"Master won't lose! That was just a fluke earlier!"
Ye Chuxue bit her lip, eyes red from the weight of everyone's blame. She felt wronged, deeply so.
Whether her Master won or lost had nothing to do with her. None of them had any right to drag her into this. Her chin lifted, stiff with pride, face brimming with indignation.
The Sect Master grew more and more annoyed as he looked at her. He'd once believed Ye Chuxue had promise. Now, it seemed he'd been blind.
He closed his eyes, fists clenched as he forced himself to sit back down.
"Let's not be hasty. It could really just be bad luck," he muttered.
The elders had no choice but to follow suit, silently praying Gu Qingyuan would find a way to win.
"LU XINGYAO!!!"
On the dueling platform, Gu Qingyuan's eyes were bloodshot. He looked as if he wanted to flay Lu Xingyao alive and grind his bones to dust.
Why could Lu Xingyao dismantle every one of his killing moves so precisely?
Why?
He felt as if he had been stripped bare, left exposed and humiliated before the entire sect.
"Getting angry already, Gu Daoyou?"
Lu Xingyao narrowed his eyes, lips curling with deliberate contempt.
"I'd thought you skipped the duel to go fetch your beloved because you were confident you'd win. Turns out you were just throwing in the towel."
He hadn't expected to stoop to this kind of mockery, but if it was for Song Wanníng, he didn't mind.
"I used to consider you my greatest rival, Gu Daoyou. Truly. But now? Watching you flail like this after all these years... it's honestly a bit tragic."
He even sighed, full of mock sympathy.
"LU XINGYAO!!!"
Gu Qingyuan snapped. He lunged forward again, fury driving his sword.
But what happened next made him begin to doubt everything.
No matter what technique he used, Lu Xingyao dismantled it with ease. His counterattacks were clean, swift, and occasionally even drew blood.
Ten exchanges passed. Then fifteen.
Gu Qingyuan had become a living joke.
The disciples below, once wild with cheers, now fell silent, their expressions blank. The contrast was gut-wrenching.
They watched Gu Qingyuan charge again and again—then watched him get knocked back each time.
It was a cycle. A clown chasing a moving target. Pathetic. Relentless.
Lu Xingyao, meanwhile, was clearly toying with him. He never pressed forward. Only countered, dismantled, and dodged—like a master playing with a monkey.
The disciples had grown numb.
But the elders seated on the high platform had seen through Lu Xingyao's true intention.
He wasn't just defeating Gu Qingyuan. He was dismantling his Dao heart.
"What a vicious mind. This is despicable! What is Myriad Sword Sect playing at?"
The Sect Master nearly bolted from his seat to stop the duel.
But he couldn't. This was a formal challenge. Unless one side conceded, even if Gu Qingyuan died here, no one could intervene.
Besides, Gu Qingyuan couldn't lay a finger on Lu Xingyao. The only chance would be a group ambush by the elders, and even that was uncertain.
Ye Chuxue had gone pale. The proud light in her eyes had vanished.
Her Master, the unshakable mountain she had always relied on, the undefeatable war god in her heart—was being pushed to the edge like a broken toy.
Her sense of security shattered.
She swayed on her feet, nearly stumbling.
Song Wanníng watched the change in their expressions with quiet satisfaction. The smile on her lips deepened.
Even the food in her mouth tasted sweeter now.
This play had taken half a month to set up. It was unfolding exactly as she had hoped.
Behind her, Lí Ruò had stuffed her cheeks with dried fruit, face puffed like a little squirrel.
At first, she had been shocked, confused. Now, her head was buried, shoulders trembling violently.
No one knew how hard she was working to suppress her laughter.
And at the same time, her respect for her Master grew.
Those flashy "killer moves" Gu Qingyuan was using—weren't they the exact same techniques her Master had been practicing with Uncle Lu during their recent sparring sessions?
She had memorized every move in those mock duels.
Lu Xingyao had spent half a month finding every weakness in those sword techniques. Of course he was making Gu Qingyuan look like a fool now.
Lí Ruò quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, terrified she'd burst out laughing and get scolded later.
From the outside, it simply looked like a kind-hearted child unable to bear watching Gu Qingyuan being humiliated.
The battle dragged on.
Gu Qingyuan's hair was in disarray. His eyes were red. His mind had spiraled into chaos.
No one could accept watching all their trump cards be broken with such ease.
He was giving it everything he had. But Lu Xingyao was treating it like a game—unbothered, unscathed.
Impossible.
It was impossible.
Gu Qingyuan refused to believe it. His attacks grew more ferocious.
He wanted to prove himself, but inside, his spirit was starting to fracture.
Cracks had begun to spread in his Dao heart.
And Lu Xingyao? He was still pouring oil on the fire.
"Gu Qingyuan, why don't you just admit defeat?" he said, smiling coldly. "If you're willing to say you're not as good as me, I'll spare you. How about that?"
"Keep struggling if you like, but all you're doing is making a bigger joke of yourself."
"You couldn't beat me in the past. You'll never beat me in the future."
Every word made Gu Qingyuan's expression grow more frenzied.
Lu Xingyao, in contrast, moved with ease. His strikes were fluid, precise. He was enjoying himself.
The deeper the love, the deeper the hate.
Song Wanníng had once risked everything to protect Gu Qingyuan.
Now, she wanted nothing more than to see him humiliated and broken.
And Lu Xingyao? That ruthlessness only made him love her more.
To love fiercely, to hate without hesitation—wasn't that its own kind of freedom?
He glanced at the wild, maddened look on Gu Qingyuan's face. His own eyes turned cold.
Gu Qingyuan probably never imagined the person who could hurt him most... would be Song Wanníng, the one who knew him best.
That thought sparked another pang of jealousy in Lu Xingyao.
She must have cared a lot, to know Gu Qingyuan's sword style that intimately.
Sometimes, he really did envy him.
Lu Xingyao's gaze grew colder.
He had played around long enough. It was time to end this.
His aura shifted in an instant, sharp and commanding. Then he raised his sword and finally attacked.
The dueling platform was swallowed by blinding silver light.
Countless streaks of sword energy shot out like overlapping formation runes, weaving a net so tight it left no escape. They surged toward Gu Qingyuan from every angle.
His protective aura flared, deflecting some of the strikes. Sword light scattered in every direction.
But instead of dissipating, the energy paused—then surged back like a living breath, homing in again.
At that same moment, a faint glint appeared within the storm of sword energy.
It was so small—like a hair-thin thread, barely visible amid the chaos.
But that single thread pierced straight into Gu Qingyuan's heart meridian.
He had let his guard down. His mind had already begun to unravel. He was completely exposed.
"Urgh—!"
His body shuddered, and blood sprayed from his mouth in a thick burst.
And Lu Xingyao's next strike was already closing in.