Through the eyes of Zhuge Su Yeon
Shan did not take long to return to his seat.
He exchanged a few restrained nods with his Zhuge clan companions, then resumed his previous position: sitting in meditation, sword resting across his lap like a sleeping beast.
The crowd, however, did not share his serenity.
The same crowd that had once looked at the Zhuge clan with hungry eyes now shouted "Coward!"
Understandable.
What the masses wanted—what they always want—was courage bordering on madness, the reckless youth who charges against the impossible with a proud smile and a spear raised to the heavens. That, to them, was a spectacle.
But for me...
The true value was in the opposite.
A youth who does not chase immediate glory, who accepts slow, calculated steps toward a treasure chest at the end of a long road—that is the best material to mold. Shan had not fought to please anyone. He fought for himself. And though few realized it, he left the arena stronger than when he entered.
The audience, however, would not have to wait long to get the show they craved.
After another lukewarm match—Han versus Tie Xuan, dragging on like stale tea poured into a fine cup—the judge's voice cut through the murmur:
— "Zhuge Min!"
If the crowd wanted unrestrained courage, unchecked arrogance, and a fight that boiled the blood, they would find it condensed in this girl.
From where I sat, I saw Min rise. The light in her eyes was neither Shan's calm nor Fen's coldness. It was pure fire—the kind that never asks if the world is ready to burn.
Wild—that was the only precise word.
Not Fen's quiet, restrained savagery that hid behind patient eyes until the perfect moment to strike. No. Min's instinct was always on display, raw, vibrating on the surface like a beast that saw no reason to hide its fangs. Anyone who wished to see it would see it—and those who didn't... would see it anyway.
And from the looks of it, she had good prey ahead.
Her opponent, Tie Xuan Jinhai—eighth level of Body Refinement—was already at the center of the arena, rolling his shoulders with the lazy confidence of one who believed the match would be brief.
There was no written rule, but everyone knew: in the youth tournament, pairings usually matched gender. Men against men, women against women. Not out of tradition, but simple physiology—at Body Refinement, physical strength still outweighed any speeches about equality of Dao. Only at Spiritual Refinement did that line begin to blur.
For that reason, Jinhai was an utterly unsuitable opponent for Min. Not only because he was a man, but also because he stood a level above her.
And yet, no one seemed to care.
The gazes in the stands—from all three clans—deliberately ignored this disadvantage. Some even gleamed with anticipation, as if already crafting the excuses they would hurl at the Zhuge pavilion once the match ended.
I could feel those eyes on me, waiting for my move, imagining whether I would protest the matchup.
Unfortunately for them, they would not have that satisfaction.
Not because I lacked the will to defend my clan... but because there was no need.
Zhuge Min entered the arena with firm steps. The air buzzed with the spectators' murmurs, yet her eyes were calm, almost indifferent.
Opposite her, Tie Xuan Jinhai waited, short spear resting on his shoulder. The smirk on his face looked as much a part of his uniform as his weapon.
— "Little girl..." his voice echoed across the field, dripping with false benevolence. "Better give up now, before things get out of control."
Min raised her eyes, unhurried. A faintly amused glint crossed her dark pupils.
— "Oh, that's perfect," she replied, her tone cool and light. "I like it when things get out of control."
For a heartbeat, Jinhai froze.
Until now, none of the Zhuge had responded to provocation.
They were almost becoming known for silence, for rigidity.
But here was an exception.
The judge, however, gave Jinhai no time to process it. He started the match immediately.
Min surged forward like thunder in a small frame. Her saber swung down in a brutal arc, the blade singing as if it could split the air itself.
Jinhai raised his short spear to block. His stance was solid, his technique flawless. A simple, almost textbook defense.
Unfortunately, he had never seen Min's technique.
The instant her saber struck the spear's shaft was the same instant the arena trembled. A fierce glow erupted from the blade—not a cut, but the detonation of a grenade.
The impact hurled Jinhai and his weapon back several steps, knocking the air from his lungs. His guard, his confidence, even the mockery in his eyes—all shattered in a single stroke.
He staggered, dazed.
Unfortunately for him, this was only the beginning.
The echo of the first blast still shook the air when Min charged again.
No pause to gauge distance, no intent to retreat and study her foe—she was not the type to play chess. Min was a wildfire: extinguish her instantly, or she consumed everything.
The red saber came down, then swept sideways, then rose in an upward arc that nearly clipped Jinhai's chin. Each strike carried more crimson Qi, each thundering crack of the Crimson Detonation Edge reverberating like war drums.
Jinhai tried stepping aside—she was already there, cutting where he meant to dodge. He tried retreating—her blade fell toward his shoulder. He tried lowering his spear to create space—a lateral slash forced him to spin his entire body just to keep from losing his weapon.
There was no room.
No time.
His feet scraped across the granite in hurried retreats, but Min erased every inch he gained. Her saber hammered again and again—each impact a blast, each blast a wave of heat that stole his breath.
It was like fighting a storm that advanced two steps with every thunderclap.
The Serene Steel Body allowed Min to absorb even the recoil of her own explosions, turning it into fuel for the next strike. Her body seemed made for it: taut muscles, unyielding gaze, and that smile... a smile devoid of courtesy.
At last, Jinhai tried to counter. He spun his short spear, thrusting at her abdomen. Futile. Min shifted half a step aside, letting the tip graze her hip, and—without breaking rhythm—brought her saber down in a blow so heavy the shaft quivered, numbing his hands.
Another step back.
Another strike.
Another step.
Another strike.
The edge of the arena drew perilously close to his heels, yet Jinhai had no chance to notice. Min never let him think. Attack after attack, each chained to the next before the last echo even faded.
The final strike came with a short cry—half a laugh—and her blade fell with such force that the spear was ripped from his grip. The impact drove him backward like a battering ram.
He stumbled once, twice... and toppled out of the arena.
The silence that followed lasted less than a blink.
Min strode to the edge, saber still in hand, staring at his body sprawled on the rough stone.
Her smile lingered as she leaned forward slightly.
— "So then, Tie Xuan..." she said, her voice carrying a satisfaction that needed no volume. "What was it that was going to get out of control?"
The only answer was her own laughter.
Not short or restrained, but loud, clear—so alive it seemed to bounce off the arena walls and return.
She turned her back, slung the saber over her shoulder, and walked back toward the Zhuge pavilion, leaving behind the stench of iron, gunpowder... and shame for the Tie Xuan clan.
The reaction was nearly instant.
Her laughter still echoed when the crowd erupted—not with the stiff silence cultivators often cultivated, but with raw, unfiltered shouts of approval and scorn in equal measure.
— "That's a fight!" someone roared from the common stands.
— "Go home, Tie Xuan!" another shouted, drawing bursts of laughter.
The murmurs swelled into waves of mockery, each word pushing Jinhai's humiliation deeper. And it wasn't only the plebeians—members of lesser families laughed openly too, as if the moment granted them license to vent old grudges against the Tie Xuan.
And then I witnessed something rare.
The elders of the Zhuge clan—men and women who usually kept stone-faced composure, guardians of tradition—rose to their feet. Not only stood, but applauded. Their hands clapped with deliberate strength, unhurried, following Min's victorious steps back to the pavilion.
The sharp rhythm of palms striking mingled with the crowd's uproar, forming an unlikely chorus, as if—for a few brief moments—the entire arena spoke the same language.