From the waiting area, Xiao Yan's eyes followed Nalan Yanran as she walked toward the stage, her white robes trailing behind her.
Beside him, Yao Lao's voice rang in his mind, low and grim.
"Boy, that girl's walking into a storm she doesn't understand."
Xiao Yan didn't take his eyes off the cloaked figure waiting for her. "You mean him? He's that dangerous?"
"Dangerous isn't the word," Yao Lao replied. "That one reeks of the demonic path — and a deep one at that. Demonic cultivators aren't like you. They don't fight with clear minds. Their strength feeds on their emotions — anger, spite, insecurity. When they're provoked, they don't think of the consequences. They act."
His voice dropped. "If she underestimates him, she might not leave that stage alive."
Xiao Yan frowned slightly. "Even here? In front of everyone?"
"Especially here," Yao Lao said flatly. "They don't care about appearances. If she humiliates him, if she makes him feel small, he might kill her out of sheer spite."
Xiao Yan's gaze lingered on Nalan Yanran, quiet for a long moment. His feelings toward her were complicated — knotted with past humiliation and old wounds — but death? Even with everything between them, he didn't want to see that.
"I don't care for her," he said finally, "but I don't want her dead."
"Then hope," Yao Lao muttered, "that she knows when to hold her tongue."
—
On the platform, Nalan Yanran adjusted her sleeve once before stepping into the center. She didn't even glance at Xiao Chen.
"You," she said flatly, her voice carrying across the arena, "are not the reason I'm here."
Her eyes swept across the stands, toward the elders and her sect's representatives, and then briefly — just briefly — to Xiao Yan in the waiting area.
"This tournament is my stage," she continued. "To prove myself to my sect… my clan… and to those who once doubted me."
She hadn't drawn her weapon. She hadn't even acknowledged Xiao Chen as worthy of her full attention.
Whispers rose from the crowd at her words. Some scoffed at her arrogance. Others admired her confidence. The Yunlan elders in the stands nodded approvingly, while a few Xiao clan elders exchanged frowns.
For a moment, the arena fell still.
Xiao Chen didn't speak. He only tilted his head slightly, as though weighing her words, then smiled.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't submission. It was quiet, cold — the kind of smile that made the air seem heavier.
In the stands, Xiao Yu felt her stomach drop. She had seen that expression before. It wasn't the face of someone humiliated or hesitant.
It was the face Xiao Chen wore when someone was about to pay for their words.
And it terrified her.
---