The path to victory was never straight — it twisted like smoke through broken alleys and shattered pride.
The orb pulsed in Lu Mao's palm as he ran. A low, living warmth, as though the artifact itself was aware of the chaos burning through the city around them.
Wind clawed at his cloak. Boots hit stone. Every exhale felt heavier than the last.
The courtyard had vanished behind them — only its echoes remained. The cries of cultivators, the crash of steel, and the fading roar of qi clashing against qi. Now the city stretched before them like a labyrinth of dusk — its walls bleeding with the red glow of the trial orbs that dotted the skyline like phantom suns.
Yan Mei ran just ahead of him, whip coiled tight, her braid snapping behind her like a flag. Chen Yuan carried Bao Fu under one arm, the fat cultivator bouncing like a badly tied sack but still cursing with every step.
Marco flanked their side, sword drawn, breath sharp and measured despite the blood at his collar.
They weren't safe — not yet.
Every street hid movement. Every rooftop seemed to breathe.
⸻
The sound of distant fighting thundered through the air. In the skies above, qi storms flared where the prodigies battled — blinding light, fragments of shattered buildings raining down like silver dust. The faint screams of those who failed drifted down the alleys like whispers of the dead.
Even the strongest were breaking.
So much for Heaven's favorites.
Lu Mao glanced toward a distant plaza, where another team was crushed beneath the strike of a red-robed senior. Qi detonated in a bloom of light — too bright, too cruel. The losers were flung away, unconscious, their bodies smoking with qi burn.
He looked down at the orb in his hand again, at the faint heartbeat of crimson inside it.
They had stolen this from the jaws of the impossible.
Now, they had to survive long enough to keep it.
***
"Don't slow down!" Yan Mei's voice cracked through the wind. "We're close to the central district — once we hit the gathering grounds, we'll be safe!"
Bao Fu groaned from under Chen Yuan's arm. "Safe? You call running through death traps safe? Spirits choke my luck—!"
"Save your breath," Chen Yuan grunted. "You're heavy enough already."
"Blame my charm, not my size!" Bao Fu snapped, but the humor was thin. Beneath it, Lu Mao could hear fatigue, see the faint tremor in his fingers as he clutched his rune bag. They were running on fumes now — every pulse of qi burned like fire through strained veins.
Yet they couldn't stop.
Not while the trial still hunted them.
***
Ahead, the alleys split into three paths — one slanting toward the old clocktower ruins, another vanishing under a crumbling archway, and the third leading straight toward the faint glow of the gathering grounds beyond the district wall.
Yan Mei hesitated only a fraction. "Middle path. It's faster!"
Lu Mao's instincts twitched.
The silence there was too clean. Too still.
Before he could speak, a sharp gust sliced past — a whisper of movement above.
He looked up.
Figures moved across the rooftops — dark silhouettes darting like shadows between the tiles. Three on the left, two on the right. He caught the glint of qi on a blade.
His gut dropped.
"Yan Mei!" he barked.
She looked up — too late.
A cultivator dropped from above, hammer first. Marco met him mid-fall, steel against steel — the impact cracked the street like thunder. Dust and shards of stone burst outward. Marco staggered, feet skidding, but held his ground, veins bulging at his neck.
"Ha! That all you've got?" he snarled.
The attacker grinned, spinning his hammer for a second swing— until Bao Fu shouted,
"Duck, you idiot!"
Marco ducked.
A rune sphere flew over his head and detonated mid-air, showering sparks and concussive qi. The hammerman was blown backward.
***
Lu Mao turned — and froze.
Ahead of them, blocking the narrow street, stood Zhang Wei.
He was calm, perfectly composed, flanked by four others — two in front, two behind, cutting off every escape. His black robes fluttered faintly in the wind. His smile was the kind that made your fists itch.
"Well, well," Zhang Wei drawled, his tone dripping arrogance. "Didn't think Heaven would deliver my prey this early."
Yan Mei's whip twitched at her side. Her eyes narrowed. "Move, Zhang Wei. Or you'll regret staying."
He laughed — a soft, confident sound. "Regret? You must be joking. You've barely any qi left to stand, and you think you can threaten me? You got lucky once, girl. But luck doesn't last twice."
Lu Mao stayed silent, studying him.
The alley walls rose high — no room for aerial escape.
Zhang Wei's team had them boxed in, their formation tight. All high qi cultivators — veterans of guild drills. This wasn't a brawl. It was an ambush.
And they were cornered.
"Your first mistake," Zhang Wei continued, "was joining a team of lowborn trash. Your second—" he gestured lazily toward Lu Mao "—was thinking he could outrun fate."
Yan Mei's lips curved. "Funny. I was about to say the same."
⸻
Bao Fu shifted, his injured arm trembling. He leaned toward Lu Mao, voice low.
"Lu Mao. Trust me. Take the route we came from when the trial began."
Lu Mao blinked. "What—?"
"Just trust me," Bao Fu hissed, eyes flashing with a rare seriousness. "I've got… surprises waiting."
Marco glanced between them. "Surprises? You mean those smoke bombs again?"
"Better," Bao Fu said, grin returning. "Let's call them… insurance."
Lu Mao hesitated only a heartbeat.
He could see it — the conviction behind Bao Fu's humor. The fat cultivator might not be a front-line fighter, but he planned ahead like a viper waiting in grass.
Lu Mao gave a curt nod. "Fine. We go on my mark."
Yan Mei turned slightly, voice tense. "What are you planning?"
"Something stupid," Bao Fu muttered.
"Something clever," Lu Mao corrected softly.
***