The atmosphere on the arena grew so heavy
it felt as though the air itself might solidify.
Xiǎo Chén knelt on one knee,
Long spear braced against the ground,
Breath ragged like a broken bellows.
Blood slid from his brow, tracing down his cheek.
Across from him, Fēng Wúmíng's chest heaved violently.
His sword hung low,
Yet the aura around him was sharp enough
to make even breathing feel dangerous.
The stands were silent.
Students of both Bái Xuán and Silver Mirror held their breath.
The presiding elder's brows tightened,
A shadow of worry flickering in his eyes.
Fēng Wúmíng raised his sword and sneered,
His voice cold and oppressive, echoing across the arena—
"Still trying to play the hero in front of a beauty?
You can't even protect yourself…"
The words pierced Xiǎo Chén's chest
like a needle driven straight into the heart.
At that moment,
A familiar, icy voice whispered within his mind—
Twisted, tempting, poisonous.
"Look at you…
Why not borrow my strength?
Do you want to watch her slip away again…
right before your eyes?"
Xiǎo Chén trembled.
His gaze instinctively lifted toward the stands.
There—
Yǔxī clutched her sleeves tightly,
Face pale,
Breathing unsteady.
As if sensing something,
Her eyes were filled with fear and worry.
Xiǎo Chén's throat tightened.
Fragments of his dreams flashed—
A blood‑soaked forest,
A fading silhouette,
A regret that could never be undone.
No…
Not this time.
I won't lose her again!
His fingers trembled.
The spear in his hand began to gleam with cold light.
In the next instant,
A black vortex spread across his pupils,
A dark red glow rising from their depths.
His aura plunged into chilling silence,
As though the entire arena froze around him.
The spear vibrated softly,
Casting a ring of cold light,
Qi surging outward and scattering dust.
His breathing deepened—slow, heavy—
Each heartbeat echoing with a thread of killing intent.
"Weng—"
The spear trembled again,
Cold light rippling outward.
Fēng Wúmíng's heart clenched.
He instinctively stepped back half a pace,
But forced himself to stand firm,
Teeth gritted.
"I don't believe—
you can defy the heavens!"
With a roar,
His sword descended like thunder splitting a mountain.
But the demon‑touched Xiǎo Chén
did not even lift an eyelid.
He stared only at Fēng Wúmíng—
Black mist swirling in his eyes,
As though ten thousand calamities hid within.
Fēng Wúmíng's lips curled.
A thought flashed—
So this is all?
He's frozen in fear?
His full‑force strike fell—
Yet before the stunned crowd,
The blade passed straight through Xiǎo Chén's body—
As though slicing through a phantom.
"Shua!"
Fēng Wúmíng froze,
Shock flooding his eyes.
"Impossible…
How did he—"
Panicked, he slashed again and again,
But every strike cut only empty air—
As though facing an illusion unbound by any law.
His sword pierced nothing.
No resistance.
No impact.
As if the figure before him
was nothing but a fading shadow.
"No… something's wrong…"
His arm trembled.
Cold sweat poured down his back.
Below the stage, Xuán Chén narrowed his eyes.
He understood—
The Black‑Self's power had begun to manifest.
Xiǎo Chén was using illusion
to crush his opponent's mind.
Yǔxī's face turned even paler.
Her eyes trembled with growing dread.
Her chest ached faintly—
As if she could feel
another consciousness awakening within him…
Xiǎo Chén still did not move.
Only those mist‑stained eyes
locked coldly onto Fēng Wúmíng—
Silent, merciless,
Like a death sentence already passed.
The stands erupted into chaos.
"Is… is that still the same Xiǎo Chén from moments ago?"
"No… his aura… it's terrifying…"
On the spectator stands,
Several senior students had already turned pale,
Too frightened to finish their sentences.
Gǔ Líng's gaze tightened.
A memory flashed—
Xiǎo Chén's earlier words:
"If I can't suppress it… then I'll just fight again."
A heavy weight settled in his chest.
This brat… he's really walking the edge again.
On the opposite side of the stands,
Xuānyuán Dié's eyes sharpened like blades.
Her entire body had gone tense.
She could see the shift in Xiǎo Chén's aura—
And she could feel Yǔxī's spiritual breath trembling beside her.
If this weren't a duel sealed by a life‑and‑death pact,
She would have already intervened by force.
If Xiǎo Chén truly lost control again—
They would have no choice but to act.
Even if it meant… striking to kill.
The entire arena felt suffocating.
—
At that moment,
Xiǎo Chén's figure flickered—
Ghostlike—
Appearing before Fēng Wúmíng in a blur.
Spear shadows poured down like a river of stars,
Each strike sharp enough to tear the air apart.
Fēng Wúmíng slashed wildly,
But his speed could no longer keep up.
He couldn't block—
Not even close.
"Bang!"
His sword vibrated violently,
Pain shooting through his tiger's mouth,
Arms going numb.
He staggered back three steps,
Heels scraping deep grooves into the wooden floor.
Every spear strike that followed
fell like a war drum pounding against his soul.
Xiǎo Chén's spearwork had never been so fluid.
His movements ghostlike,
Each attack faster and fiercer than the last.
Fēng Wúmíng defended with everything he had,
But his sword grew unstable,
His face paler with each passing breath.
A shock he could not name
rose from the depths of his heart—
Why?
He had stepped into the Root Mark,
The Fifth Seal—
Power enough to crush any meridian‑stage cultivator.
Yet this boy—
Meridian stage only—
Every spear strike made his very soul tremble!
A chill crawled up his spine,
His limbs sinking into an icy abyss.
The wind no longer sounded like wind—
Every whisper past his ear
felt like death counting his breaths.
His strength—
It was being crushed by some eerie pressure.
He couldn't even unleash half of what he normally could.
This guy… is he even human?
What kind of monster is he?!
Fear—
For the first time—
Clearly surfaced in Fēng Wúmíng's heart.
—
With a final roar,
Xiǎo Chén thrust upward,
Spear tip carrying a bone‑deep chill.
The spear's tail whipped back—
"Bang!"
Fēng Wúmíng's chest caved with the impact.
A metallic taste surged up his throat.
His body flipped through the air,
Crashing heavily at the arena's edge.
His sword flew from his hand,
Clattering across the floor.
Xiǎo Chén walked toward him,
Step by step,
Expression cold as winter steel.
He reached down—
And closed his hand around Fēng Wúmíng's throat,
Lifting him effortlessly with one arm.
Fēng Wúmíng's legs kicked weakly in the air,
Breath choking,
Face flushing red,
Eyes filled with a terror he had never known.
The entire arena held its breath.
On the spectator stands,
Members of both Bái Xuán and Silver Mirror had already begun gathering their strength.
The elders' expressions were grave.
At that moment—
A clear voice, trembling yet piercing,
rang out like a silver bell shattering the suffocating killing intent.
"Xiǎo Chén—stop!"
Yǔxī could no longer hold back.
She knew—
If she didn't speak now…
there would be no path left for him to return from.
Her voice shook,
Yet struck harder than any thunder.
Xiǎo Chén's spear halted mid‑thrust.
His crimson pupils contracted,
The force in his hand faltering,
Black light flickering uncertainly in his eyes.
He lowered his gaze—
Staring at the hand that was moments away
from crushing Fēng Wúmíng's throat.
A long moment passed.
Then he released.
Fēng Wúmíng fell like a rag doll,
Crashing onto the arena floor.
His throat finally drew a breath—
A desperate, rasping gasp.
He coughed violently,
Body trembling,
Eyes filled with raw terror.
The arena was silent—
So silent a pin drop could be heard.
Every gaze locked onto the center of the stage,
Onto the youth holding a spear,
Aura still cold as winter steel.
In that instant, no one doubted—
If not for that single cry,
Fēng Wúmíng would already be dead.
On the far side, Xuán Chén watched quietly,
Expression calm,
As though this life‑and‑death struggle had nothing to do with him.
But he knew—
Several hidden spiritual auras
had already locked onto Xiǎo Chén.
If anyone judged him to be out of control,
They would strike instantly—
To kill.
Xuán Chén's fingertip moved subtly within his sleeve.
In his heart, he placed a silent wager.
This was a gamble.
He gambled that Xiǎo Chén could suppress the demonic impulse.
That the black mist would not fully seize his mind.
And if he lost that gamble—
He had already made his decision.
Even if he had to stand against the entire arena,
He would take Xiǎo Chén away.
The escape talisman hidden in his sleeve trembled faintly—
Its cost immense,
A last resort he would never use lightly.
But if that moment came,
He would not hesitate.
On the arena, Xiǎo Chén seemed to sense a certain gaze.
He suddenly lifted his head—
A flash of red flickering deep within his pupils—
And began walking toward the presiding elder.
With each step he took,
The tension in the crowd tightened like a drawn bowstring.
The elder felt that gaze sweep across him.
His heart jolted,
Breath catching in his throat.
Xiǎo Chén stopped twenty steps away.
His voice was low,
Carrying a demonic undertone that echoed faintly—
"Presiding Elder…
This match should be ready to declare my victory, yes?"
A single sentence.
And the entire arena fell into suffocating silence.
From afar, Xuán Chén finally exhaled softly.
The unused talisman hidden in his sleeve
quietly cracked at one corner.
The presiding elder snapped back to himself,
Hastily raising his voice—
"Winner—Xiǎo Chén!"
Inside, he wiped a cold bead of sweat.
Thank heavens… the boy didn't fall completely into madness.
Gǔ Líng watched the scene,
A faint smile tugging at his lips.
He stroked his beard,
Eyes filled with unhidden admiration.
As expected of a Ten‑Seal body…
He can still pull himself back.
Give him time—
Who will be able to stand against him?
Xuānyuán Dié also let out a quiet breath.
Her gaze slid toward Yǔxī,
Noticing her aura had steadied again.
A thought stirred in her heart—
Why…
Why is it that only her voice
can pull him back from killing intent?
After several heartbeats of silence,
The stands erupted like a crashing tide—
"Th‑that's the strength of a mere Meridian‑Completion?!"
"That pressure just now…
I could barely breathe…"
"I really thought he was going to kill someone—
but he forced himself to stop…"
Some whispered in shock,
Others trembled in awe.
But none would forget
the silhouette of that youth
wreathed in demonic flame.
In an instant, countless gazes converged on Xiǎo Chén—
Some reverent,
Some doubtful,
Some burning with heat.
And some…
quietly brewing hostility.
Across the stands,
Silver Mirror's president Sītú Jìng stood in the shadows,
Fingers tapping lightly against the chair's arm.
His expression was solemn.
For the first time,
Those always‑calm eyes
focused sharply on the boy on stage.
"Controlled demonic qi…?
That isn't something ordinary people can withstand."
His brows tightened slightly,
Gaze shifting subtly toward Gǔ Líng and Xuānyuán Dié,
As though weighing possibilities—
Or calculating the future.
On the other side,
Bái Xuán's Bái Shī already had eyes shining with excitement,
Like a beast catching the scent of blood.
His battle intent surged uncontrollably.
A wild grin curled at his lips.
"Good…
Now that's a worthy opponent.
Once the trials end,
I'm definitely challenging him."
Xuán Chén
stood quietly to the side,
Fingertips brushing the jade talisman hidden in his sleeve.
His gaze swept across the crowd as he murmured inwardly—
"Bái Shī has moved…
Sītú Jìng has entered the board as well…
Àotiān Academy—
the game is only just beginning."
At that moment,
A thin layer of black mist rose slowly from Xiǎo Chén's body,
Coiling around him like a resentful shadow unwilling to fade.
From within the mist,
A low, furious whisper echoed—
"You… who are you…"
Xiǎo Chén lowered his eyes,
His voice cold yet unwavering—
"I am myself.
This body answers to me alone."
The black mist trembled,
As if letting out a roar of unwilling rage—
Then gradually dispersed,
Fading into the air
like something forced back into the abyss.
The demonic glow withdrew from Xiǎo Chén's eyes.
He lifted his gaze toward Yǔxī,
Taking a slow step forward.
Then another.
And another—
Walking toward her.
His steps faltered.
His eyes wavered.
Looking at that familiar yet distant silhouette,
A confusion he had never felt before
rose quietly within his chest.
Is she…
truly her?