The Inner Sect training grounds were livelier than usual.
With the ranking battle approaching, disciples who normally secluded themselves had begun to appear more frequently. Sparring platforms were occupied from morning to evening, spiritual techniques colliding in flashes of light that drew spectators from every direction.
At the center of one such crowd stood Zhao Ming.
His robes were luxurious, embroidered with cloud patterns unique to the Zhao Clan. A jade pendant hung at his waist, and his posture carried a confidence that bordered on disdain. The disciple standing opposite him was already breathing heavily, his spiritual energy in disarray.
Zhao Ming lifted his hand and struck forward casually.
The opponent's defensive technique shattered on contact, and the man was sent sliding backward across the stone platform before collapsing at the edge.
The elder overseeing the match barely had time to announce the result before Zhao Ming turned and stepped down.
Whispers followed him immediately.
"As expected of the Zhao Clan's young master."
"He hasn't even used a serious technique."
Zhao Ming accepted the murmurs as his due. His gaze swept across the crowd, already bored, until it paused on a figure standing some distance away.
Lin Yuan.
The man wasn't watching him.
That single fact irritated Zhao Ming more than losing face ever could.
Most disciples watched him with awe, jealousy, or ambition. Lin Yuan stood calmly, as if the entire scene had nothing to do with him.
Zhao Ming's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Interesting," he muttered. "Let's see how long that composure lasts."
In his mind, the ranking battle had already gained a new meaning
________________________________________________________________________________
Not far away, Qin Yue stood quietly near the edge of the training grounds.
Her expression was composed, her posture upright, arms folded loosely at her side. To outsiders, she appeared cold and distant, like ice that rejected approach.
In truth, her thoughts were anything but calm.
Her eyes drifted toward Lin Yuan before she forced herself to look away.
She had never intended to fall in love.
Still, the memory surfaced unbidden.
Years ago, during the sect's hunting competition, Qin Yue had underestimated the inner zone.
She remembered the exhaustion weighing on her limbs, the pain from the deep wound along her leg, and the heavy smell of blood that attracted one beast after another. By the time she realized her mistake, escape was no longer possible.
High-grade beasts surrounded her.
She had fought until her spiritual energy was nearly depleted. Her sword felt unbearably heavy in her trembling hand, and her vision blurred as fatigue overtook her.
For the first time since entering the path of cultivation, she had felt genuine fear.
Then the pressure descended.
The surrounding forest seemed to sink as if crushed by an invisible force. The beasts froze mid-motion, their bodies collapsing under overwhelming spiritual suppression before being torn apart in a single moment.
Qin Yue dropped to one knee, stunned.
When she looked up, a young man stepped out from the trees.
Plain robes. Calm expression. No trace of urgency or strain.
His gaze swept briefly over the battlefield, then settled on her injury.
"You should withdraw," Lin Yuan said evenly. "Your condition won't hold against another encounter."
That was all.
No dramatic rescue. No unnecessary words.
Yet that single strike had carved itself deeply into her memory.
It wasn't just the power.
It was the certainty behind it.
From that moment on, Qin Yue understood something she hadn't before.
There were heights she hadn't even begun to touch.
Back in the present, Qin Yue clenched her fingers slightly, forcing her breathing to remain steady.
She didn't want to chase Lin Yuan.
She didn't want to cling to him or confess on impulse like so many others did in this world.
What she wanted was simple and difficult at the same time.
She wanted to stand in front of him as an equal.
That was why she trained harder than ever. Why she entered every competition. Why she sharpened her blade until her hands bled.
But whenever other women approached Lin Yuan, an ache formed in her chest.
Not anger.
Not possessiveness.
Fear.
Fear that someone else would reach him first while she was still climbing.
Even so, she never interfered.
If she couldn't reach him through her own strength, she had no right to stop anyone else.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Zhao Ming noticed her expression.
He followed her gaze and saw Lin Yuan standing calmly among the crowd.
A faint smirk crossed Zhao Ming's face.
"So even Qin Yue is interested," he thought. "That makes it even better."
If Lin Yuan truly thought himself above the rest of them, Zhao Ming would correct that misunderstanding publicly.
The ranking battle would be the perfect stage.
_____
Lin Yuan, meanwhile, was aware of the subtle shift in atmosphere.
Rivalry sharpened around him like an unsheathed blade. Ambition, admiration, resentment—all mixed together and quietly pointed in his direction.
He didn't misunderstand it.
In this world, feelings meant nothing without strength.
He remembered the hunting competition, though not with the same weight Qin Yue carried. To him, the beasts had been a minor inconvenience, and the injured disciple had shown sufficient resilience to be worth saving.
Nothing more.
Still, he sensed that the upcoming ranking battle would not be peaceful.
Not because it threatened him—
But because many people were about to test their worth against him.
And some would not be prepared for the result.