Through Zhuge Su Yeon's Eyes
The scene that unfolded before me was not what I expected.
For the first time in this tournament, I found myself forced to admit: something had taken me completely by surprise.
Zhuge Min, seventh level of Body Refinement, against Yuan He Lin, eighth level.
And yet, Min wielded early Earth-grade techniques.The math was simple. Not perfect, but promising.Min possessed strength, ferocity, and a temperament that could topple even higher-cultivated opponents. I didn't doubt she had a good chance of winning.
At least... until the fight began.
Not that "fight" was really the right word.What played out in the arena was much closer to a lesson—and Min, with all her fury, was forced to learn each one the hard way.
When the judge signaled the start, Min didn't hesitate.Her body exploded into motion, one sharp step forward, fist cutting through the air as though she meant to split it in half. Her technique, combined with her physique, could have crushed ordinary guards like clay dolls.But Lin wasn't there when the strike landed.
She didn't retreat.She turned.
A shift of weight, a twist of her hips, a fluid step—just enough for the sleeve of her white robes to brush the edge of the attack, as if mocking it.And before Min could regain her footing, the counter came: not a forceful strike, but a soft palm redirecting her center of balance.
Min stumbled half a step back.And the cycle repeated.
Punches, kicks, sabers—Min attacked with escalating brutality, each blow packed with explosive force, every movement tearing through the air with the clear intent to smash her opponent's defenses.But nothing—absolutely nothing—not a single strike touched Yuan He Lin's robes.It was like trying to strike the moon's reflection on water: the faster she moved, the further away it slipped.
And it wasn't because Lin had a superior technique.No.Her technique, in truth, was obviously only at the peak Spiritual level.
What Lin had... was experience.Combat experience, sharpened to the bone.The talent to read an opponent before the attack even began.And the patience to let Min wear herself out.
I caught the pattern quickly.Min fought like a soldier trained to crush the enemy before they had the chance to react—direct, fierce, intimidating to the weak or hesitant.But Lin... Lin seemed to have been molded precisely to face that kind of opponent.
Her steps were water.Her evasions, a breeze.And each one made Min look heavier, slower, more predictable.
The climax came quickly.In a blind charge, Min forced a right strike, channeling nearly all the Qi she had left. Lin didn't back away.She turned, deflected with the ease of someone who had seen the same move a hundred times before, and—with a single touch to Min's shoulder blade—redirected her own momentum, sending her stumbling toward the edge.
Min's foot met empty air before her body realized it.The fall was short, but the dull thud of impact echoed louder than the applause that followed.
And just like that, it was over.
The official excuse could sound elegant: "Min lost control and was exploited by a more experienced opponent."But the raw, simple truth was different: she was defeated in every possible sense. A bitter, humiliating loss—utterly unlike Wen's.
A loss that would fester in Min's mind for some time, one she would have to overcome. But that was for the future.
In the present, Yuan He Lin left the arena carrying victory for the Yuan He clan—and, with it, the symbolic crown that had so far belonged to the Zhuge.She deserved it.And as much as it irked me to admit, she also deserved credit for being the one to break the Zhuge's perfect streak.
Wen's opponent may have won, but from beginning to end he had accomplished nothing.
Yuan He Lin, on the other hand, simply defeated a Zhuge with ease.
That was the reality.
The tournament continued.
The arena dragged on with its predictable rhythm, strikes without meaning and names that held no value for me.But, in the corner of the Zhuge seating, something far more interesting was unfolding.
My little sister had begun to move.
Her "patient" was Zhuge Min.And to my relief, at least it was a Zhuge and not some troublesome outsider with a destiny bound to bring headaches.The clan's elder doctors had already poured every possible praise on Yui Lan, and the girl seemed determined to honor them all, setting out her kit of needles and essences with the precision of a master.
So far, nothing worth my prolonged attention.The detail lay in her second intentions.
As she worked on Min, Yui Lan spoke to her.
She consoled her for the loss, but not with the empty platitudes heard in training courtyards. She spoke as though each word carried the right weight—not humiliating, nor indifferent.
And little by little, the conversation expanded.Soon, Lan Xue and Lan Ya joined in, sitting close, adding their own comments without realizing they were being drawn into something larger.
Ren, Fen, and Rong also approached to check on Min and ask about her condition.
Then even Yu Jin appeared.He hadn't been called. He didn't need to be. He simply walked over, arms crossed, watching.
It was obvious to me: my little sister had noticed the same thing I had.
Yu Jin was an outcast of the clan.
And though I knew it well, I could never have been the one to bring him closer.He had excluded himself by choice, scarred by all the mental wounds from his past lack of talent.
But if I analyzed it... I wasn't all that different.If not for the weight of the patriarch's title and the strength that kept me on the throne, my situation wouldn't be so far from his—an exile by choice.
But Yui Lan was different.There wasn't a single clan member who didn't hold her in esteem, regardless of benefit or gain.If she wanted to build a bond, the doors would open.
And that was exactly what she was doing now, with the patience of one who knows how to plant a tree.She healed a physical wound, but at the same time, she was stitching invisible threads between Yu Jin and the rest of the clan.
I only watched.After all, sometimes the best move is to let another piece shift on its own.
But fate seemed to demand my attention again.
And as much as part of me wanted to keep watching my little sister work—weaving, with the delicacy of a silk spinner, those social ties I could never create—the "main stage" reclaimed the spotlight.
The seventeenth match was announced.
— "Zhuge Rong!" — the herald's voice boomed across the arena.
The sound spread like a muted drum through the stands.Rong, the wall in the shape of a blade. A man who didn't need words to impose his presence.
And on the other side...— "Yuan He Jian!"
The murmur that swept through the crowd was not just anticipation; it carried the sharp spice of morbid curiosity.The brother of the girl who had defeated Min.The current heir of the Yuan He clan.
At the ninth level of Body Refinement, Jian was not merely a difficult wall to topple; he was, at least in theory, the pinnacle of what a young Yuan He could bring to the arena.
I watched Rong step onto the platform.The weight of each stride was not only physical; it was the presence of a guardian.Across from him, Jian ascended with a quiet, confident smile.
And I, reclining in my chair, knew this fight would not be just another match.It was a test.For Rong, for the clan... and for measuring just how much talent the Zhuge still had left.