Qū Rán
stood at the edge of the arena.
Eyes blazing, fixed upon Xuán Chén.
On the day before the Inner Court's first trial,
He had once called out his name in public.
Yet a single glance from Xuán Chén
Had cast him into an icy abyss.
Tongue frozen.
Unable to speak.
He knew then he was no match.
And wisely fell silent.
A humiliation he buried.
—
But just now, his duel was effortless.
Sword pointed,
His opponent fell within ten moves.
From the stands, voices rose.
Some praised his strength.
Others whispered—
Xuán Chén's advance without battle
Was mere luck.
—
A string within Qū Rán's heart was plucked.
"He… only relied on a cold face to intimidate."
"This victory of mine was glorious.
If I cut him down as well—"
—
The thought ignited.
Like wildfire.
Unstoppable.
—
Now, both stood upon the arena.
Side by side.
Qū Rán's brows knotted.
Eyes locked.
Challenge unhidden.
Xuán Chén's expression calm.
Gaze serene as the moon.
As if the other did not exist.
—
The stands fell silent.
Breath held.
The elder's eyes swept them.
About to declare—
"Begin the duel—"
—
Long before the third trial began,
Qū Rán had already named Xuán Chén.
His words filled with provocation.
For in his eyes,
Though Xuán Chén advanced,
He had shown no true strength.
Suspicion lingered—
Was it luck?
—
That day, the challenge died.
Crushed by a single cold glance.
Now, after victory,
His pride swelled.
Believing himself in command.
Seeing Xuán Chén advance without battle,
He could not let it rest.
At last, he spoke.
Issued his war post.
—
With a roar, Qū Rán drew his sword.
Feet struck the ground.
His body shot forward like lightning.
—
Xuán Chén remained calm.
Hands crossed, lifted.
Three azure talismans burst forth.
In the air, they became ice lances.
Piercing toward Qū Rán's face.
—
Sword light flashed.
The lances shattered.
He stepped forward—
But beneath his foot, light flared.
A hidden explosive sigil.
Boom!
The blast thundered.
Dust veiled the arena.
Spectators rose to see.
—
When smoke cleared,
Qū Rán was gone.
Suddenly—
A sword light fell from above.
Like thunder splitting the sky.
—
Eyes closed,
Xuán Chén flicked his wrist.
A blue sigil shot upward.
Clashed with the blade.
Lightning burst.
—
Qū Rán flipped from the air.
Landing steady.
No grave wound.
But his robes torn.
—
Xuán Chén clapped his hands.
Spoke—
"Good reaction.
No wonder your tongue is bold.
But—
Are you sure you wish to continue?
Next time, it will not be mere torn cloth."
—
Qū Rán snorted.
Sword tip lowered.
"Tricks only.
I still do not believe you have the strength for the Inner Court."
—
Xuán Chén smiled faintly.
"Oh? You mean—
Without talismans, I cannot defeat you?"
—
Qū Rán struck his chest proudly.
"Yes.
If you have true skill,
You should not hide behind sigils.
If you do not fight me openly today,
Your victories will never convince the crowd."
—
Xuán Chén gazed at him.
Silent.
—
Qū Rán, thinking himself triumphant,
Laughed coldly—
"What? Afraid?
If you lack skill, leave now.
Do not wait for my blade to strike by mistake,
Staining sword and stirring trouble."
—
Xuán Chén's expression unchanged.
His voice calm—
"Very well—"
—
Qū Rán turned to the elder.
"Elder, he admitted—this counts as surrender—"
—
The elder opened his mouth.
But Xuán Chén's voice cut in, low—
"I had not finished.
So eager to concede—afraid I might change my mind?"
—
Qū Rán's face darkened.
"You truly wish to die?"
—
Xuán Chén's gaze chilled.
Voice like frost—
"If you can withstand this strike,
I will concede."
—
Breath surged in Qū Rán's chest.
That familiar cold pressed upon him.
Near suffocation.
He steadied himself.
Growled—
"Come then!"
—
At his words, qi pressure spread.
Centered on Xuán Chén.
The arena's air froze.
Spectators shivered.
Cold to the bone.
—
In the next instant—
Xuán Chén's figure vanished.
Gone from sight.
—
Qū Rán snorted.
Closed his eyes.
Seeking qi with spirit sense.
But—
Nothing.
—
Shock struck his heart.
Then—
A chill touched his throat.
"You have lost."
Xuán Chén's voice whispered.
—
Qū Rán's body trembled.
Sweat slid down his brow.
He knew—
Had that blade been true,
His life was ended.
—
The arena fell silent.
—
Slowly, Qū Rán turned.
Saw Xuán Chén's impassive face.
No words came.
This was not mere defeat.
It was surrender of the heart.
—
The elder's voice rang.
Firm.
Resonant—
"The trial of blades is ended.
Victor—Xuán Chén.
Advances to Xuǎn Zhēn."
—
Applause, gasps, whispers rippled through the crowd.
Yet upon the stage, Xuán Chén remained unchanged.
No flicker of emotion.
The arena fell silent.
—
"I never even saw him move…"
"This one… he is no trickster. He is a true killer."
Disciples whispered low,
But their voices could not hide the tremor in their hearts.
—
Below the stage, Bái Shī's brows tightened.
His fist clenched unconsciously.
He muttered—
"If that strike had been aimed at me…
Could I withstand it?"
—
At the same time,
A glimmer crossed Sītú Jìng's eyes.
He murmured—
"That instant of stillness… faster than the sword.
His step erased all qi traces.
It was some hidden breath technique, or perhaps…"
His gaze fixed deep upon Xuán Chén.
For the first time,
He felt caution toward one who defied all norms.
—
From the distant stands, Gǔ Líng nodded.
Whispered—
"This is true killing intent.
Silent, yet a strike to the throat.
This is the essence of 'seizing the moment.'"
A glint of satisfaction shone in his eyes.
As if the academy's path of resurgence
Had gained new hope.
—
At that moment, Xiǎo Chén's eyes blazed.
Like burning stars.
Locked upon the arena.
He clenched his fist.
Shouted loud—
"Brother, well done—!"
His voice thundered.
Piercing the sky.
—
Beside him, Bǎishìtōng stood dumbstruck.
Mouth agape.
Breath forgotten.
"This… this is absurd…"
He whispered.
Shock spilling from his eyes.
"The Hidden Dragon List… just like that…"
—
He turned to Xiǎo Chén,
Meaning to speak.
But saw his gaze radiant.
Eyes burning with the desire—
To fight alongside.
—
Bǎishìtōng touched his chest.
He felt—this duel was not only shock.
It was a silent knock.
Upon his wavering heart.
—
The elder was about to announce the next match.
Suddenly, a cold voice cut the air—
"Next battle—
I, Fēng Wúmíng, challenge Xiǎo Chén."
—
The voice was not loud.
Yet carried clear across the arena.
The crowd froze.
Then erupted.
—
The elder frowned at Fēng Wúmíng.
"This match is already drawn.
No need for extra naming.
By rule, your duel with Xiǎo Chén
Shall proceed as usual.
Point to stop."
—
Fēng Wúmíng's eyes locked upon the platform.
Voice cold—
"Disciple requests exception.
Let this battle be raised—
To life and death."
—
The arena shook.
Students gasped.
None dared speak further.
—
The elder's face darkened.
"Do you know what you ask?
If begun, the loser's life is his own.
The academy bears no burden."
—
Fēng Wúmíng answered low—
"Disciple understands."
—
Below, Dù Jīn spoke to dissuade—
"Fēng Wúmíng, you are of the Hidden Dragon List.
Why contend with a newcomer?
A life-and-death duel is folly."
—
Fēng Wúmíng's fists clenched.
Voice heavy—
"If I cannot cleanse shame with one sword,
Then I am unworthy of the List.
What face have I to ascend again?"
—
His gaze cold.
Fixed upon Xiǎo Chén.
"He shamed me.
I will reclaim it with my own hand."
—
The arena fell silent.
The elder and Dù Jīn exchanged glances.
Still sought to forbid.
—
Then—
A hoarse yet commanding voice rang—
"This battle… is permitted."
—
The speaker was Lí Hóng,
One of the elders of the rear mountain.
His rank second only to Gǔ Líng.
—
"Yet, should any break the oath—
Life or death—
The academy's law will punish!"
—
At his words, none dared speak.
—
The presiding elder raised his hand.
Pointed—
"Xiǎo Chén, Fēng Wúmíng—take the stage!"
—
The arena fell silent.
Air heavy.
Frozen.
—
Xiǎo Chén stepped forward.
Robes stirred without wind.
Qi condensed.
—
Opposite, Fēng Wúmíng drew his sword.
Silver gleam.
Like moonlit breeze.
Yet hidden killing intent.
—
Neither spoke.
Only their auras rose.
The arena brewed a storm.
—
"Their presence…
No less than the last duel."
"This is true life and death…"
Students whispered.
Throats tight.
—
Dù Jīn's eyes narrowed.
Palm lifted.
Ready to intervene.
The elder's face grave.
Left hand clenched.
Prepared to seal the array.
—
As the qi surged,
The scene froze—
Xiǎo Chén's toe touched ground.
Body poised to leap.
Fēng Wúmíng's sword stirred.
Tip trembling.
Air split.
—
The duel—
Was about to begin.