The Arena Holds Its Breath
The day was waning, the serpent banners dyed crimson by the setting sun. The braziers hissed, green fire snapping as if eager for more blood.
The platform was cracked, smeared with stains from too many bodies. Yet the crowd of disciples pressed close to the terraces, eyes fixed on the elder carrying the serpent-skin scroll.
The murmurs rose like hisses from a pit of snakes.
"Will it be Wei Jing?"
"She'll suffocate him before he takes three steps."
"No—Jiang Fei. The spear will pierce him like paper."
"Or perhaps he'll bloom again… and then none of us will leave alive."
Shen Lian's name curled through the whispers like smoke. No longer scorned, no longer mocked—only feared.
⸻
The Elders' Eyes
In the Hall of Green Flames, the elders leaned forward, their voices low and venomous.
"Pair him with Wei Jing. Her poisons will strip his tricks away."
"No—Jiang Fei. Let the spear tear him apart in open sight."
"Better he faces them all, one by one. If he falls, we are rid of him. If he survives…"
Sect Master Hei Zong's expression was unreadable, carved in shadow. His hand gripped the throne's armrest until the serpent bone creaked.
Beside him, Elder Mo Xuan's faint smile never shifted. His eyes glimmered like a serpent's in the dark.
"Unroll the scroll," Hei Zong commanded.
⸻
Su Rou
Among the disciples, Su Rou's hands shook as she clutched her sleeve. Her lips moved soundlessly, her heart hammering.
It did not matter which name was called. She knew what it meant: Shen Lian would either survive and sink deeper into the lotus… or fall and be torn apart.
Either way, she would lose him.
⸻
The Announcement
The elder announcer unrolled the scroll with ritual precision. The serpent-skin parchment gleamed in the firelight. His voice rang across the courtyard:
"Next round of the Poison Fang Tournament—"
The drums thundered, the crowd hushed.
"Shen Lian… versus Wei Jing!"
⸻
The Crowd Erupts
The terraces shook with uproar.
"She'll kill him before he draws a breath!"
"Her poisons are death itself!"
"No one escapes her mist—no one!"
Some voices, quieter, whispered differently:
"Unless… unless the lotus blooms again."
⸻
The Rivals
Wei Jing rose gracefully, her jade vials glimmering faintly at her waist, her gloves shining in the green firelight. Her expression was serene, her eyes calm—but in them burned sharp ambition.
She bowed once, cold and elegant, then turned her gaze toward Shen Lian.
He looked back at her, his gray eyes steady, faintly black at the edges.
Neither spoke. The air between them was thick with venom, silent and sharp.
⸻
Cliffhanger
Above, Mo Xuan's smile widened faintly, his whisper curling like smoke.
"Petals against poison. Let us see which breath lasts longer."
And deep in Shen Lian's chest, the lotus stirred, its petals trembling eagerly.
Poison. Yes. Drink her poisons. Bloom.