Qin Qi stepped through the doorway, her face carved from frost. Her eyes swept over Consort Wan and Jiang Ruochén—cold, distant, and dripping with arrogance.
She looked less like a mortal woman and more like an immortal gazing down from the heavens—seeing only ants beneath her feet.
"Jiang Ruochén," she began, her tone sharp enough to cut, "you must be wondering why Her Majesty suddenly changed her mind, aren't you?"
Jiang Ruochén's expression didn't shift. "Don't tell me it was because of you."
Qin Qi raised her chin proudly. "That's right. It was I who advised the Queen to keep you here—to let you take part in the Year's End Grand Tournament."
Her words carried no trace of kindness, and the venom behind her calm made his suspicions certain.
"But don't flatter yourself," she added coldly. "I didn't do it to help you. I did it to wash away the shame you've brought me. Before the entire Zhen'nan Kingdom, I'll prove that you—Jiang Ruochén—were never worthy of me, Qin Qi."
Her gaze burned with spite, a look that wished him dead where he stood.
Jiang Ruochén gave a soft laugh, contempt curling at the edge of his lips. "So that's it. You want to defeat me publicly—to trample me into the dirt and tell the world that you're the proud daughter of heaven, and I'm the worm who never deserved to breathe the same air."
"Exactly," she replied, her voice like ice. "That's also the Queen's wish. The tournament is in one month. You'd better prepare well—it's your last chance to be useful."
He met her sneer with a cold smile of his own. "A clean break, huh? But tell me, Qin Qi—what makes you so sure I'll still care enough to chase you?"
She scoffed. "Do I need proof? You've always been a pathetic cling-on."
"Prepare yourself," she said, turning away, voice dripping disdain. "After the tournament, you and I will truly belong to different worlds."
She reached the doorway when his voice suddenly rang out behind her.
"Wait!"
Qin Qi stopped, though she didn't turn.
"Qin Qi," Jiang Ruochén said, his voice steady as steel. "You do have talent—and a venomous heart. But remember my words: the outcome of that tournament isn't decided yet."
She laughed lightly, like someone hearing a fool's dream. "Heh… we'll see." And with that, she swept out, her perfume and contempt lingering in the air.
Consort Wan's expression darkened. "Qin Qi… the Queen… such cruelty!" Her voice trembled between rage and heartbreak. She knew this "reprieve" was nothing more than a setup—a chance to destroy her son before the entire court.
There was only one month left, and Qin Qi was already at Vein-Opening Ninth Heaven, while Jiang Ruochén had only just awakened his soul. It was an impossible gap.
Yet Jiang Ruochén looked calm—almost smiling—as he comforted his mother.
"Mother, one month is enough. By then, I'll prove to everyone that she and I truly aren't of the same world—but not because I don't deserve her. It's because she doesn't deserve me."
His words rang with iron resolve, his fighting spirit blazing like a wildfire in a storm.
If Qin Qi wanted to use the Grand Tournament to sever their tie—so be it.
He would use the same stage to burn away years of humiliation—and then, before everyone, publicly cast her aside.
Consort Wan's eyes softened with a mother's fragile hope. "Chen'er… Mother believes in you." She knew the odds were almost hopeless, but she refused to crush that fire in his heart.
With the exile delayed, Jiang Ruochén stayed in the palace. After soothing his mother, he immediately returned to his chamber and entered the God Burial Tower again.
The Heavenly Prison Dragon Sovereign was already aware of what had transpired.
"Little one," the old dragon said, "to reach Ninth Heaven in a month would break most men—but with a Dragon Soul and the tower's aid, it's not impossible."
Jiang Ruochén nodded, his will firm. Outside, one month. Inside the tower, four to five. It would be enough.
Without wasting a breath, he sat cross-legged, drew out the meager training resources gifted by the eunuchs, and began channeling his qi.
Those scraps—low-grade spirit stones and a few Marrow-Washing Pills—were not favors. They were his rightful share as an awakened royal. In truth, the Queen had even withheld much of what was due. That only made him more determined.
Days blurred. Two passed in the blink of an eye.
During that time, Jiang Ruochén did nothing but train—eating and sleeping only when his body gave out. The agony of each session was searing, but he endured.
And his progress repaid him in kind.
He not only opened all nine hidden veins of the First Heaven, but also five of the Second!
His power now reached the level of one elephant's strength—ten oxen in total.By raw might alone, he equaled a cultivator of Vein-Opening Fourth Heaven.
"Too bad…" he muttered, glancing at the empty jade boxes beside him. "I'm out of Marrow-Washing Pills. Otherwise, I could push even further."
The ache in his channels forced him to stop. Long sessions of cultivation strained his body to its limit. Now, he understood truly how vital resources were. With pills to relieve the burden, he could have gone farther—but time was slipping away.
"I need a way to get more resources," he murmured, rising to his feet.
The old dragon's spirit appeared. "That, I may help with."
"You have cultivation resources, Senior?" Jiang Ruochén asked hopefully.
"I have martial arts. Any one of my techniques could be traded for mountains of that rubbish." The dragon glanced disdainfully at the discarded pill boxes. To it, such treasures were dirt.
"Truly?" Jiang Ruochén's eyes lit up—only for doubt to replace it when the dragon added:
"However, even my lowest technique is Earth-grade. To trade one, you'll need a flawless plan."
"What? Earth-grade?!" Jiang Ruochén's jaw tightened.
By his memory, the world's martial arts ranked Heaven, Earth, Profound, Yellow. In all Zhen'nan, even a single Profound-grade manual was fought over with bloodshed. Earth-grade arts existed only in legend—held by the King and Crown Prince themselves.
And the dragon spoke of them as the lowest tier.
"If you dare risk it," the dragon said solemnly, "I will grant you one."
Jiang Ruochén's hands flew up in refusal. "No, Senior! I'll find another way."
He wasn't a fool. With his current strength, possessing even a fragment of an Earth-grade technique would be like carrying a beacon for death. The proverb was clear—a man without sin may still die for his treasure.
The dragon chuckled faintly. "Very well. Then think of your own way."
Its form faded into mist.
Jiang Ruochén steadied his breath, letting the silence settle, then stepped out of the tower once more—his eyes sharp, his path clear.