Chapter 11: The Breath That Burned
The judge's voice echoed through the air. "Contestant 107… Yin Zhe!"
Silence. Only the faint sound of wind brushing over the arena walls could be heard.
The judge frowned, repeating, "Contestant 107, Yin Zhe!" Still no answer.
The crowd began to whisper. Hmm? Where's he? One man snorted, hmph, saying, "He's probably late. Some genius, huh?"
Another protest came from the front rows. "Who gets late to something like this? This is the Shattered Star Competition! What kind of idiot wastes an opportunity like that?"
The judge sighed, ready to move on, then a voice rang out weakly from behind the line. "H-here…"
Heads turned. It was Yin Zhe.
He looked… strange. His whole body twitched lightly as if every breath touched something deep inside him. Even his robe brushing against his arm made him shiver. His steps were uneven, the sword he held dragging behind him with a shing… clunk.
His face was calm, but his eyes carried a glazed warmth, like someone trying too hard to stay focused.
Hmmm… ahhh… escaped his throat as he adjusted his stance. The crowd blinked, confused.
In truth, Yin Zhe had been cultivating all night. Using the Nine Breaths Circle Reactive Technique, he didn't just absorb pills like normal cultivators, he sniffed them. He'd discovered that by placing a spirit essence pill near his nose and breathing deeply, he could draw the essence straight into his core. The process felt too good. Like every breath massaged his veins from inside.
He had already reached the peak of Stage Two, Root Awakening Realm. His dantian pulsed with spiritual energy, thicker and heavier than before, his core slightly larger. Only two pills remained in his pouch now.
He didn't expect cultivation to feel like this. The technique was powerful, but dangerously addictive. Each breath begged for more.
He clutched the sword Elder Chen Niao had gifted him, the Roaring Cat, blade humming lightly as if sensing his unstable spirit. Vmmmmm.
His steps wobbled as he entered the arena. The crowd murmured again, their thoughts running wild.
"Did he… overdo it last night?"
"Look at his face, it's like he hasn't slept for days."
"Hmph. Probably doing something else, not cultivating."
System messages flickered in his mind.
> Suspected RP +47
Mocked RP +36
Cursed RP +24
Yin Zhe blinked through the dizziness. Hah… they're all misunderstanding again. He ignored the stares, focusing on keeping his trembling body still.
He thought back to his long walk earlier that morning. It took me two hours just to get here… ridiculous.
Every step had been a struggle. His body was too sensitive, the air on his skin, the fabric against his chest, even the sunlight felt like hands brushing across him. His pace slowed so much that even an old woman with a cane and a snail on the ground passed him.
He'd gathered RP from passersby without even trying. By the time he reached the palace gates, his total had grown past 3,000 RP.
As he finally reached the Iron Vein Spirit Palace, he had spotted Elder Chen Niao standing to the side with his own sword, Laughing Steel, resting on his shoulder.
The old man's eyes lit up when he saw Yin Zhe. "Ah, you came," he said warmly. Then he started another lecture about sword intent and the purity of form.
For thirty long minutes.
Yin Zhe stood there, body twitching, trying to endure both the elder's words and his own overcharged nerves. The man even handed him a scroll titled Falling Leaves, Nine Forms of the falling leaves Path.
Each form, he explained, carried the rhythm of nature, strike like drifting leaves, but cut like silent storms. Yin Zhe listened, half-dazed, half-grateful, half-wishing for the man to stop. Hmph.
When the elder finally waved him off, Yin Zhe nearly ran.
That's how two hours vanished before he even reached the competition grounds.
Now standing inside the barrier-covered arena, he realized his RP gain stopped the moment he stepped in. The transparent array blocked all external feedback from the crowd.
Hmm… so no reactions from outside? he thought. His gaze flicked across the hundred or so other competitors. Their eyes burned with focus, their stances sharp.
No matter. I'll just make the people in here react instead.
He smiled faintly. A plan started forming in his head.
Boom. A sudden pulse of energy drew his attention. One of the judges lifted a hand, releasing a small burst of spiritual light that echoed across all the arenas.
Then, a voice, calm yet amplified like thunder, rolled through the entire palace.
"Before we begin, hear the rules," the voice said.
It was Elder Xuan Yi, the alchemist. His robes shimmered gold, sleeves long enough to sweep the floor. His tone was steady, but his words were strange.
"Competitors must not act recklessly. Remember, sometimes even we, the judges, may not save you if a fight goes wrong."
The crowd murmured.
He continued, voice slightly mischievous, "Accidents can happen… we might lose focus, an itch, a sneeze, maybe a fart, and boom, someone dies."
Pfft! Someone in the stands burst into laughter before clamping their mouth shut.
The contestants stared in disbelief. Even Yin Zhe tilted his head. Did he just say fart?
The elder took a long sip from his tea, smiling calmly. "What? I'm old. Happens to everyone."
Then his expression turned serious again. "I say this not to joke. You must understand, the Shattered Star Competition is not a playground. In this world, hesitation kills. Mercy kills. And arrogance kills faster."
His words weighed heavy across the crowd. Even the wind grew quieter.
He placed his teacup down gently. Clink.
"The path of cultivation is built on corpses and regret," he said. "Know your limits. Step back when you must. He who retreats today may live to swing tomorrow."
He raised one hand and declared in a voice that made the ground hum.
"May the competition… BEGIN!"
BOOM!