By the second year, the chamber felt less like a prison and more like a city trapped under stone. A strange, restless city where cultivation hummed day and night, where trades rang louder than battle cries, where ambition grew like weeds between cracks in the stone floor.
Merchants now lined the edges of the chamber. They sat behind piles of herbs, spirit stones, low-grade pills, and damaged weapons polished until they looked new again. Healers set up mats with incense burning faintly, offering to mend broken bones and damaged meridians, for a price. Every day, cultivators dueled in the center of the chamber, wagering techniques, stones, or weapons.
And through it all, two names carried more weight than the rest.
Shen Hao. Yao Jun.
One was strength made flesh. The other, a voice that could turn blades aside before they were ever drawn.
Neither sought followers. Both had them anyway.
Some cultivators tried to form alliances behind closed doors, but few lasted long. Shen Hao destroyed the bold ones with duels. Yao Jun dismantled the clever ones with words that left them looking like fools.
Still, tension ran thick.
More than once, someone tried to strike at Shen Hao while he cultivated. They came at night, when most were meditating or asleep. The first time, two assassins crept from the shadows. They didn't even reach him before flames roared across the floor, sealing them inside a ring of heat.
The second time, five came together. A spear, a blade, three streaks of Qi like lightning bolts.
Shen Hao didn't even stand. He opened his eyes, whispered a single word,"Burn", and the ground split with fire. They fled half-charred, their weapons melted into scrap.
No one tried a third time.
But duels were different.
By the third year, Shen Hao had fought more than a dozen. Some challengers came for pride, others for scrolls or spirit stones, a few just to prove they could stand against him for more than a single strike. Most failed. A few lasted minutes instead of seconds. One, a silent man with a pair of curved sabers, forced Shen Hao to draw both Whispering Gale Slash and Stormbreak Steps before finally losing.
That duel changed things.
For the first time, Shen Hao admitted his opponent had skill worth respecting. For the first time, the chamber murmured that perhaps he wasn't untouchable.
And through it all, Yao Jun watched with that same faint smile.
If Shen Hao's duels shook the chamber with fire and steel, Yao Jun changed it with nothing more than words.
He never raised his voice. He never threatened. But slowly, inevitably, cultivators began turning to him when disputes arose. A stolen herb, a broken trade, accusations of cheating during duels, Yao Jun listened, spoke, and left both sides agreeing to terms before they realized they had yielded.
He never asked for loyalty. It came anyway.
By mid-year, small groups of cultivators began orbiting around him. Not as soldiers, but as something closer to allies. Some offered spirit stones in exchange for advice. Others traded techniques to secure his favor. He refused most offers with that same unreadable smile, but even rejection seemed to raise his standing.
One evening, he stood at the edge of the chamber while merchants argued over trade routes near the walls.
"Routes?" Yao Jun asked softly, stepping into the circle. "Are we merchants now, or cultivators?"
"They blocked the path where we sell our herbs!" one shouted.
"The path belongs to no one," another snapped.
Yao Jun lifted his hand, palm open. The noise died instantly.
"Sell where you wish," he said. "But if anyone attacks a merchant, I will settle the matter personally." His tone was calm, but the words carried weight. Too much weight.
No one argued.
Lingfeng snorted from Shen Hao's side. "He talks like he owns the place."
Shen Hao didn't answer. He had noticed it too.
Yao Jun never claimed authority, but bit by bit, he bent the chamber around himself. His influence spread through smiles and clever words, while Shen Hao's spread through strength and silence.
The result was the same:
Two names sat above the rest.
When a merchant sold rare pills, he looked to Yao Jun before setting prices. When a duel shook the ground, challengers glanced toward Shen Hao to see if he watched.
It was inevitable that the chamber began to whisper.
Who was stronger?
The man whose fire crushed all challengers?
Or the man whose voice commanded the chamber without lifting a blade?
Some said Shen Hao would win easily. Others argued Yao Jun was holding back far more than he revealed.
And slowly, those whispers became wagers.
By the start of the third year, it was no longer if they would fight.
It was when.
The chamber had turned restless.
Every duel, every trade, every whispered alliance carried the same undercurrent now. No one said it outright, but it was in the air like smoke before a fire. Shen Hao and Yao Jun. The blade and the voice. The storm and the flame.
The merchants argued over prices but stole glances at Yao Jun as if waiting for him to decide. Duels rattled the ground but ended with eyes turning toward Shen Hao, measuring his reaction. Even the healers who once worked silently now traded gossip while tending to broken bones.
And beneath it all, factions began forming again.
Some gathered behind Yao Jun, drawn by his calm words and clever mind. They wanted rules, order, a structure for the chaos. Others whispered about Shen Hao, convinced raw strength was the only law worth following.
One evening, a group of merchants approached Yao Jun with a proposal.
"Lead us," they said. "The chamber listens to you."
Yao Jun only smiled faintly. "And what would I gain by leading you?"
"Power. Control. Authority."
He shook his head. "All illusions. I have no need for illusions."
Yet when disputes arose the next day, it was Yao Jun who spoke, and everyone listened.
Shen Hao watched it all in silence. He saw the way eyes followed Yao Jun, the way his name carried weight even without a single strike thrown. He didn't dislike the man. He respected him. But respect wasn't the same as trust.
Then, during a late-night trade near the walls, a loud voice cut through the chamber.
"We've seen enough duels between merchants and fools," a spear-wielding cultivator shouted. "But the only fight anyone here cares about hasn't happened yet."
Dozens of eyes turned toward Shen Hao's circle. Dozens more toward Yao Jun, seated with his usual faint smile.
"Will the storm fight the flame?" the man demanded. "Or are you both too proud to face each other?"
Murmurs swept the chamber.
Lingfeng's voice drifted lazily from Shen Hao's side. "Well, Master… they do seem eager to see you bleed."
For the first time in months, Shen Hao rose to his feet.
And across the chamber, Yao Jun stood as well, his smile calm, unreadable.