Dawn broke over Verdant Creek City, its light painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The atmosphere in the central plaza was a world away from the chaotic desperation of the culling. A tense, focused silence had replaced the roar of battle. The one hundred and ninety-eight survivors stood in loose, wary groups, their gazes sharp, their bodies radiating a quiet, dangerous energy. They were no longer a mob; they were a collection of predators, each sizing up the others.
Lei Man stood alone, his presence calm and self-contained. His number, 37, was a simple, unassuming piece of wood, but his performance in the battle royale had not gone unnoticed. He drew occasional, speculative glances from the other powerful contenders who had carved out their own territories during the culling.
In front of the central stage, a row of six large announcement boards had been erected overnight. An outer court disciple, acting as an announcer, stepped forward.
"The rules for the second trial are simple," he called out, his voice clear and amplified. "You will be assigned to one of the six stages. You will fight in single combat. Victory is achieved when your opponent surrenders, is rendered unconscious, or is thrown from the stage. Lethal force remains discouraged, but accidents happen. An elder will oversee each stage to make the final judgment."
He paused, letting the weight of the rules settle. "The brackets are now decided."
With a dramatic flourish, he gestured to the announcement boards. Simultaneously, six massive sheets of parchment were unveiled, revealing the tournament brackets for each of the six arenas. A surge of motion went through the contestants as they rushed forward to find their names and their fate.
The math was simple and slightly awkward. With one hundred and ninety-eight participants, each of the six stages was assigned thirty-three fighters. The lopsided number meant that on each stage, one lucky—or perhaps unlucky—contestant would receive a bye in the first round, automatically advancing.
Lei Man navigated the crowd with his usual detached calm. He found his name, Lei Man (#37), on the board for Stage Three. He scanned the bracket, his eyes tracing the lines of his potential opponents. His first match was against a name he didn't recognize: Wei Shen (#124). More importantly, he saw that he had not received a bye. He would have to fight his way through from the very beginning.
The elders of the Red Cloud Sect, including the imposing Elder Jin, took their seats on the central, elevated platform, their gazes sweeping over the young contestants like hawks observing a field of mice. Six other sect disciples, acting as referees, took their positions, one at the center of each of the six stages.
"The first round of the second trial will now commence!" the announcer's voice boomed. "Will the first set of contestants please take their places on their assigned stages!"
A new wave of energy surged through the plaza. Names were called. The first twelve fighters, two for each stage, separated from the crowd and made their way to their designated arenas. The crowd of spectators, which had swelled to an immense size, roared with anticipation.
Lei Man watched the first combatants ascend the stone steps of Stage Three. A burly youth with an earth-affinity technique faced off against a smaller, faster girl who wielded wind-like Qi. The referee's hand dropped. The fight began.
The tournament had started. Lei Man's turn would come soon. He closed his eyes for a moment, not with nervousness, but with a quiet, focused calm. He could feel the thrum of his own power, a deep ocean of blue Qi, perfectly serene and ready to be unleashed. He had survived the chaos. Now, it was time to display his art.
The early matches of the tournament were a flurry of brief, decisive battles. The gap between the stronger and weaker survivors of the culling quickly became apparent. Most fights were over in under a minute, a brutal showcase of the difference between those who had merely survived the chaos and those who had thrived in it.
Lei Man watched with an analytical, detached focus, his gaze sweeping from one stage to another, absorbing information. He paid special attention to the other second-level cultivators, the ones he identified as his primary competition.
On Stage One, a major confrontation was brewing that drew the eyes of nearly everyone in the plaza, including the sect elders.
"On Stage One, from the Azure River Clan, Chu Qinqing!" the announcer called.
A young woman with a calm, composed demeanor and long, flowing blue robes stepped onto the stage. She moved with a liquid grace, her very presence seeming to lower the temperature around her. Whispers rippled through the crowd. The Azure River Clan was a major power in a neighboring province, famous for their profound water-element cultivation arts. Chu Qinqing was their prized genius, and the deep, placid aura of her second-level Qi was far denser than that of a common cultivator.
"Her opponent, the independent cultivator, Li Bai!"
Her opponent was her complete opposite. A tall, powerfully built youth with a confident, almost arrogant smirk, Li Bai carried a heavy-looking iron staff on his back. His Qi was a sharp, metallic gray, and it radiated a feeling of unyielding hardness. He was also at the second level, a rogue who had clearly fought his way up from nothing.
The referee's hand dropped. "Begin!"
Li Bai roared, his Qi flaring. He didn't waste time. He stomped his foot and charged, his heavy staff becoming a whistling gray blur of destruction. He was the embodiment of overwhelming, direct force.
Chu Qinqing did not move. She simply raised a hand, her long sleeves fluttering. "Azure Sea Diverts the River," she said, her voice calm and clear, a statement of philosophy as much as a technique.
In an instant, the air around her grew heavy and humid. Wisps of blue Qi coalesced from nothing, forming a swirling vortex of water that surrounded her like a shield. It was not a solid wall, but a deep, churning current.
Li Bai's staff slammed into the vortex. The expected bone-jarring crash never came. Instead, the sound was a heavy, churning splash. The water shield yielded, its surface swirling violently, but it did not break. The immense force of the staff strike, which would have shattered a stone wall, was caught by the current. It was not blocked; it was redirected. The vortex spun faster, absorbing his momentum, turning his own power against itself and harmlessly dissipating it into the flow.
Li Bai's eyes widened in shock. His greatest strength had been rendered completely useless. It was like trying to punch a whirlpool.
"My turn," Chu Qinqing said, her expression unchanged.
She made a gentle, pushing motion with her other hand. A torrent of water erupted from the vortex, not as a clumsy wave, but as a series of high-pressure, liquid tendrils. They were like whips, fast and precise.
Li Bai was forced onto the defensive, his staff now a desperate tool to parry the relentless assault. He was strong, but Chu Qinqing's control was on another level. She wasn't just throwing water; she was commanding a river.
She saw her opening. One of the tendrils suddenly solidified, freezing in an instant into a sharp, jagged spear of ice that shot forward. Li Bai, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tactics, barely managed to bring his staff up to block. The ice spear shattered against the iron, but it was a feint.
While he was occupied, two more water tendrils lashed out, not at his body, but at his feet. They wrapped around his ankles, the water instantly freezing, locking him to the stone stage in a prison of solid ice.
He was trapped.
Chu Qinqing walked forward calmly. She placed a single, delicate finger on Li Bai's chest. A gentle pulse of her frigid, water-aspected Qi flowed into his body, instantly disrupting his own chaotic Qi flow and making him seize up, his muscles locked.
"I surrender," Li Bai choked out, the words a bitter admission of his complete and utter defeat.
The referee raised his hand. "Winner, Chu Qinqing!"
The crowd roared. It was the most masterful display of the day so far. She hadn't won with brute force, but with flawless technique, perfect control, and a superior strategy that had turned her opponent's greatest strength into his downfall. Lei Man watched her descend the stage, her calm expression never wavering. He made a mental note. This woman and her art of redirection were not just a challenge. They were a puzzle he would have to be very careful to solve.
The morning wore on, a relentless cycle of brief, brutal matches. The sun climbed higher, beating down on the six stages. Finally, the announcer's voice called out from the direction of Stage Three.
"Next match! Participant #37, Lei Man!"
A quiet murmur went through the nearby crowd. This was the unknown second-level cultivator who had registered early. Lei Man separated himself from the spectators and walked towards the stage, his expression a mask of calm indifference.
"His opponent, Participant #214, Rue Doxin!"
A wiry youth with sallow skin and narrow, shifty eyes swaggered onto the stage from the other side. He sneered at Lei Man, his gaze filled with a greedy, predatory light. He, too, was at the second level of Qi Gathering, but his energy felt thin and unstable, a stark contrast to Lei Man's deep, placid aura.
Both fighters took their positions. The sect disciple acting as referee gave them a final, bored look. "You know the rules. Begin!"
Rue Doxin's sneer widened into a cruel grin. "You should have stayed hidden, pretty boy," he hissed.
He didn't charge. He simply held up his hands, and a sickening, venomous green Qi began to swirl around his fingers. The light was corrosive, and the very air around his hands seemed to sizzle. His fingernails, stained a dark, unhealthy purple, looked like they were dripping with a liquid poison.
"My Scorpion's Touch isn't pleasant," Rue Doxin taunted, flexing his glowing fingers. "One scratch is all it takes. Your Qi will rot, and your skin will slough off your bones. Surrender now, and I'll let you walk away."
Lei Man's expression didn't change. He simply fell into the opening stance of the Flowing Butterfly Art, a posture of relaxed readiness.
Seeing his threat ignored, Rue Doxin's face twisted in fury. "Fine! Suffer!"
He lunged forward, his movements unnaturally fast and scuttling, like the insect his technique was named for. He didn't throw a punch; he swiped, his poison-coated fingers slicing through the air like five venomous daggers.
Lei Man did not retreat. He flowed.
His body became a phantom. He took a single, fluid step to the side, and Rue Doxin's claws missed his chest by a hair's breadth. The corrosive Qi that washed past him felt cold and malevolent, but it never touched him.
"Stand still!" Rue Doxin shrieked, spinning around for another frantic attack. He unleashed a flurry of strikes—slashes, jabs, and pokes, each one aimed to deliver his potent poison.
What followed was not a fight, but a display of utter futility. Lei Man was an untouchable ghost. He never moved more than a single step at a time, but it was always the perfect step. A slight tilt of his shoulder, a subtle pivot of his hips. He drifted and flowed, his simple dark robes fluttering around him. Rue Doxin's frenzied assault was like a storm trying to hit the wind. He was wasting enormous amounts of Qi with every missed strike, his breathing growing ragged, his face slick with sweat.
The crowd, which had initially been wary of Rue Doxin's poison, was now mesmerized by Lei Man's movements. It was a masterclass in evasion, a dance of impossible grace.
Frustration finally boiled over into desperation. Rue Doxin let out a furious roar and put all of his remaining energy into one final, all-or-nothing lunge, his hand a venomous spear aimed straight at Lei Man's heart.
It was the opening Lei Man had been waiting for.
He didn't dodge backwards. He moved in, a blur of motion that slipped inside Rue Doxin's overextended reach. As the poison-tipped fingers whistled past his head, Lei Man executed the Butterfly's Sting. He focused his deep, blue Qi not into a spear, but into a solid, concussive palm strike. He struck Rue Doxin squarely in the solar plexus.
The impact was a dull, heavy thud.
Rue Doxin's eyes went wide with shock. The venomous green light around his hands sputtered and died as if a switch had been flipped. The precise pulse of Lei Man's second-level Qi had violently disrupted his own chaotic energy flow, shattering his control. He couldn't draw a breath. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, a choked, wheezing sound escaping his lips, before collapsing to the stone stage, convulsing for a moment before lying still.
Lei Man stood over him, his hand already lowered, his breathing perfectly even. He hadn't been touched. Not once.
The referee, who had been ready for a long, cautious battle, stared for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. He raised his hand.
"Winner, Lei Man!"
A wave of appreciative murmurs and scattered applause went through the crowd. It wasn't the flashy, elemental spectacle of Chu Qinqing's fight, but in its own way, it was just as terrifying. It was a victory of pure, untouchable skill. Lei Man gave a simple, respectful bow to the referee and the silent elder overseeing the stage, then descended the steps, his calm, impassive mask once again hiding the devastating power that lay beneath.