Wei Jing's Chamber
The small chamber was filled with the acrid scent of burning herbs. Dozens of jade vials lay scattered on the low table, powders glittering faintly under lamplight. Wei Jing sat cross-legged, her gloved hands moving delicately as she measured pinches of powder into new containers.
Her eyes were calm, serene—but inside, her thoughts burned sharp.
She remembered the moment Shen Lian stood above Zhao Yunhai, lotus shadow behind him. She remembered the murmurs of "demon" echoing through the terraces.
"Too reckless," she murmured to herself. "Too visible. The Sect Master will not tolerate him much longer."
Her hand hovered above a vial of fine gray dust. The powder was nearly invisible, impossible to smell. Even a breath of it could seize the lungs and silence a man forever.
Wei Jing sealed the vial, her lips curving faintly.
"Strength can be broken. Rage can be poisoned. But hunger…" Her eyes narrowed. "Hunger can be starved."
For the first time, she allowed herself a whisper of ambition: When he falls, the Hall will remember not the devourer, but the queen who bled him.
⸻
Jiang Fei on the Terrace
Meanwhile, Jiang Fei stood alone on the terrace overlooking the arena. His serpent-bone spear gleamed in the fading light as he twirled it lazily, the weapon singing faintly in the air.
He smirked, replaying the clash in his mind: the smoke, the petals, Zhao Yunhai broken on the stone.
"Pathetic," he muttered. "Yunhai relied on fists, not finesse. Of course he fell."
His reflection shimmered in the polished spearhead—handsome, arrogant, confident. He tilted his chin higher, speaking softly as if to the weapon itself.
"Shen Lian thinks himself serpent and lotus. But what are petals before the spear? They are cut. Always cut."
He thrust the weapon forward, the Nine Coils Serpent Dance bursting to life. Nine shadows of serpents flickered in the air, striking again and again. The terrace stones cracked beneath the force.
"Let him bloom," Jiang Fei whispered. "I'll split him down to his roots."
⸻
The Rivals' Paths
Back in the arena, the drums thundered again, another match ending in screams and blood. But whispers of the next rounds swirled thicker than the smoke.
Shen Lian's name was no longer spoken with scorn. It was spoken with fear, with awe, with venom.
And in the shadows, Wei Jing sharpened her poisons.
On the terrace, Jiang Fei sharpened his spear.
Both had set their fangs on the same prey.
The inevitable clash loomed.
⸻
Cliffhanger
In the Hall of Green Flames, Elder Mo Xuan watched the matches below with his faint, snake-like smile.
"Good," he murmured. "Yes… let them all circle him. Let them sharpen themselves against him."
His eyes glimmered faintly as though he too could see the lotus shadow blooming behind Shen Lian.
"Petals against poison. Petals against steel. And when the last petal falls…" His smile curved sharper. "…we will see if a lotus can truly devour a serpent."