The moment the last disciple placed their name on the scroll, the sect courtyard buzzed with tension. All eyes turned to the elevated platform where an elder of the Celestial Wind Sect stood, his robes fluttering gently in the breeze, as if even the air dared not rustle without permission.
"Listen well!" the elder boomed, voice echoing across the courtyard. "The competition will proceed as follows: There is a bottle upon that table. Inside are sticks—each marked with a number. Draw one. The person who draws the same number as you will be your opponent. Now... form a line."
The candidates scrambled into order. Excitement. Anxiety. Hope. All danced on their faces like candlelight on parchment.
Shi Yao waited his turn patiently. When it arrived, he reached into the bottle and drew a stick.
He flipped it.
25.
The murmurs started instantly—sharp, cutting, eager.
"Wait—25? That's the same number as Lan Xin!"
"Oh no… Poor guy."
"He's toast. She's the Lan family heir! Second stage Foundation Establishment—and she's not even sixteen."
"I heard she froze a wild boar just by looking at it!"
Shi Yao blinked. Oh? That's interesting.
He gave no outward reaction, slipping the stick into his sleeve and walking over to the spectator area. He sat cross-legged and turned his attention to the current match.
The crowd roared.
"Come on, Hao Tian! Flatten him!"
A hulking youth grinned, muscle rippling beneath his sleeveless robe. "Hey, are you still trying? I respect the courage, not the brains."
His opponent lunged.
Hao Tian vanished.
A blink later, a thunderous crack rang out—the challenger crashed into the arena wall and slumped unconscious.
Hao Tian yawned. "Told ya to give up."
The crowd cheered like mad. "HAO TIAN! HAO TIAN!"
Before long, the commentator's voice rang through the air again, his tone exaggerated for flair:
"Next match! Number 25—Lan Xin versus Shi Yao!"
Whispers flared like fire.
Shi Yao rose slowly, dusted off his robes, and strolled to the platform.
Lan Xin was already there, descending like an ice queen from a pedestal, her white robe embroidered with snowflakes, each one shimmering with faint runes.
Her gaze found him. Cold. Measured.
"You? You're the one they paired me with?" She tilted her head. "That's... unfortunate. For you, I mean."
Shi Yao gave a polite bow. "My condolences in advance. I won't hit the face. Probably."
Lan Xin arched an eyebrow. "You think you're funny?"
He smiled. "I'm not just funny. I'm also quite hard to kill."
The referee held up his hand. "Begin!"
Lan Xin didn't hesitate. She stomped forward, releasing a flurry of ice blades that cut through the air like hungry wolves.
Shi Yao sidestepped. Once. Twice. He spun under the third.
His body blurred—Phantom Shadow Trace.
He reappeared on her blind side, arms behind his back.
"That's quite the welcome," he said lightly.
She snarled. "Stay still!"
Dozens of frozen needles shot toward him. He leaned back—matrix-style—then flipped over two more.
"I'm beginning to suspect you're not here to make friends."
Lan Xin's expression twisted. "You—!" She clapped her hands together. "Glacial Shard Barrage!"
An icy whirlwind exploded from her body, a dome of swirling shards forming in a flash. It screamed toward Shi Yao like a blizzard given form.
His eyes narrowed. No room to dodge. Can't use the Pulse Art in public… Guess I'll have to tank it.
He crossed his arms, spiritual energy hardening the skin beneath. Shards ripped across his limbs, slicing his sleeves, leaving crimson trails on his skin.
Blood ran down his arms.
Lan Xin laughed breathlessly, already turning away. "You thought you could dodge everything? Rookie mistake."
The crowd began clapping, murmurs of approval rising.
Then came a voice—quiet, amused, and too close.
"You know, for an ice technique, that was oddly... lukewarm."
She whirled.
Shi Yao stood in the storm's aftermath, bloodied but grinning. He plucked a shard from his shoulder and flicked it aside.
Her jaw dropped. "You're still standing?!"
"You threw snowballs," he said, voice low. "I've survived worse. Ever been trampled by a Foundation Beast?"
Lan Xin screamed, channeling everything into a single desperate spell.
"Frost Binding Cage!"
Eight enormous spears of ice erupted from the ground, circling him like executioners. The ground beneath froze. His foot stuck fast.
The spears shot inward.
Shi Yao whispered: Emptiness becomes form…
Then he moved.
Twisting, ducking, contorting—each motion so narrow, so precise, that the spears missed him by heartbeats.
He landed in a low stance, panting.
"Are you—dodging through—an eight-spear formation?!" someone shouted in awe.
Lan Xin's lips trembled. "You should be... down. You're BLEEDING!"
"I'm always bleeding," Shi Yao muttered. "It's a lifestyle now."
She let out a strangled cry. "Then take THIS! FROST LOTUS BLOOM!"
A lotus-shaped explosion of frost surged under his feet.
But Shi Yao was already airborne.
While midair, he snatched a discarded ice spear and flung it like a javelin.
Lan Xin reflexively slapped it away, her spell shattering.
Perfect, Shi Yao thought.
He dropped down behind her, a blur of movement. His palm hit her back with a thump, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Before she could spin, his elbow cracked her jaw. A low feint came next—she parried left. He swept her legs right.
She stumbled.
"Still not giving up?" he asked, stepping in.
Lan Xin roared and threw up a frost barrier.
Shi Yao slammed through it with a punch.
Crack!
He stepped in again. Another hit—straight to the stomach.
Lan Xin flew backward, landing outside the ring. The ground groaned under the impact.
Silence.
Then—
"...He won?!"
"That was insane!"
"He didn't even use a real technique!"
"Who is this guy?!"
"He's like... a bloodied ghost. A handsome one."
On the edge of the arena, Shi Yao exhaled, wiping blood from his brow.
If I'd used the Heaven Devouring Pulse...
He shook the thought away.
The referee raised his hand. "Shi Yao is the winner!"
The crowd exploded.
Shi Yao stepped off the stage, limping slightly. As he passed Lan Xin's crumpled form, he offered her a respectful nod.
"I meant what I said about not hitting the face."
She stared up at the sky, chest heaving. "...You bastard."
---
That night, under the silver glow of the moon, Shi Yao sat atop a rooftop, one knee drawn up, the forest wind brushing against his bandages.
The city still murmured his name below.