Ning swallowed a first-tier healing pill as he walked back toward the stands, his steps unhurried.

  His injuries weren’t serious, but the repeated impacts from the Falling Gale Sequence had left a dull ache in his arms and a slight strain in his meridians. Small wounds, if ignored, accumulate into real problems. In a competition like this, stepping onto the arena even slightly below peak condition was simply irresponsible.

  Of course, efficiency had a price. The pill alone had cost nearly fifty spirit stones, even with Su Fan helping him secure a quality batch.

  As he approached, Zhang Feng’s voice was already echoing across the seating area.

  “Lang Rulang! So this is what they mean by ‘icy beauty defeated but unbowed’?”

  Lang Rulang stopped walking and slowly turned her head.

  The look she gave him could only be described as cold enough to freeze a lake.

  Zhang Feng stiffened. “I was complimenting you! I meant you didn’t give up even in that fierce exchange!”

  Ning stepped in smoothly before the atmosphere could fully solidify into murder intent.

  “He’s not wrong,” Ning said mildly. “Most people would have panicked once their talismans were exhausted. You didn’t. That alone is worth acknowledging.”

  Lang Rulang’s gaze shifted to him, cool and sharp.

  “You don’t need to protect this guy,” she said flatly. “If he wants to talk, he can bear the consequences.”

  Zhang Feng leaned slightly toward Ning and muttered under his breath, “She seems even colder than usual. Maybe the loss hit her harder than-”

  “You.” Lang Rulang glared at Zhang Feng.

  At this rate, even Ning could not protect this guy.

  “Alright, alright, calm down, you two. You never stop arguing.”

  Wei Zhusang coughed lightly into his fist, clearly hiding a smile. “Also, the association agreed from the start. If two of us meet in the arena, we fight seriously. No holding back. No resentment.”

  Lang Rulang gave a single nod. “Of course.”

  The Mutual Aid Association had discussed this long ago. No one would compromise their path for the sake of appearances. If they met, they would fight honestly and accept the result. That clarity was precisely why they could remain allies afterward.

  Wei Zhusang then turned to Ning. “You surprised us as well, Brother Ning. You have a real chance of entering the inner sect.”

  Ning smiled lightly. “I’m flattered. But I still have a long way to go.”

  Zhang Feng, who apparently possessed a death wish, chimed in again. “Well, he was ranked in the top ten along with you and me."

  A faint chill spread through the air.

  “But that doesn’t mean the unranked ones are weak!” Zhang Feng added hurriedly.

  Ning almost admired his consistency in stepping on social landmines.

  He casually shifted the topic. “Rankings are just predictions. If today proved anything, it’s that preparation matters more.”

  It was a step out.

  Zhang Feng immediately seized it. “Exactly! Rankings are meaningless! When you face me, give me your full strength. I’ll show you the power of youth!”

  "Definitely."

  ...

  Most of the participants in the competition hovered around the third and fourth stages of Qi Condensation. Their foundations weren’t bad. Their footwork was acceptable. Their techniques were clean enough.

  But there was a common flaw, hesitation. They paused before committing. Many relied on a single “decisive move,” telegraphing it long before release. Against opponents of a similar level, that might work. Against anyone sharper, it was a liability.

  From a distance, Ning gathered information calmly. Strength distribution. Preferred ranges. Habitual openings. As expected, beyond the obvious monster ranked first, Qiu Han, there were several others worth noting.

  For example, the second-ranked Ji Shu. One might expect the wolf to be the more aggressive of the pair, but surprisingly, Ji Su herself was even more relentless. While the wolf circled and harried her opponent with sharp, probing strikes, Ji Su advanced head-on, pressing forward with decisive attacks that left no room to breathe.

  Her opponent barely had time to react before being forced into a defensive spiral, constantly adjusting to threats from two directions at once. The wolf was amplifying her tempo, making the fight even more of a pain.

  Ning also tried to pick out the rest of the ranked names among the matches. Some lived up to the rumors immediately, overwhelming their opponents with clean, decisive execution. Others were far more restrained than their profiles suggested, revealing only fragments of their strength before ending things efficiently.

  He watched all of it calmly.

  And while watching, he trained. Time, after all, was not something to waste.

  In this crowded area, the only thing that could be trained was Qi control.

  Qi control was not a skill one mastered once and kept forever. Every breakthrough increased the total volume of qi within the dantian. More qi meant more power, but also more difficulty in precision. Without refinement, excess simply became turbulence.

  So Ning practiced. A thin string lay coiled in his palm.

  He infused a thread of qi into it, coating it evenly, like lacquer over silk. The goal was adhesion without leakage.

  The string trembled.

  He began to spin it between his fingers.

  Slowly at first.

  Then faster.

  The qi clung to the fibers, following the rotation. Ning adjusted the output minutely, preventing the energy from scattering. Too much and it would flare outward. Too little and it would dissipate.

  Faster.

  The rotation tightened. The qi layer grew denser, wrapping the string in a faint, nearly invisible sheen.

  This was something he had half-inspired from his memories of anime and those 'energy control' scenes. Energy was not merely released, but attached, shaped, and sustained continuously.

  Instead of treating qi as something to be thrown away in bursts, he treated it as something that could be woven onto objects.

  In fact, this was one of the advanced applications of qi control, the enhancement of objects.

  For example, when he fired arrows, he no longer relied solely on the moment of release. He attached qi along the shaft, reinforcing its structure and stabilizing its flight. Rather than detonating at impact, the energy could be made to rotate.

  To spiral.

  To drill.

  That was how his so-called Spiral Arrow had come into being.

  The panel had labeled it a martial art, which still amused him slightly.

  In truth, it was less a technique and more a method, an application of qi adhesion and rotational control.

  In fact, this could be considered the first technique he created; of course, it was very rudimentary, as shown by the fact that there was not even a proficiency bar for this martial art.

  Of course, though it was crude, one cannot deny its effectiveness. Especially, since Ning found that other mortal-grade archery techniques only had similar performance, while spirit-grade techniques cost too much.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  'Still, the hardest step is to go from 0 to 1. Maybe I can develop some cool techniques in the future.' Ning was quite hopeful about the future.

  It was then that the next match caught his attention.

  [Xiao Fan vs Zhou Sheng]

  "Well, this would be interesting," Ning, remembering Xiao Fan's track record, couldn't help but think so.

  ...

  When Zhou Sheng’s name appeared opposite Xiao Fan’s, the atmosphere shifted.

  Unlike Xiao Hong’s explosive arrogance, Zhou Sheng walked onto the platform with measured steps. His robes were immaculate, his posture straight, his expression composed. If not for the faint curl at the corner of his lips, he might even have appeared dignified.

  Xiao Fan stood across from him, silent as ever.

  For a long moment, neither moved. The staring contest between the two competitors had stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, and awkwardness began to creep in with each passing moment.

  Thankfully, there was finally some movement because it was starting to get rather weird...

  Then Zhou Sheng spoke.

  “Alas, I heard you defeated quite a few of my ‘friends.’ All they did was invite you to join our faction. Perhaps they said something unpleasant, but that hardly warranted conflict.” His smile deepened slightly. “Look at you now. Because of that stubbornness, you have to deal with me.”

  Xiao Fan’s expression did not change.

  “Didn’t this begin because your ‘friends’ coveted my spiritual beast?” he replied calmly. “If you want to deal with me, just say so. There’s no need to dress it up as righteousness.”

  It seems these two also had conflicts, and as we know, personal drama only made these fights spicier.

  A faint ripple passed through the crowd. It had only been a few years since entering the sect, yet Xiao Fan had already offended multiple people. He truly had a talent for attracting trouble.

  "Hahahahaha..." Zhou Sheng burst into laughter as if he had heard the greatest joke of the century. His laughter was strange, resembling someone trying to imitate a certain god-complex maniac from Death Note but coming off more like a clown.

  “You?” he sneered. “Defeat me? Listen carefully, you piece of trash. I’ll let you strike first. If I take even a single step back, I will surrender immediately.” His voice hardened. “But if I don’t… I’ll cripple you.”

  The transition was abrupt. The calm, composed heir vanished, replaced by something edged with hysteria.

  Ning sighed inwardly.

  Giving the opponent the first move? In public?

  That was practically a death flag.

  He had seen enough clichés to know how this would end. The louder the arrogance, the harder the fall. Zhou Sheng was practically begging to be flattened.

  What puzzled Ning more was the lack of reaction from the crowd. Zhou Sheng had just openly threatened to cripple someone during a sect-sanctioned competition. If it were done discreetly and later labeled an “accident,” perhaps it could pass. But saying it outright?

  Even the supervising elder remained silent.

  Either the elder trusted the arena formation to prevent fatal injuries… or he was confident Zhou Sheng would not get the chance to follow through.

  As expected, Xiao Fan’s lips curved into a faint smile.

  “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

  Zhou Sheng snorted. “Do it before I change my mind and defeat you in a single move instead!”

  Xiao Fan stepped forward.

  “If it’s a beating you want,” he said evenly, settling into his stance, “then a beating you shall get.”

  Qi gathered around his fist, compressing inward rather than flaring outward. The air seemed to grow heavier.

  “Heaven Shattering Fist!”

  He punched straight ahead, directly at Zhou Sheng’s smirking face.

  Even from the stands, the pressure was palpable. The force behind that strike carried a terrifying solidity, as though the air itself were about to fracture.

  Through his sharpened vision, Ning saw it clearly.

  The smirk on Zhou Sheng’s face faltered.

  Then it vanished.

  For a fraction of a second, hesitation flashed in his eyes. Pride warred with instinct. If he stepped back now, he would lose face completely. If he stood firm-

  Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  Zhou Sheng’s pupils contracted.

  Instinct overrode pride.

  His right foot twisted subtly.

  The shift was minimal, barely half a step, but it changed the angle of impact.

  The fist collided.

  BOOM!

  The arena shook.

  The defensive shell fractured violently, but the redirected force prevented the full brunt from landing squarely on his centerline. Zhou Sheng was blasted backward several meters, skidding across stone, but he did not collapse.

  He coughed up blood. Yet he remained standing.

  A gasp spread through the crowd.

  Ning’s eyes gleamed slightly.

  “He adjusted at the last second… clever.”

  Zhou Sheng wiped blood from his mouth.

  “You overestimated yourself,” he said hoarsely. “That so-called Earth-grade technique of yours… is that all?”

  Xiao Fan looked at him. Then he smiled.

  “You said you wouldn’t move.”

  The words were quiet. But they cut deep.

  The crowd stirred.

  Zhou Sheng’s expression froze.

  “You-”

  “You shifted,” Xiao Fan continued calmly. “I felt it.”

  For a split second, Zhou Sheng’s composure cracked.

  Humiliation crept in.

  “I adjusted my stance,” he snapped. “That does not count.”

  Xiao Fan tilted his head slightly.

  “So you did move.”

  A faint chuckle escaped him.

  It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp as needles.

  Something in Zhou Sheng’s eyes ignited, especially hearing the murmurs of the crowd.

  “You think that was enough to defeat me?!” he roared, anger fully surfacing now. “You lowborn trash! With just low grade spiritual root, how dare you mock me?"

  The words hung in the air.

  Ning felt it immediately.

  That was the nerve. For Xiao Fan, his most hated word was definitely trash.

  Xiao Fan’s smile vanished. The temperature of the arena seemed to drop.

  Zhou Sheng, already injured from the first exchange, lunged forward recklessly now, abandoning his earlier methodical pacing.

  He unleashed a barrage of strikes, each fueled by anger rather than calculation. He had lost his cool, and it was going to cost him.

  The difference was obvious soon enough.

  Xiao Fan deflected easily.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Zhou Sheng’s breathing grew uneven.

  The initial damage had compromised his stability; his qi circulation faltered slightly with each heavy clash.

  [Flare Strike]

  Seeing the situation was dire, Zhou Sheng launched his own earth-grade martial art. Flames appeared in his fists, forming the shape of a lion.

  Xiao Fan didn't back down, as he used heaven-shattering fist again.

  The two attacks collided.

  Normally, this would have been an even fight; unfortunately, Zhou Sheng had taken quite a bit of damage earlier, and his mentality was not in the best state.

  "No, how can you-" Zhou Sheng was cut off, feeling the increasing pressure in his arm, until he couldn't hold the attack any longer and got overpowered.

  Shockwave rippled outward as Xiao Fan’s fist connected cleanly with Zhou Sheng’s face.

  Zhou Sheng’s body lifted off the ground like a rag doll. Blood sprayed through the air as he flew backward, crashing against the formation barrier before collapsing in a heap.

  A stunned silence followed.

  “…Is he alive?” someone whispered.

  He was.

  Groans escaped his throat as he rolled onto his side, clutching his face. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle, his speech reduced to broken, slurred sounds.

  Ning was fairly certain he had seen several white objects, suspiciously tooth-shaped, scatter across the arena floor.

  Zhou Sheng slowly raised a trembling hand to his mouth.

  When his fingers came away slick with blood and fewer teeth than before, his expression twisted.

  Shock.

  Humiliation.

  Rage.

  He let out a shrill, broken scream, glaring at Xiao Fan with naked hatred, as though he wished to tear him apart on the spot.

  Then his eyes rolled back.

  He fainted.

  The arena remained silent.

  The figure sprawled on the ground bore little resemblance to the composed, methodical clan heir that was said to be in the ranking who had walked up minutes earlier.

  Ning almost felt a flicker of sympathy.

  Almost.

  After today, Zhou Sheng would never live this down. Losing was one thing. Losing after proclaiming he would not step back, and then being knocked unconscious in a single strike?

  That was the kind of humiliation that lingered for years.

  And in a sect full of cultivators who valued face above life itself, that wound might cut deeper than the broken jaw.

  “YOU DARE!!”

  A figure appeared abruptly beside Zhou Sheng and lifted him carefully into his arms. After quickly feeding him a pill, the man slowly straightened and turned toward Xiao Fan, his gaze blazing with fury and undisguised killing intent.

  The moment the crowd saw the black robe he was wearing, the arena fell silent.

  “That’s Elder Zhou Chen!” someone whispered. “An inner sect elder… and Zhou Sheng’s father!”

  “Wait, isn’t he the one who regularly commissions the black boar hunts?”

  “Yes. It seems Xiao Fan is in trouble now.”

  From the black boar incident alone, one could already tell how petty this man was.

  Zhou Chen rose to his full height and pointed at Xiao Fan, his eyes seemingly spitting fire.

  “How dare you harm my son so severely in what was meant to be a friendly match? You even attempted to kill him!” His voice thundered across the arena. “For breaking the rules, I will cripple you!”

  As Ning had expected, the man was utterly shameless. Zhou Chen conveniently ignored the part where his own son had openly threatened to cripple Xiao Fan first. Now he twisted the narrative without hesitation, as though everyone present had suddenly gone deaf.

  He truly was setting himself up for future humiliation. Sometimes, the greatest enemy a person had was their own pride.

  “You…!” Xiao Fan glared at Zhou Chen, his fists clenching so tightly that blood seeped from his palms.

  A crushing pressure descended upon him.

  The aura of a Foundation Establishment cultivator rolled outward, heavy and oppressive, forcing the air itself to thicken. Xiao Fan’s shoulders trembled under the weight, yet he refused to lower his head.

  Watching this, Ning could almost predict the internal monologue.

  Power. I need more power. Without strength, I am nothing type dialogue.

  Classic protagonist enlightenment under pressure.

  Before Zhou Chen could take another step forward, however, a calm voice interrupted him.

  “Senior Brother Zhou.”

  The supervising elder appeared between them, his tone steady but firm.

  “This match was conducted according to the rules. Your son provoked his opponent and voluntarily allowed the first strike. The formation protected his life. There was no violation.”

  Zhou Chen’s expression darkened.

  For a moment, the oppressive aura intensified, then slowly receded.

  “Hmph.” He flicked his sleeve coldly. “This time, you are lucky.”

  His words were directed at Xiao Fan, but his glare lingered on the supervising elder as well.

  With that, he turned and left, carrying his unconscious son away, his black robes sweeping dramatically behind him.

  Only after he departed did the crowd dare to breathe again.

  Meanwhile, Ning was pondering.

  According to the information he had gathered, Zhou Sheng was supposed to be methodical, steady, and disciplined. Yet everything he had witnessed today suggested the opposite. The moment pride was provoked, that so-called composure had shattered like thin ice.

  “Does Xiao Fan have some kind of supernatural ability that lowers his opponents’ IQ?” Ning wondered seriously.

  It sounded absurd, but this was not impossible.

  But then again… wasn’t Xiao Fan’s luck already bordering on the supernatural?

  Opportunities falling into his lap. Enemies conveniently exposing their flaws. Techniques refining themselves at critical moments. If that wasn’t a form of abnormal talent, what was?

  Or maybe Xiao Fan, besides his cheat of demon cores, also has these supernatural powers relating to luck and affecting others' mental state.

  Unheard of? Certainly.

  Impossible?

  Well… this was a protagonist.

  And in stories like this, rules were less like laws and more like suggestions.

  Of course, this may also just be the fate of the protagonist at work for plot development. After all, if every opponent were uber competent, then the protagonist would probably not be able to dramatically turn the situation around each time.

  Ning rubbed his chin lightly, theory crafting to the max.

  “Hmm. Food for thought, I suppose,” he muttered to himself.

  ...

  Thanks for reading~