Ning walked into the Moon Dew Pavilion.

  Every counter was crowded with disciples. Some clutched genuinely bruised arms; others had minor scrapes but behaved as though they had survived mortal combat. The Moon Dew Pavilion functioned as both a pharmacy and a shop selling various cultivation materials, so after every round of competition, it was chaos.

  Ning slipped through the crowd using the Turtle Breathing Technique, blending into the flow of bodies and moving with unhurried precision.

  By the time he reached the inner counters, he spotted someone familiar.

  Si Sihua.

  She wasn’t standing so much as draped over the counter, half leaning on it. Her eyes looked hollow, as though she were merely going through the motions.

  When she noticed him, her eyelids lifted slightly.

  “Oh, junior brother,” Si Sihua said, raising her head a fraction.

  Ning glanced around. “Senior Sister… you work here too?”

  “I don’t,” she replied flatly. “I was forced.”

  “…Forced?”

  She clicked her tongue irritably. “Yes. My aunt said that since the mission hall is quite empty right now, I need to help her manage this place for a while. Something about me being ‘experienced in these matters.’”

  She even made air quotes, her disdain obvious.

  “I was supposed to be watching the matches,” she added bitterly. “Instead, I’m here explaining the difference between bruises and internal injuries to idiots.”

  Ning nodded sympathetically. “No wonder I didn’t see you at the arena.”

  “Exactly,” she grumbled. “You think I’d willingly miss the chaos?”

  A disciple nearby tried to ask about ointment ratios. Without even looking at him, she tossed a bottle over. It landed perfectly in his hands.

  “Next.”

  Despite her complaints, she was terrifyingly efficient. She identified injuries at a glance, cut off bargaining attempts with a single look, and resumed leaning as though none of it required effort.

  “And why are you here, junior brother? You don’t look injured.” She turned her attention back to Ning.

  “I want to buy a second-tier spiritual liquid for my ocular technique. Is there something suitable?”

  “There are a few options,” she said lazily. “Depends on how much you’re willing to bleed.”

  She placed three bottles on the counter.

  “This one,” she tapped the first, “Moonfall Condensate. Collected from high-altitude cliff basins during a full moon. Strong potency, but it absorbing it is quite rough. It’ll feel like someone’s sanding your eyeballs.”

  She tapped the second.

  “Silver Veil Nectar. Extracted from night-blooming spirit flowers grown in mist valleys. Gentler than the first one, but it's effect is slightly weaker."

  Then she tapped the third.

  “This one’s new. Moonlight Spirit Dew. Refined from Frostlake condensate and diluted lunar essence. Easy absorption, minimal backlash… but more expensive.”

  She glanced at him.

  “I recommend the third one.”

  Ning nodded. “Price?”

  “Eight hundred spirit stones.”

  She said it casually.

  Ning felt his heart twitch slightly.

  Eight hundred.

  That was not a small number.

  Si Sihua watched his expression with mild amusement. “What? You look like you just lost your soul.”

  She knew he had no backing and was usually short on spirit stones. So, right now, she was just teasing him.

  “I will after I buy it,” Ning replied.

  “Hm? I thought you’d bargain.” She raised an eyebrow.

  “I would with others,” Ning said smoothly, smiling, “but Senior Sister is the one in charge.”

  “Hng! One hundred points. You really know what to say.” She waved a hand lazily. “Fine. Give me seven hundred. Who told my aunt to force me here? I’ll take revenge this way.”

  The last part carried genuine resentment.

  Ning understood. As one of her friends, he knew Si Sihua’s greatest ambition was to live leisurely. In a world obsessed with struggle and ambition, she simply wanted to be a salted fish, floating through life without unnecessary effort. Simply put, she had the same wish as a middle-aged man having to work overtime.

  “Also,” she suddenly perked up, “how did you earn so much? Junior Brother, teach me. If I can earn a lot of spirit stones, my aunt won’t threaten to cut my allowance.”

  “I just gambled in the Outer Sect Competition,” Ning sighed.

  “You what?”

  “Placed a bet. It paid off.”

  Si Sihua stared at him for a long moment.

  “Are you trying to ruin yourself?” she finally said. “Don’t you know gambling is dangerous?"

  She proceeded to lecture him thoroughly.

  “It was a calculated decision,” Ning said sheepishly.

  “That’s what everyone says before they lose their house.”

  “I don’t own a house.”

  “…Fair.”

  She rubbed her temple. “Don’t tell me you went all-in on some underdog. Otherwise, you won't win so much normally."

  Ning’s smile deepened slightly.

  Si Sihua narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, clearly sensing there was more to the story. She held the look for a moment, then sighed.

  Thinking too much was exhausting. She had already given her warning. That was enough effort for today.

  “If you win big again, come treat me,” she said lazily. “And if you lose everything, don’t come crying.”

  Ning nodded seriously.

  After all, could it really be called gambling if winning was guaranteed?

  ...

  Ning had earned around 1,900 spirit stones from the bet.

  After witnessing the strength of the others, he knew he had to improve. While Ning was generally quite protective of his spirit stones, he understood that only by using them could he gradually transform resources into strength.

  For now, the fastest way to enhance his power was by refining his Pure Eyes technique, the only thing he could realistically break through within this time period.

  Pure Eyes was a method of turning ordinary eyes into something extraordinary. Even its cultivation process was unusual, requiring the eyes to be nourished with spiritual liquids.

  Fortunately, for the past year, Ning had been building a solid foundation, nourishing his eyes with spiritual rain liquid and occasional first-tier essences. Now, it was time to achieve a qualitative transformation.

  Ning uncorked the jade bottle.

  A cool fragrance filled the room.

  He tilted his head back and let a single drop fall into each eye.

  The sensation was immediate.

  Cold.

  It wasn’t painful, but it was deeply uncomfortable, a searing chill that pierced inward.

  Still, Ning endured it. Compared to those protective eyelashes that were supposed to shield the eyes but somehow always ended up poking into them instead, this at least was actually doing its job.

  He began circulating his qi according to the technique.

  Spiritual energy gathered along the delicate meridians around his temples, flowing toward his pupils. The Moonlight Essence Dew did not clash with his qi; instead, it merged with it, weaving together seamlessly.

  The world behind his closed eyelids shimmered silver.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Ning breathed steadily.

  The liquid seeped inward, layer by layer.

  The nourishing phase had thickened his ocular meridians. Now, the second-tier essence began restructuring them, refining their alignment.

  Tiny pulses radiated from behind his eyes.

  A faint heat followed the cold. Though his eyes were closed, he could feel the changes intuitively. He continued circulating his qi.

  Finally, after some time, the process was over, and the circulation completed itself naturally. He completed the transformation phase just like that.

  Ning opened his eyes, and the world was never the same again.

  “This is too clear.”

  The change was immediate and overwhelming. The very quality of his vision had risen to an entirely different level.

  The first stage of the Clear Eyes technique was Clear Sight.

  At this stage, he could perceive spiritual energy fluctuations with striking clarity. But it wasn’t limited to that. Every aspect of his eyesight had improved: depth perception, focus, and dynamic vision. Movements seemed slower, more defined. Details that would normally go unnoticed now stood out effortlessly.

  Ning shifted his gaze through the window.

  The world seemed… sharper.

  Cultivators already possessed near-perfect vision. Compared to mortals, they saw clearly at great distances and reacted swiftly. Now, his vision was simply ridiculous.

  Ning finally understood why characters moved differently after awakening their special eyes. It was like going from 4K to 16K resolution. Everything was sharper, smoother, more defined.

  Then Ning glanced at the mirror. His pale blue eyes were now a striking, gem-like blue. They looked almost unreal, the kind of eyes you’d see on Pinterest, radiating pure aesthetic energy.

  Then, after a few minutes, the brilliance in his eyes dimmed.

  The vivid blue faded, returning gradually to normal.

  “Hm. It’s good in every way… but it consumes qi quite rapidly.”

  He could feel the drain clearly. Maintaining Clear Sight required a constant flow of spiritual energy, and even with his refined control, the consumption was significant. This was not something he could keep active indefinitely, not yet.

  Ning exhaled softly.

  Alas, beauty had its price. And this time, it was spiritual energy

  ....

  The second round of the Outer Sect Competition began with one-on-one matches. Only twenty disciples remained.

  Ning stepped onto the platform and lifted his gaze.

  Standing across from him was Lang Rulang.

  “I didn’t expect you to be my first opponent,” Ning said with a helpless sigh.

  Not only was he fighting first again, but this time it was against one of his companion.

  Fortunately, this round allowed two losses before elimination. Even if one of them fell here, their path to the inner sect wouldn’t be completely severed.

  Lang Rulang stood upright, her sword resting lightly in her hand. Her posture was straight and disciplined. Her expression remained cool as ever, her voice flat and steady.

  “Same.”

  She lowered her gaze slightly, adjusting her grip.

  “Don’t hold back.”

  Ning blinked.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m simply concerned,” Lang Rulang said coolly, “that you might hold back now, and later claim you couldn’t use your full strength after losing to me.”

  Hearing this, Ning smiled faintly.

  “I won’t.” He paused before adding, teasingly, “As expected, Zhang Feng was right. You’re truly earnest.”

  Her brows twitched almost imperceptibly.

  “That stupid guy,” she said, her voice turning noticeably colder, “what has he been going around saying now?”

  Ning coughed lightly. “Just that you have an icy exterior but a warm heart.”

  “Tsk.” A faint clicking of her tongue escaped her. “I’ll deal with him later.”

  Despite her words, her stance remained perfectly steady, focused, unshaken.

  “As for you, I will give it my all." Lang Rulang spoke coldly.

  “Just what I wanted to hear.”

  Then, the gong rang, and the battle began.

  Ning moved first.

  His fingers formed a seal without hesitation, and cold qi surged outward in a dense eruption.

  [Hidden Ice Mist Technique.]

  The frost-white fog did not drift across the arena; it burst outward in a single breath, thick and immediate, swallowing the stone platform and obscuring sight almost completely. Within moments, even Lang Rulang’s outline blurred into an indistinct shadow.

  Ning was already retreating as the mist expanded.

  The bow was in his hand.

  Turtle Breathing suppressed his aura to the faintest ripple, while Shadow Steps carried him soundlessly along the perimeter. He did not run far, only enough to create an angle and distance.

  Then the first arrow flew.

  It cut through the mist with a sharp hiss and struck true. The projectile tore through Lang Rulang’s sleeve and carved a thin line of blood along her upper arm.

  She did not cry out; instead, she adjusted her stance, trying to find the source.

  The second arrow followed almost instantly, aimed lower. It pierced through the outer layer of her robe and grazed her thigh, drawing another streak of red across pale fabric.

  Finding the approximate source, she moved. A jade talisman ignited between her fingers.

  [Wind-Repelling Talisman.]

  Compressed air detonated outward in a spiraling burst. The frost mist was torn apart in a narrow corridor before her, the cold fog scattering like shattered glass under invisible pressure. For a brief moment, visibility returned in a controlled arc.

  Ning had already shifted position. The third arrow came from a new angle.

  It struck her shoulder guard and glanced off with a sharp metallic crack.

  The fourth arrow followed before the sound faded. Lang Rulang did not hesitate, as she crushed another talisman.

  [Swift Step Talisman.]

  Her speed surged explosively, her figure blurring forward through the thinning mist. The sudden acceleration would have thrown off most archers, but Ning’s eyes tracked her movement with unnerving precision.

  His fifth arrow adjusted mid-release, compensating for her trajectory.

  It would have landed.

  She shattered a second talisman mid-stride.

  [Mirror Veil Talisman.]

  A faint shimmer distorted her outline for half a breath. The arrow passed cleanly through an afterimage before embedding itself into the stone behind her.

  "Clever. She had clearly planned her moves." Ning's eyes narrowed. He knew that Lang Rulang was a talisman maker, so this was within his plans.

  Lang Rulang was already bleeding from multiple wounds, but her advance had not slowed.

  Ning’s expression did not change. He was not firing blindly. Each arrow had a purpose, to pressure, to limit, to force expenditure.

  Another arrow flew.

  She raised a bronze disc talisman just in time.

  [Iron Shell Talisman.]

  The impact rang sharply, forcing her back half a step. The defensive barrier flickered but held.

  Four talismans.

  Distance: fifteen meters.

  She gritted her teeth as the next arrow came, aimed low at her ankle. If it struck cleanly, her mobility would collapse.

  This time she did not block conventionally.

  She shattered her final talisman.

  [Wind Escape Talisman.]

  A violent lateral burst twisted her body unnaturally mid-air, wrenching her trajectory sideways despite the injuries she carried. The arrow scraped across her calf instead of piercing through it.

  She landed heavily, sliding one step before stabilizing.

  Five talismans, all consumed.

  Secondary professions came with restrictions in the competition. For talisman makers, the rule was clear: they could only use five talismans in a match, and they had to be ones they had crafted themselves.

  Lang Rulang had exhausted every single one.

  But her goal had been achieved.

  She had closed the distance and entered her optimal range.

  “Now I’ve got you,” she said coldly as her sword swept forward.

  Ning slung the bow behind him and drew the spear in one fluid motion.

  Steel met steel with a sharp clang.

  The difference in their styles revealed itself immediately. Lang Rulang’s sword was precise and economical; each cut measured and aimed for joints, tendons, and weak points. Her movements were textbook-perfect, disciplined, and efficient.

  Ning did not meet her strength with strength.

  Four-Sided Stability anchored him. His spine aligned, shoulders relaxed, waist loose. Every deflection transferred force through his entire frame rather than concentrating strain in his arms.

  She slashed low.

  He rotated the shaft and lifted, redirecting the blade cleanly.

  She thrust straight.

  He angled off-line and countered in the same motion, forcing her to withdraw.

  Their weapons blurred in a rapid exchange of cuts and thrusts. She attacked three times in swift succession; he parried three times with minimal movement, stepping only as far as necessary.

  His qi output remained controlled.

  A brief flare of Scorching Purge ignited near his feet, forcing her to adjust position instinctively. Moments later, residual frost from Hidden Ice Mist reformed near the ground, freezing a thin layer beneath her boots.

  She adapted quickly.

  Among the two in close combat, Lang Rulang was clearly more experienced, but from the beginning, Ning was the one who controlled the tempo.

  Lang Rulang realized that as well, then her aura shifted.

  Lang Rulang disengaged sharply, creating space. The air around her sword began to spiral, wind gathering not in a single slash but in a sustained current.

  “Falling Gale Sequence,” she said quietly.

  The earth-grade martial art she had learned in her family. Her trump card.

  The first slash came horizontally, wind pressure compressing along its path.

  Ning blocked.

  The second followed instantly at a diagonal angle.

  He deflected.

  The third.

  The fourth.

  The fifth.

  The strikes did not pause. Each slash fed seamlessly into the next, momentum building with terrifying cohesion. Wind pressure layered upon itself, turning every collision into cumulative strain.

  Her attacks were not single and overwhelmingly powerful, but they grew stronger each time.

  Ning’s forearms vibrated from the repeated impacts. The spear shaft flexed under the relentless gale. The sharp wind made small cuts in his body and drew blood.

  [Pure Eyes: Clear Sight.]

  Ning had already used his ocular technique the moment Lang Rulang used her earth-grade technique. He no longer saw only blade arcs but the path they would take. The pattern feeds the consecutive technique. The precise rhythm sustaining the sequence.

  Consecutive techniques required continuous qi flow.

  Continuous qi flow required stability.

  He stepped back half a pace, adjusting.

  The Soil Refining Technique activated subtly beneath Lang Rulang’s boots. The stone did not crumble instantly; it softened just enough to disrupt the micro-balance.

  Her foot sank a fraction.

  It was almost imperceptible.

  But in a sustained sequence, even a fraction mattered.

  The sixth slash faltered for a heartbeat.

  Ning thrust his spear.

  [Falling Spear: Overturning the Dragon.]

  The spearhead struck the flat of her blade precisely where qi was channeling into the next strike.

  The flow fractured.

  The gale stuttered.

  He twisted his waist, power flowing from heel to spine to shoulder in one unified motion. The spear slid along her blade and came to rest against her collarbone.

  It was over.

  Lang Rulang’s sword trembled before lowering.

  “…You broke my rhythm,” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  He had never intended to overpower an Earth-grade technique through brute force.

  Ning knew his limitations. That was precisely why he had done his research. He had purchased information about the Lang Family’s inherited Earth-grade martial art and prepared several counterplans based on it.

  After learning about the Falling Gale sequence in particular, he had formed a preliminary strategy, one focused not on meeting force with force, but on disruption.

  Breaking tempo.

  Interrupting flow.

  For techniques of that level, rhythm was everything.

  Fortunately, it had worked. Lang Rulang had never been able to reach the sequence’s peak momentum. If she had unleashed its full power, a single strike would likely have ended the match.

  Even so, Ning was still injured.

  He lowered his spear slightly, feeling the dull ache in his arms and the strain in his meridians. Y’know this is with his level of body training. If it were anyone just practicing qi cultivation they would have folded in the second strike.

  Earth-grade techniques truly lived up to their name.

  Through this exchange, Ning gained a much deeper understanding of just how terrifying that level of martial art really was.

  Meanwhile, Lang Rulang, having eaten a healing pill, glanced at the softened stone beneath her boots, the faint frost, the scorch marks scattered across the arena.

  Layer upon layer. He was clearly prepared.

  The elder’s voice echoed across the arena.

  “Winner: Ji Ning.”

  Lang Rulang exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable.

  Ning glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Comforting someone after defeating them was quite a heavy task.

  Before he could speak, she beat him to it.

  “Fights always have a winner and a loser,” she said calmly. “It just happened that I drew the short end of the stick.”

  Her voice was steady, clearly not wanting pity.

  “You call that the short end?” Ning replied evenly. “It could’ve gone either way.”

  She shot him a flat look.

  He continued smoothly, as if he hadn’t noticed. “You pressured me from the very beginning. If I hadn’t taken control early, I might not have gotten the chance.”

  Lang Rulang studied him for a moment.

  “You controlled the battlefield from the start,” she said. “I didn’t expect your spear skills to have already reached that level.”

  “And you forced me to reveal more than I intended,” Ning replied easily. “That final exchange? I was half a step from losing momentum.”

  It wasn’t entirely false.

  Hearing the sincerity in the tone, the stiffness in her shoulders eased slightly. For the first time, a faint curve touched her lips.

  “Truly,” she sighed, “you do know how to talk.”

  Ning placed a hand over his chest in mock innocence. “I’m only speaking honestly.”

  "Mm. You are the winner, what you say goes,” she said evenly, her gaze sharpening once more, “But next time I’ll win.”

  Ning smiled without hesitation. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t aim to.”

  Hearing that, Lang Rulang turned and stepped off the platform; even in defeat, her back remained straight.

  ...

  Thanks for reading~