was not something the White Rank was accustomed to witnessing.
Xia Rou stood motionless, disbelief draining the color from her face.
"How…?" Her voice trembled.
This had been her final match of the day. She had calculated everything carefully. By unleashing her full Qi in a single decisive strike, she intended to end the battle swiftly and secure her place in the semifinals.
She had not imagined this outcome.
Now her Qi Core felt hollow. The technique had consumed nearly everything. She had nothing left to press the fight.
And Li Yan understood that.
He moved.
Phantom Dash activated in a whisper of displaced air. One moment, he stood several steps away; the next, he was before her.
Before Xia Rou could react, the edge of his sword rested lightly against her throat.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"You lose," Li Yan said calmly.
Her hands trembled at her sides. The arrogance in her gaze had long vanished, replaced by shaken pride.
"How…?" she asked again, softer this time. "How did you break it with a single strike?"
Li Yan withdrew his sword and stepped back, lowering the blade to his side. A faint smile touched his lips.
"I have a few tricks," he replied evenly.
The referee elder stepped forward and raised his hand. "Match over. Winner—Li Yan Tian."
The tension in the arena broke at once. Murmurs surged through the crowd, rising into waves of astonishment. Some stared at Li Yan openly now, no longer dismissive.
Only Ji Hong remained composed. A subtle satisfaction lingered in his eyes.
On the platform, Xia Rou remained still for a moment longer before lowering her gaze. Her fists tightened, nails pressing into her palms as Li Yan turned away without another word.
Li Yan descended from the platform, his expression unchanged, as if the earlier clash had required nothing of him.
He returned to the waiting area where the remaining competitors gathered. A short while later, the head referee's voice rang clearly across the arena.
"The Top Four of the White Rank have been decided. The semifinals and final matches will take place tomorrow."
A restrained ripple of excitement passed through the waiting area.
Li Yan's gaze moved over the other three semifinalists. One—Mu Fan—maintained a composed expression; the other two struggled to conceal their anticipation.
Without speaking, he followed them back to the audience seating.
He settled into his place, purple eyes steady as he turned his attention to the ongoing matches of the higher ranks.
The Yellow, Azure, and Brown Rank battles were noticeably sharper. Movements were tighter, techniques executed with greater refinement and timing. Every clash carried the weight of experience.
Li Yan watched carefully.
"Qi control improves with cultivation," he noted inwardly. "Their execution is cleaner… transitions smoother."
As the evening progressed, the Yellow Rank's Top Four were decided. The victors joined the audience, their earlier tension replaced with quiet confidence.
Soon after, the Azure Rank matches concluded as well.
The focus then shifted entirely to the Brown Rank.
Here, the difference was unmistakable.
Movements flowed like practiced calligraphy—precise, controlled, deliberate. Mortal-Tier High-Level techniques were displayed openly, drawing cheers from the crowd as spiritual pressure rippled across the platforms.
Li Yan's eyes narrowed slightly as one competitor unleashed a heavy, descending technique.
"Purple Shadow Hill Technique," he assessed calmly. "A good Mortal-Tier High-Level."
Despite the escalating intensity, his expression did not change. He observed in silence, committing details to memory.
Eventually, the Brown Rank's Top Four were determined.
The head referee stepped forward once more.
"Congratulations to the Top Four of all ranks. The first day of competition has concluded. Semifinals and finals will proceed tomorrow. Now let's move back to the sect."
Disciples rose from their seats, conversations swelling as they made their way toward the teleportation portal.
Li Yan moved with the flow, his steps unhurried.
Upon reaching the sect's assembly area, he did not linger. Ignoring the excited chatter around him, he headed directly toward his quarters.
As the door sealed behind him, Li Yan released a slow breath. The tension of the day eased from his shoulders, though only slightly.
He walked to the center of the room and sat upon the couch. With a casual wave of his hand, two objects appeared on the table before him.
A melon-sized egg, gold-and-black, its surface gleaming faintly under the lantern light.
And an ancient scroll, bound with a narrow black ribbon.
His gaze lingered on the egg first. Its shell carried a subtle luster—not decorative, but alive in a way he could not immediately define.
After a moment, he reached for the scroll.
The instant he untied the ribbon, the parchment slipped from his fingers.
It did not fall.
It hovered.
"What?" Li Yan rose at once, eyes narrowing as a soft, ethereal glow began to seep from the scroll's surface.