Jiang Muchen woke before dawn.
The nine forms of the Flowing Cloud Sword Art had replayed in his mind all night—angles of force, circulation paths of spiritual energy, the rhythm of breath that tied each strike together. Every detail was etched into him with frightening clarity.
That was the power of the Manifold Spirit Resonance Sutra.
Others needed thousands of repetitions to grasp a sword technique.
He only needed to listen—to hear where the spiritual energy wanted to flow.
When he pushed open the door, morning mist still clung low to the ground.
Wang Duobao and the others were already waiting in the courtyard. A simple breakfast sat on the stone table—rice porridge, pickled vegetables, steamed buns. Lu Hanshan handed him a cloth bundle.
"Senior Brother Liu Zhen sent this at dawn."
Inside were two sets of clean gray robes and a small bottle of wound medicine.
"He also said," Lu Hanshan lowered his voice, "today's second match in Group C has a new judge. Not Elder Shi—Elder Li from the Punishment Hall."
Elder Li.
The white-haired man from the viewing platform.
Jiang Muchen nodded. That was good news. Elder Li was strict—but fair.
"And one more thing," Wang Duobao added.
"The betting pools are open. Odds for you versus Shi Gang… one to three."
"One to three," Jiang Muchen repeated with a faint smile.
Still no one believed in him.
The Martial Arena
The arena was even more crowded than yesterday.
After his last fight, the nickname "the Servant Who Uses the Dragon Art" had spread like wildfire. A low-ranking disciple wielding a lost technique—it sounded like something out of a storyteller's fantasy.
"There he is!"
"He actually showed up again—his opponent today is Shi Gang!"
"Qi Condensation Fifth Layer, Iron-Body cultivation. Jiang Muchen's tricks won't work this time."
Amid the noise, Jiang Muchen stopped at the edge of Group C's platform.
Shi Gang was already warming up.
Bare-chested, muscles knotted like old tree roots, his bronze-toned skin gleamed faintly as if oiled. He punched a wooden post again and again—each strike leaving a deep crater.
When he saw Jiang Muchen, he stopped and grinned.
"You came."
"I did."
"The rules are the same as yesterday," Shi Gang rolled his shoulders.
"No hidden weapons. No talismans. No dragon tricks. Just real skill. Dare?"
"I dare," Jiang Muchen said. "But I have one condition."
Shi Gang raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
"If I win," Jiang Muchen said, "you owe me one thing."
"And if you lose?"
"I owe you one thing. Nothing against your principles. Nothing immoral."
Shi Gang stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Deal!"
The gong rang.
Elder Li stepped onto the platform, his white hair stirring in the breeze.
"Begin."
Shi Gang moved first.
No weapon—his fists were enough.
He launched forward like a cannonball, a punch roaring straight for Jiang Muchen's face.
Jiang Muchen didn't meet it head-on.
He stepped into the Wandering Dragon Footwork, barely slipping past the blow, and swept his iron staff toward Shi Gang's waist.
Clang!
The staff struck with the sound of metal on steel.
Shi Gang didn't budge.
"Didn't eat breakfast?" he laughed.
Jiang Muchen's heart sank.
The Iron-Body truly lived up to its name.
Brute force wouldn't work.
Iron-body cultivators strengthened flesh, bone, and sinew with spiritual energy. At higher levels, blades and fire meant little to them. Shi Gang was only at the fifth layer—but his body rivaled those two realms above.
Every technique has a flaw.
Jiang Muchen closed his eyes.
The Manifold Spirit Resonance Sutra surged.
His perception spread like liquid silver, enveloping the arena. He could hear Shi Gang's spiritual energy—streams rushing through meridians. Most flowed powerfully, but a few points lagged.
Under the arms.
Behind the knees.
The nape of the neck.
He opened his eyes and attacked again.
This time, he aimed only for those points. The iron staff became a constellation of cold sparks, each strike landing precisely where the flow faltered.
Shi Gang's expression changed.
"You're interesting!" he roared, abandoning defense and launching a storm of punches.
Jiang Muchen weaved through them—but the net tightened.
A fist grazed his left shoulder.
Crack.
Bone fractured.
He staggered back, his left arm hanging limp.
"Yield," Shi Gang said, stopping. "That arm's done."
Jiang Muchen didn't answer.
Instead—
He threw away the iron staff.
The crowd gasped.
"What are you doing?" Shi Gang frowned.
"Staff won't beat you," Jiang Muchen said calmly.
"So I'll fight differently."
He drew the cracked jade flute from his robes.
"You said no dragon power," Shi Gang warned.
"I won't use it," Jiang Muchen lifted the flute.
"Just sound."
The music began.
Not a soothing tune.
Not a mind-warping melody.
It was a war song.
Driving. Fierce. Like armies charging.
Shi Gang felt his spiritual energy surge.
Not disrupted—amplified.
Iron-Body required stable circulation. Now his energy boiled like water over flame. Power rose—but control plummeted.
His face changed.
The flute wasn't attacking him.
It was overclocking him.
Like whipping a horse into madness.
"Stop—!" he roared, trying to close the distance.
But Jiang Muchen kept exactly three meters away.
Close enough for sound.
Too far for fists.
The music accelerated.
Shi Gang's bronze glow flickered wildly. Muscles spasmed. Veins bulged. Sweat poured down his face.
Jiang Muchen blew one final note.
Boom.
Invisible force slammed into Shi Gang's chest.
Blood sprayed.
He collapsed.
Silence.
Elder Li spoke, voice even as ever.
"Group C, second match. Jiang Muchen wins."
Jiang Muchen crouched beside him.
"I lost," Shi Gang said hoarsely. "What do you want?"
Jiang Muchen produced a small porcelain vial.
"Drink this."
Shi Gang sniffed it—and froze.
"Condensed Soul Dew? You're giving this to me?"
"You damaged your spirit," Jiang Muchen said. "If you don't treat it, it'll haunt you later."
Shi Gang stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—a strange, honest laugh.
"You're a strange one, Jiang Muchen."
He drank it down.
"What do you want from me?"
"Teach me body cultivation."
Shi Gang blinked.
"Body cultivation is brutal."
"I'm not afraid."
"Why me?"
"Because you're straight," Jiang Muchen said. "And you keep your word."
Shi Gang laughed again—this time from the heart.
"Fine. Tomorrow at dawn. I'll train you hard. No complaints."
"Agreed."
They shook hands.
Some bonds are forged with fists.
After the Match
As Jiang Muchen left the platform, pain finally surged through his shoulder.
Liu Zhen met him with medicine.
"Bone fractures leave scars if ignored."
"Thank you."
"That flute trick," Liu Zhen said quietly. "Where did you learn it?"
"From understanding resonance," Jiang Muchen replied.
"Everything has a frequency. Find it—and you can amplify, or destroy."
Liu Zhen nodded slowly.
Then lowered his voice.
"Someone was watching you closely. Zhao Wuji. From the Azure Underworld Sword Sect."
Jiang Muchen's eyes hardened.
He already knew trouble was coming.
That Night
Back in the courtyard, Jiang Muchen reset his shoulder, applied medicine, and began crafting.
The jade flute wouldn't last much longer.
He needed a replacement.
And more than that—he needed preparation.
He etched transmission arrays into iron plates.
The path ahead was dangerous.
But he had chosen it.
And once chosen—
He would walk it to the end.