The air in the arena was thick enough to chew. All other matches were forgotten. This was the true heart of the tournament: the clash between the established hierarchy, represented by the brutish Zhao Ba, and the chaotic anomaly, the "Laughing Comet."
Zhao Ba cracked his neck, his Earthfire Qi flaring around him in a visible, reddish-brown aura. The pride of Herb Peak, the favored disciple. But beneath the bravado, Ye Xingliu's Life Sensing picked up a frantic, desperate rhythm. Zhao Ba's heart was a trapped bird beating against its cage. He was terrified—not of Ye Xingliu, but of losing.
"Your luck ends here, freak," Zhao Ba snarled, his voice a low growl.
"Luck?" Ye Xingliu replied, his stance relaxed, the beginning of the Drunken Meteor already in the set of his shoulders. "I prefer to think of it as the Dao of Having More Fun Than You."
The elder signaled the start.
Zhao Ba charged, not with technique, but with pure, rage-fueled power. His fists were hammers, his kicks meant to shatter stone. He was a storm of violence.
And Ye Xingliu was the wind. He flowed around the charges, his Drunken Meteor making him a ghost. He didn't counter-attack. He simply existed just outside of Zhao Ba's reach, his movements a series of effortless, infuriating near-misses.
"Stand and fight!" Zhao Ba roared, his face purpling with exertion and humiliation. The crowd, once firmly his, was now murmuring, captivated by the elusive dance of the Laughing Comet.
It was then that desperation overrode sense. As Ye Xingliu swayed away from another wild swing, Zhao Ba feigned a stumble, turning his back. In that split second, his hand darted to his belt, palmed a small, dark red pill, and swallowed it.
A hush fell over the elder's podium. They had seen it. But to intervene now would cause a scandal.
But Ye Xingliu had felt it. His Life Sensing screamed. The pill was a knot of violent, unstable energy—a Blood Qi Pill, forbidden for its ability to explosively amplify power at the cost of the user's vitality and cultivation base. As it dissolved in Zhao Ba's stomach, Ye Xingliu could see the backlash building. It was a dam of crimson energy about to burst.
Zhao Ba turned back, his eyes now bloodshot, veins bulging on his neck and temples. His aura exploded, doubling in size, radiating a feverish, dangerous heat. "NOW YOU DIE!" he bellowed, his voice distorted.
He became a blur, faster than before. But he was no longer precise. He was a runaway cart on a mountain path. Ye Xingliu didn't try to stop the cart. He just got out of the way.
The fight became a chase. Zhao Ba, fueled by the pill, unleashed torrents of fire-tinged qi, scorching the arena sand. Ye Xingliu, his senses hyper-acute, weaved through the onslaught. He wasn't just dodging the attacks; he was dodging the chaotic, expanding waves of the pill's own corrosive energy inside Zhao Ba.
"Stop running!" Zhao Ba shrieked, his power beginning to eat at his own meridians. Ye Xingliu could see the fissures forming in his spirit, the beautiful, stable rhythm of his Earthfire Root becoming a discordant, screaming mess.
The climax was inevitable. Zhao Ba gathered all the rampaging energy for one final, apocalyptic strike. He lunged, a human comet of his own, aiming to simply obliterate Ye Xingliu from existence.
And Ye Xingliu took one last, graceful, Drunken Meteor step to the side.
Zhao Ba flew past him, his fist connecting with empty air. The uncontrolled power, with no outlet, recoiled. It surged back into his body, the dam finally breaking.
There was no loud explosion. Just a sickening, internal pop.
Zhao Ba stumbled to a halt, his immense aura snuffing out like a candle. He stood rigid for a moment, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Then, a fountain of dark blood erupted from his mouth, and he collapsed face-first onto the sand, twitching.
The arena was silent, save for the crackle of dying embers and Zhao Ba's wet, ragged gasps.
Ye Xingliu walked over and looked down at his defeated rival. There was no triumph in his eyes, only a faint disappointment.
"Cheating's no fun, Senior Brother," he said, his voice carrying clearly in the stillness. "It spoils the game for everyone. Next time," he added with a faint, almost pitying smile, "try fighting fair. It's a much more interesting road."
He turned and walked away, leaving the silenced crowd and the humiliated, broken bully in the sand.
Victory was his. He was in the finals.
And high on the podium, Elder Mu Qing watched him go, her mind racing. He hadn't just won. He had seen the pill, understood its consequence, and engineered its user's self-destruction. This was not luck. This was a terrifying, innate genius.
The Wanderlust Root was no longer just an oddity. It was a threat. Or a miracle.
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