The shattered stone still trembled beneath the fading rain.
Fragments lay scattered across the training field, jagged and uneven, while a deep scar carved through the wall behind it like a silent proclamation of strength. Rainwater collected inside the fractured stone, dripping slowly to the ground in rhythmic echoes.
Ling Yue stood motionless.
Her umbrella tilted slightly in her hand, forgotten.
For a brief moment, the world around her seemed distant—the rain, the disciples, even the murmurs fading into silence.
She only saw him.
Yue Chen stood amidst drifting mist, sword lowered at his side, black hair damp against his face. Raindrops slid along the edge of his blade before falling soundlessly to the ground.
He no longer looked like the fragile disciple who had arrived days ago.
He looked… unshakable.
Something in his stillness felt different.
Steady.
Grounded.
She hurried toward him, boots splashing lightly through puddles.
"How did you do that?" she demanded, eyes bright with disbelief. "You didn't just break the stone—you cut through the wall behind it!"
Yue Chen calmly slid the sword back into its sheath.
"It aligned," he replied simply.
"That is not an explanation!" she protested, though laughter slipped into her voice.
"You're only Qi Gathering stage. If you keep improving like this, you might surpass me."
He turned slightly toward her voice.
"At the lake," he said quietly, "I told you. We will grow stronger together."
Her heartbeat faltered.
Just slightly.
She quickly composed herself, lifting her chin.
"Then don't lose tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Sixth Branch internal assessment. Elder Qin will observe."
"How do you always know these things?"
She folded her arms with exaggerated pride.
"Because I actually pay attention."
Then her expression softened.
"I have a friendly exchange at Second Branch tomorrow too. Medium-level disciples only. Not top ones."
"Second Branch…"
"Yes." She extended her little finger toward him. "We both win."
He stared at it for a moment.
Childish.
Yet after a brief pause, he hooked his finger with hers.
The rain gradually faded into mist.
The sky cleared.
They walked back beneath a quiet, moon-washed sky.
That night—
Ling Yue returned alone to the Moonlight Blossom Lake.
The lake reflected the moon like a silver mirror, petals drifting across its surface in gentle spirals.
She unsheathed Frost Veil, her blade humming softly in the still air.
Her sword traced arcs of silver-blue light, cutting through the night as she practiced her form.
Frost Veil Form.
Each movement was precise.
Each step light.
With Cloud Drift Steps, she moved across the water's surface, barely disturbing it. Her reflection followed like a ghost beneath her.
She was not practicing for pride.
Not for applause.
She was practicing because she refused to remain weak.
Because comparisons followed her wherever she went.
Because Mu Xue'er existed.
Because her father rarely praised her.
Her sword cut faster.
The moonlight scattered across the blade like falling stars.
Meanwhile—
Inside the dormitory, Yue Chen sat cross-legged in silence.
His breathing was steady.
His cultivation had once been destroyed.
His spiritual sea still bore cracks like dried earth after a drought.
Rebuilding from nothing was slow.
Painful.
But he had done it before.
After awakening in the Abyss, he began again from the foundation.
Qi Gathering.
Breath by breath.
Night after night.
Tonight, he left the dormitory quietly and entered Spirit Ember Pavilion, the Sixth Branch's alchemy courtyard.
The pavilion was empty at this hour.
Using simple herbs and spirit powder, he refined a Rising Meridian Pill.
Not deception.
Not illusion.
A genuine stimulant to push dormant qi forward.
Before dawn, he swallowed it.
Heat exploded through his meridians.
His dantian trembled violently.
Pain tore through the cracks of his spiritual sea like molten fire seeping into broken stone.
But he did not resist.
He guided the qi carefully.
Controlled.
Measured.
By sunrise—
His aura stabilized at Late Qi Gathering Realm.
Two levels advanced.
Real progress.
Fast.
Earned.
He exhaled softly.
Enough for now.
Morning.
The Sixth Branch arena filled with forty disciples.
The circular training ground buzzed with anticipation. Dust hung lightly in the air as students whispered predictions.
At the center stood Wei Jianhong, Core Formation Realm, calm and composed.
His posture was straight, expression unreadable.
"This is an assessment," he announced clearly. "Victory is not everything. We evaluate control, awareness, and foundation."
Murmurs spread.
Some glanced toward Yue Chen.
"He advanced."
"He was First Stage."
"Now Late Qi Gathering?"
"That breakthrough was fast…"
Wei Jianhong's gaze lingered on Yue Chen for a moment before he continued.
Seven matches passed quickly.
Clashing steel.
Flashes of qi.
Cheers and groans.
Then—
"Eighth match," Wei Jianhong called.
"Yue Chen."
The arena quieted.
"And Zhao Yun."
Zhao Yun stepped forward confidently, Peak Qi Gathering Realm, arrogance written clearly across his face.
His sword gleamed under the morning sun.
"Blind man," he sneered. "Yesterday you embarrassed Sixth Branch."
His voice carried across the arena.
"Today I recover that face."
Yue Chen stepped into the center without expression.
Black hair moved gently in the breeze.
No tension.
No visible emotion.
Whispers rippled again.
"He's only Late Qi Gathering."
"Zhao Yun is Peak."
"This will end fast."
Wei Jianhong raised his hand.
"Begin."
Zhao Yun moved immediately.
No probing.
No hesitation.
His footwork burst forward, dust scattering beneath his boots.
The distance vanished in a breath.
His sword thrust straight toward Yue Chen's chest.
Fast.
Direct.
Merciless.
The air shrieked beneath the blade's pressure.
Yue Chen did not move.
Not a single step.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
"He's not reacting—"
"Is he frozen?"
Zhao Yun's lips curved coldly.
"Finished."
He poured every ounce of his qi into the thrust.
Across the arena, Wei Jianhong's eyes narrowed slightly.
Something felt unusual.
Too calm.
Too steady.
The blade tore through the morning air.
Closer.
Closer.
Only a hand's breadth away.
At the same time
In the Second Branch arena
Ling Yue stood among her branch representatives.
The Second Branch training grounds were broader, more disciplined in structure.
Across the field stood Mu Xue'er, clad in crimson robes, long dark hair flowing with the wind.
Daughter of Mu Tianheng.
Stronger than Ling Yue.
Often compared.
Their eyes met across the distance.
No smiles.
No hostility.
Only silent pride.
Not today.
But someday.
Ling Yue tightened her grip on Frost Veil.
She would not be overshadowed forever.
Back in Sixth Branch—
Zhao Yun's sword was now inches from Yue Chen's chest.
The steel gleamed beneath the rising sun.
Wind pressure pressed against his robes, fabric fluttering under the force.
Time seemed to slow.
Breath paused.
Sound faded.
Only the blade existed.
And in that suspended heartbeat—
Everything hung at the edge of the strike.
End of Chapter 9...