The arena of the Azure Sky Sect was already alive when Xue Mo arrived. The morning sun had just begun to climb, yet the stone platforms were surrounded by groups of outer sect disciples who had flocked here to watch a duel. The air buzzed with excitement, a low rumble of voices and laughter that rose and fell like waves against the mountain walls. Some leaned against railings, others perched on stone benches, all eager to see one disciple defeat another.
The arena itself was nothing more than a wide circular platform of polished stone, its surface worn smooth by countless battles. At the edges, faint engravings glowed, forming protective barriers that kept stray strikes from flying into the crowd. The sect tolerated violence, but only within order. Here, disciples could fight, humiliate, or prove themselves without fear of being crippled or killed.
Xue Mo kept his hands folded in his sleeves as he found a spot among the crowd. His black eyes swept over the disciples gathered, noting their stances and expressions. Some spoke loudly, boasting about their chosen favorite. Others watched silently, arms crossed, eyes sharp with the hunger of cultivators always measuring themselves against the strong.
The disciples he passed paid him little attention. To them, Lin Feng was a weakling who had wasted years struggling to advance. Their disregard suited him.
Near where he stood, two outer sect disciples were talking with great enthusiasm. One of them nudged the other with his elbow.
"Today Zhao Kun will crush Li Shan. That guy has been acting too arrogant since his breakthrough, but he is only at the sixth level of Qi cultivation. Zhao Kun has reached the peak of the sixth level. The outcome is already clear."
His friend shook his head. "Do not underestimate Li Shan. He may be at the early sixth level, but his speed and precision with the Falling Leaf Palm is troublesome. I heard he once held off three opponents at once in the training grounds. Zhao Kun's strength is brute force. If Li Shan can dodge enough, the fight may not be so one sided."
Xue Mo listened quietly. His eyes shifted toward the platform as the two contestants entered. Zhao Kun was tall and broad shouldered, his steps heavy enough that the stone platform groaned faintly. His hair was tied back tightly, his face marked with the sharp lines of someone who relished dominance. Li Shan by contrast was lean, his eyes calm, his movements light like drifting clouds.
The crowd roared approval as the two faced each other. Bets were already being shouted. "Five contribution points on Zhao Kun!" "Three on Li Shan!" Silver coins exchanged hands, and the excitement mounted.
A disciple next to Xue Mo, short and sharp featured, gave him a curious look. "You are quiet. Who do you think will win?"
Xue Mo's expression did not shift. "Zhao Kun."
The disciple smirked. "Confident. Why?"
"Li Shan is fast, but his rhythm will falter after three exchanges. Zhao Kun's foundation is steadier. He will overwhelm him before long."
The disciple chuckled as though humoring him. "We shall see."
A loud gong echoed, and the fight began.
Zhao Kun struck first, charging forward with the force of a bull. His palm lashed out, wrapped in surging Qi. "Bang!" The sound reverberated as Li Shan twisted aside, his robes fluttering, his counterpalm flickering like autumn leaves in the wind. "Pa! Pa!" A series of light strikes rattled across Zhao Kun's arm and shoulder, sharp but shallow.
The crowd cheered. "Good! Quick hands!"
Zhao Kun only grinned, unaffected. He swept his arm in a wide arc, shattering the ground beneath him. Dust rose, forcing Li Shan to leap back. The heavy sound of impact cracked across the platform.
Li Shan darted forward again, his hands blurring. "Pa pa pa!" Dozens of strikes rained like a storm, each one angled toward vital points. His speed drew gasps from the crowd. But Zhao Kun endured. He let the blows land on his arms and chest, his Qi forming a layer of protection that absorbed most of the force. Then, when Li Shan's movement faltered, Zhao Kun seized his chance.
"Bang!" His palm slammed forward with brutal simplicity. Li Shan barely crossed his arms before he was flung backward, skidding across the stone. His breath came ragged, his rhythm broken.
The watching disciple beside Xue Mo cursed under his breath. "How did you know?"
Xue Mo did not answer. He simply watched as Zhao Kun stalked forward, relentless. Li Shan tried to recover, using footwork to circle, but his movements grew sluggish. Another clash resounded, "Boom!" and Zhao Kun's strike drove him to his knees. The crowd erupted in shouts.
Still, Li Shan did not surrender. His eyes flashed with determination as he pushed himself upright, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He launched his palm once more, forcing Zhao Kun back a step with sheer willpower. The crowd cheered at his tenacity.
For a moment, excitement rippled. Could the underdog turn the tide?
Xue Mo shook his head. He already saw the cracks.
Zhao Kun roared and drove both palms forward. The impact thundered across the platform. "Boom!" Li Shan flew back, colliding with the barrier, the glow of the runes flashing to absorb the force. He collapsed to the ground, unable to rise.
The gong struck again, declaring the victor. Zhao Kun raised his arms as the crowd cheered. Some shouted his name, others groaned at lost bets. A few mocked Li Shan, calling him weak despite his effort.
The short disciple beside Xue Mo shook his head. "You were right. Zhao Kun is too ruthless." He gave Xue Mo a sidelong glance. "Strange, you speak like someone who has seen countless fights."
Xue Mo ignored him. His eyes were calm as he turned to leave.
On the way back to his cave, the atmosphere of the sect pressed in on him. Disciples sparred in courtyards, traded goods at the stalls near the Internal Affairs Hall, or sat cross legged beneath trees circulating Qi. Everywhere he looked, ambition burned in their eyes. He observed them with the detached focus of a master watching children play at war. Their movements, though earnest, were clumsy and unrefined, their techniques riddled with openings only a seasoned eye could perceive. He noted a disciple practicing a sword form with aggressive vigor but poor balance, another attempting to harness Qi with more enthusiasm than control. To Xue Mo, it was a landscape of raw, untapped potential and wasted effort. In his past life, he would have seen them as resources to be harvested or tools to be shaped. Now, they were merely obstacles or irrelevancies on his path to regaining his power. Their struggles for recognition and resources seemed almost pitiable, their understanding of true power so shallow it was laughable.
When he reached his cave, he sat cross legged once more. This body was weak, but it was his vessel now. He closed his eyes, guiding the energy from the Qi gathering pill he had swallowed earlier. The flow of Qi entered his dantian, then spread through meridians like rivers of light. His consciousness sank inward, becoming one with the circulating energy. He was a master navigator on a familiar, yet currently treacherous, river. Each meridian was a pathway he had traveled countless times in a far more powerful form, and now he guided the nascent energy with an efficiency that defied his current cultivation level. He felt the main pathway ignite, energy threading through the Ren meridian and down into the chest. From there it split into smaller channels, branching into the arms and legs. Each passage trembled, resisting, before yielding under his steady will. He applied pressure in precise, minute bursts, overcoming congenital blockages that had plagued Lin Feng for years with methodical ease.
His soul was refined by countless years of demonic cultivation. The chaotic rush of energy that would cripple others was to him like water to a thirsty land. He guided it with precision, smoothing rough edges, pressing it deeper. The Jiangu meridian along his spine glowed faintly in his inner vision, and he sent the flow upward toward his head. The cycle completed, circling back to his dantian with more strength than before. He repeated the process, each cycle refining the Qi, compressing it, and forcing it to integrate more thoroughly with his flesh and bone. The process was not just about accumulating power, but about reforging the very foundation of this body into something capable of bearing the immense weight of his future ambitions.
Sweat dampened his back, but his breathing stayed even. He cultivated for hours, each circulation polishing his meridians, widening them grain by grain. By the time he opened his eyes, the cave was thick with the lingering scent of Qi. His cultivation had grown, a subtle but steady increase. He unclenched his fists, feeling a faint but tangible hum of power where before there had been only emptiness. It was a minuscule step, but to Xue Mo, it was the first, crucial movement in a long and inevitable campaign. The path ahead was long, fraught with danger and hidden foes, but for a being who had once challenged heavens and shaken realms, it was a path he would walk with cold, relentless purpose.
Yet outside the cave, in a shaded courtyard, three familiar figures lounged. They were the same outer sect disciples who had cornered him before.
"Did you see him at the arena today?" one sneered. "That useless Lin Feng stood there as if he belonged. Watching like some expert when he can barely fight."
Another laughed. "He still receives Qi gathering pills. What a waste. If the sect stopped feeding trash like him, maybe there would be more resources for us."
The third, quieter than the others, only gave a small nod, though his eyes lingered with a flicker of pity. He shifted uncomfortably, as if the casual cruelty of his companions didn't sit well with him, but he lacked the courage to voice his dissent. He simply watched the path leading to Lin Feng's cave, a faint unease in his expression that went unnoticed by his more aggressive friends.
Their laughter faded into the evening air as the sun dipped behind the mountains, and the sect settled into the stillness of night.