True victory is not shattering an enemy's defenses.
It is seeing the trembling child beneath his layered disguises,
and softly saying:
I've seen your fear. I can help you.
The moment he hesitates—he has already lost.
Xiao Chen stood below the platform like a statue carved from cooling lava.
The color drained from his face—ashen, then sickly pale, before darkening into something nearly black. Veins crept through the whites of his eyes, thin and crimson, spreading like cracks in glass.
It was the look of rage pushed beyond its limit.
Leng Qianqiu had conceded.
Yan Lie had conceded.
Two blades—carefully sharpened over three months with resources, favors, and threats—had been snapped in half by two simple "gifts."
What suffocated Xiao Chen most was this:
Neither of them looked back when they left.
Their departing figures carried not shame—but relief. As if they hadn't stepped away from the Life-and-Death Platform, but escaped a cage.
"…Good," Xiao Chen murmured softly.
Every clan disciple within three zhang shuddered.
He stepped forward.
Onto the platform.
First step.
Qi Condensation Seventh Layer exploded outward.
Second step.
Seventh Layer peak. The air warped, rippling like heat haze.
Third step.
Eighth Layer. Obsidian beneath his feet cracked, spiderweb fractures spreading outward.
Fourth step.
Eighth Layer peak. Several weaker spectators paled, forced to circulate qi just to breathe.
By the time he stopped before Jiang Muchen—
Qi Condensation Ninth Layer.
Not entry-level. Mid-stage.
The world fell silent.
Even the wind froze.
This wasn't ordinary Ninth Layer pressure. Mixed within it was something feral—violent, unstable, as if it might detonate at any moment.
"Heaven-Bane War Body…" Murong Xueli's expression finally hardened.
"He dares cultivate a forbidden physique."
Nangong Feiyue's playful smile vanished as well. Her flame fan spun uneasily.
"Breaking two layers in a month and forming the Heaven-Bane Body… Has Xiao Chen lost his mind? That thing turns cultivators into monsters."
On the platform, Jiang Muchen felt the pressure crash down like a collapsing mountain.
The faint thread of chaotic sword intent within him stirred on its own, vibrating gently through his meridians, barely stabilizing his stance.
Yet his expression remained calm.
He even cupped his hands politely.
"Congratulations on your breakthrough, Senior Brother Xiao," he said.
"Though…"
His gaze lingered on Xiao Chen's blood-tinged eyes.
"…you haven't been sleeping well lately, have you?"
Xiao Chen's pupils shrank.
"Every night at midnight, your chest tightens like an invisible hand is crushing your heart. Before dawn, you jolt awake soaked in cold sweat—as if you've crawled out of a sea of corpses."
"During the day, your emotions spiral out of control. When someone irritates you, you feel the urge to—"
"To kill them."
With every sentence, Xiao Chen's face lost another shade of color.
Every word was true.
"…How do you know?" His voice scraped dry.
"Because the Heaven-Bane War Body is forbidden for a reason," Jiang Muchen replied softly.
"It trades sanity for power. Malignant qi invades dreams first, corrodes reason next—"
"And eventually," he let the silence finish the sentence.
Xiao Chen's hand trembled.
Not fear.
Humiliation.
"You think saying this will make me spare you?" he snarled.
"I wouldn't dare," Jiang Muchen shook his head.
"I simply find it… unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?"
"With your talent, you had a future," Jiang Muchen said, studying him—not with pity, nor mockery, but something Xiao Chen couldn't name.
"And yet you chose a dead end."
"Enough!" Xiao Chen roared, striking with his palm.
No technique.
No flourish.
Just raw Ninth Layer power.
The air detonated. A white shockwave tore across the platform, carving a trench three inches deep into the obsidian.
This blow could have reduced ten Fourth Layer cultivators to paste.
Jiang Muchen didn't dodge.
He didn't block.
He lifted the jade flute horizontally. A faint green light shimmered—not defensive, but resonant.
Myriad Spirit Resonance Art—full output.
He wasn't reading the attack's strength.
He was listening to its emotion.
Rage. Hatred. Frenzy.
And beneath it—
Fear.
Fear of losing control.
Fear of becoming a beast.
Now.
As the palm wind struck, Jiang Muchen moved.
Not against it—but with it.
Like a falling leaf, he rode the force upward. The flute traced a strange arc, tapping the thinnest point of the shockwave—
Hiss.
Like a needle piercing a bubble.
Three tenths of the force dispersed instantly.
The remaining seven tenths he absorbed—spinning midair, nine rotations, shedding one layer of power with each turn.
He landed hard, staggering. Blood spilled from his lips. His robe shattered, revealing a dull soft armor beneath—now cracked and ruined.
But he stood.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
A Fourth Layer cultivator had endured a Ninth Layer strike.
"…Impossible," someone whispered.
Xiao Chen stared at his palm.
For the first time—doubt appeared.
"Your technique carries traces of the Nether Ghost Palace's Demonic Calamity Art," Jiang Muchen said, wiping blood away.
"But deeper still is the Heaven-Bane's violent qi. It corrodes meridians, taints spiritual power—eventually, even the soul."
He produced a jade slip.
Plain. White.
Yet the moment it appeared, Xiao Chen's malignant qi recoiled in instinctive fear.
"This contains the first three layers of the Purifying World Mantra from the Lotus Purelands," Jiang Muchen said, placing it down.
"And the introductory chapter of the Radiant Codex from the Light Sanctum."
"One cleanses malignant qi. The other stabilizes the mind."
"It won't cure the Heaven-Bane backlash," he admitted.
"But it will let you sleep."
He pushed the slip forward.
"I know you intend to kill me today," he said evenly.
"But I also know—you're not evil. Just trapped."
"This isn't a plea. Or a trade."
"What is it?" Xiao Chen rasped.
"Shared despair," Jiang Muchen replied quietly.
"I walk a dead-end road as well. We're not so different."
He paused.
"If you kill me today, the poor-born will remember. If you lose yourself to madness tomorrow, the clans will abandon you."
"…Is that really the ending you want?"
Xiao Chen froze.
Jiang Muchen continued:
"End today's battle here. Take the jade slip. If it works—your path isn't sealed. If it fails…"
"…then come kill me later. I won't resist."
Silence.
All eyes locked onto Xiao Chen.
He stared at the jade slip.
Its warm glow unsettled the malignant qi—yet stirred something else within him.
Hope.
His fingers touched it.
Cool, gentle energy flowed upward. The constant tension in his mind loosened—just a little.
That was enough.
Tears nearly fell.
"…You win," Xiao Chen said hoarsely.
The square erupted.
He didn't wait. Turning, he leapt from the platform and left.
No one followed.
That night.
Xiao Chen slept.
For the first time in a month—no nightmares.