The hum of the Spirit-Gathering Talisman droned in Dormitory 13. Qin Ye sat on the floor, unspooling the Tape Bind. The sturdy wrap felt cool against skin. He wrapped forearms and ankles methodically; the minor support was a tangible comfort. A quick check confirmed the Grip Seal's invisible firmness at the sword hilt. He had three Swift-Step Talismans remaining. One cycle of the Spiral Breath Cadence steadied him—inhale four, anchor four, exhale two. Ready.
⸻
The Medic Bay smelled of camphor and dried herbs. Cots lined the wall; cabinets clicked softly. A prompt appeared.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
[Location: Medic Bay.]
[Sign-In? Yes / No]
Yes.
[Ding! Sign-In successful!]
[Reward: Pain-Dulling Salve (minor, 1 match) + Focus Bead (single-use, extends Focus Thread by +10 breaths if active).]
A small ceramic jar, cool to the touch, and a smooth, clear bead slid into storage. Practical tools for the grind ahead.
⸻
Back at the arena, staff re-tightened the ropes, pulling them taut. A fresh notice pinned nearby read: "Ring-out priority clarification: a foot fully across the rope line constitutes a loss."
As Qin Ye read, Duan Qi drifted past. "The edges decide matches," he said casually, not breaking stride. "A slip, a misjudgment… such small things." Soft warning, sharp implication.
Qin Ye's eyes traced the boundary. The game had shifted.
⸻
The crowd's roar was a wall of sound. Chalk dust motes danced in sunlight. Qin Ye's opponent, a wiry disciple named Lan, was known for feints and forced ring-outs. The bell rang.
Lan began a dance of deception. Feint high, then low—movements designed to lure Qin Ye toward the ropes. Quick, sharp shoves—not to injure, but to break balance and push him out.
Qin Ye answered with Silent Step. Movements went ghost-quiet; balance micro-corrected. He erased the telegraphs Lan relied on and rode the Spiral Breath timing, his toes a precise inch from the taut rope line. He held center—a calm point inside Lan's storm.
Frustration cracked Lan's mask. He committed to a stronger feint, then a real lunge, grabbing for Qin Ye's sword arm to shove him over the line. Fingers hooked, twisting for a disarm—
The Grip Seal activated. An unseen firmness locked Qin Ye's hold. Lan's attempt failed; his own momentum tugged him off-balance for half a beat.
The opening.
Qin Ye didn't retreat. He angled forward through the extended arm; Silent Step slid him inside the failed grab. Fingers tapped the seam of shoulder and collarbone—clean scoring touch.
The bell rang.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Hold the Center Line."]
[Reward: +300,000 Spirit Stones; Boundary Sense +5% (situational).]
A new awareness of spatial limits settled into his perception.
⸻
A Patrol Hall functionary intercepted him, eyes on the hilt. "That grip isn't standard issue. Non-regulation aids are prohibited."
"The Grip Seal was an Armory Sign-In reward," Qin Ye said, flat. "It's listed on today's official registry."
The man blinked, checked the day's item log, found the entry. Lips thinned. "…Verified. Carry on." Needling, defeated by compliance.
⸻
From his balcony perch, Liu Shan watched Qin Ye depart. He wrote on his slate: Sound footprint minimal. Boundary control exceptional. A wax-sealed slip pressed into a runner's hand. "For the Records Hall. Subject: Qin Ye. Note: monitor talisman expenditure. Compliance remains perfect."
⸻
The updated bracket mapped the remaining contenders. Qin Ye stood one match from the Top 50. The path pointed directly to a senior disciple aligned with Duan Qi—the final barrier before the upper echelon.
The System updated, quiet.
[Main Quest updated — Countdown: 2 days.]
[Optional Objective unlocked: "Reach Top 50 Without Injury Report" — Reward: Minor Technique Cache (locked).]
Night wind swept the empty cliff rings. Qin Ye stood at the center of a chalk circle, eyes closed. No forms—only a toe tracing invisible lines: of the ring, of his opponents, of control.
Two days.Chapter 7: Boundary Lines (Clean Upload Version)
The hum of the Spirit-Gathering Talisman droned in Dormitory 13. Qin Ye sat on the floor, unspooling the Tape Bind. The sturdy wrap felt cool against skin. He wrapped forearms and ankles methodically; the minor support was a tangible comfort. A quick check confirmed the Grip Seal's invisible firmness at the sword hilt. He had three Swift-Step Talismans remaining. One cycle of the Spiral Breath Cadence steadied him—inhale four, anchor four, exhale two. Ready.
⸻
The Medic Bay smelled of camphor and dried herbs. Cots lined the wall; cabinets clicked softly. A prompt appeared.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
[Location: Medic Bay.]
[Sign-In? Yes / No]
Yes.
[Ding! Sign-In successful!]
[Reward: Pain-Dulling Salve (minor, 1 match) + Focus Bead (single-use, extends Focus Thread by +10 breaths if active).]
A small ceramic jar, cool to the touch, and a smooth, clear bead slid into storage. Practical tools for the grind ahead.
⸻
Back at the arena, staff re-tightened the ropes, pulling them taut. A fresh notice pinned nearby read: "Ring-out priority clarification: a foot fully across the rope line constitutes a loss."
As Qin Ye read, Duan Qi drifted past. "The edges decide matches," he said casually, not breaking stride. "A slip, a misjudgment… such small things." Soft warning, sharp implication.
Qin Ye's eyes traced the boundary. The game had shifted.
⸻
The crowd's roar was a wall of sound. Chalk dust motes danced in sunlight. Qin Ye's opponent, a wiry disciple named Lan, was known for feints and forced ring-outs. The bell rang.
Lan began a dance of deception. Feint high, then low—movements designed to lure Qin Ye toward the ropes. Quick, sharp shoves—not to injure, but to break balance and push him out.
Qin Ye answered with Silent Step. Movements went ghost-quiet; balance micro-corrected. He erased the telegraphs Lan relied on and rode the Spiral Breath timing, his toes a precise inch from the taut rope line. He held center—a calm point inside Lan's storm.
Frustration cracked Lan's mask. He committed to a stronger feint, then a real lunge, grabbing for Qin Ye's sword arm to shove him over the line. Fingers hooked, twisting for a disarm—
The Grip Seal activated. An unseen firmness locked Qin Ye's hold. Lan's attempt failed; his own momentum tugged him off-balance for half a beat.
The opening.
Qin Ye didn't retreat. He angled forward through the extended arm; Silent Step slid him inside the failed grab. Fingers tapped the seam of shoulder and collarbone—clean scoring touch.
The bell rang.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Hold the Center Line."]
[Reward: +300,000 Spirit Stones; Boundary Sense +5% (situational).]
A new awareness of spatial limits settled into his perception.
⸻
A Patrol Hall functionary intercepted him, eyes on the hilt. "That grip isn't standard issue. Non-regulation aids are prohibited."
"The Grip Seal was an Armory Sign-In reward," Qin Ye said, flat. "It's listed on today's official registry."
The man blinked, checked the day's item log, found the entry. Lips thinned. "…Verified. Carry on." Needling, defeated by compliance.
⸻
From his balcony perch, Liu Shan watched Qin Ye depart. He wrote on his slate: Sound footprint minimal. Boundary control exceptional. A wax-sealed slip pressed into a runner's hand. "For the Records Hall. Subject: Qin Ye. Note: monitor talisman expenditure. Compliance remains perfect."
⸻
The updated bracket mapped the remaining contenders. Qin Ye stood one match from the Top 50. The path pointed directly to a senior disciple aligned with Duan Qi—the final barrier before the upper echelon.
The System updated, quiet.
[Main Quest updated — Countdown: 2 days.]
[Optional Objective unlocked: "Reach Top 50 Without Injury Report" — Reward: Minor Technique Cache (locked).]
Night wind swept the empty cliff rings. Qin Ye stood at the center of a chalk circle, eyes closed. No forms—only a toe tracing invisible lines: of the ring, of his opponents, of control.
Two days.