Sulla opens his eyes and finds himself standing again inside the dream domain's hall. But unlike before, he doesn't feel calm or focused. The moment he recognises where he is, panic fills his chest.
"Spirit! Send me back!" he shouts, voice echoing through the marble halls.
In a secluded corner, Merin pauses his comprehension of the runes within the magic missile spell model. He sighs, annoyance flickering in his expression. He had noticed Sulla's arrival moments ago—normally a routine occurrence. They all enter the dream domain when they fall asleep, whether day or night. According to the usual timing, it should be around noon where Sulla lives, but Merin hadn't paid attention until now.
He closes his eyes, letting the larger portion of his mind focus on Sulla's disturbance. Though only a small sliver of his consciousness manages the dream domain, it's enough to handle questions or needs. But this one—this is different. Sulla isn't just dreaming.
Something has gone wrong.
Merin feels the urgency and lets the spirit's voice speak through the domain. "What happened to you?"
Sulla's eyes dart around, panicked. "Someone knocked me unconscious! Let me leave! Please, I need to go back!"
The spirit voice answers, calm and measured. "I can't help you. Unless your body regains consciousness on its own, you cannot leave here."
Sulla begins pacing, his steps sharp with fear. "A terrorist knocked me out! I don't know what he plans to do with me. Please help me—I can't even imagine what he might—!"
The spirit voice interrupts gently, "A terrorist? Calm yourself. Tell me everything from the beginning."
Sulla halts, drawing in a deep breath, then another. It takes him a few moments to push down the panic. Finally, he speaks, steady but with a tremble beneath.
The terrorist organisation called Holy Light attacked our city. First, there were explosions—multiple ones all over. Then their men came out of nowhere and started killing everyone. I saw it all, even in my street. Three guards tried to stop one of them. I knew I couldn't just watch, but then my mother pointed toward the smoke—an explosion near my brother and sister's school. So I ran. I had to check on them."
He swallows hard, eyes distant.
"On the way, I ran into one of them. We fought. I held my own at first. Then a light burst shot into the sky—and the next moment, pain slammed into the back of my head. Everything went dark."
The spirit's voice turns firm. "Then he was playing with you. Testing you. He had a chance to kill you and didn't."
"I know," Sulla says quietly.
"Then you also understand," the voice continues, "that even if I force your return, if the terrorist chooses to knock you out again—or worse—you're powerless. He doesn't want to kill you. At least, not yet. That gives you a chance."
The voice fades slightly, as if hesitating, before continuing.
"So—"
But before it can finish, Sulla vanishes. His body begins to stir in the real world. His connection to the dream domain cuts abruptly.
Merin straightens, eyes narrowing.
"He's waking up."
Sulla feels his body before anything else. Then comes the pain.
It pulses from every inch of him—dull aches and sharp stings spreading from his shoulders, ribs, waist, and legs. He opens his eyes, wincing at the light filtering through dense branches. Trees loom all around. His ears catch the chirping of birds, the hum of insects, and distant rustles. A few birds, perched on nearby branches, peer down at him curiously.
He doesn't know where he is—but he knows it's dangerous.
He tries to rise, but his torso jerks to a stop. Something holds him down. With aching hands, he feels around and discovers ropes circling his chest and waist, tightly binding him to something behind him. He tilts his neck and spots a golden feather, twice the length of his palm. His heart sinks.
He's tied to the golden eagle.
From what he remembers, the eagle was wounded midair, spiralled down, and crashed. They must've landed deep in this forest. He breathes in, focusing, ignoring the throbbing in his body. His fingers probe the ropes until they find a knot. It's tight—too tight—but he works at it anyway. Again and again. Eventually, after minutes of struggling, the knot loosens. The rope falls from his chest.
Another rope remains—one binding his waist. Gritting his teeth, he leans forward and repeats the process. His fingers tremble, but he persists. Finally, that rope too slips free.
He shifts around and sits up. Confirmed—he had been tied to the golden eagle's back. Its body lies still, wings spread unnaturally, blood dried around a wound on its side. He scans the area and spots the terrorist, crumpled on the ground beside the eagle, motionless.
Then he checks himself. Cuts on both sides of his chest and waist. His fingers brush the wounds gently, and he freezes. They itch. Not burn, not bleed—itch.
Healing.
A deep sigh escapes him. Relief floods his chest. He mutters a quiet thank-you to the almighty for being born a light spirit. Before today, he often envied humans, so many cultivation techniques in the dream domain catered to their physiology. He couldn't practice most of them. But now, now he sees it differently. If he had been human, he would've died from that crash.
He clambers down from the bird. His feet touch the moss-covered ground, soft and cold. Around him, the forest grows quiet… too quiet. But then the silence breaks—he hears rustling from deeper inside. Eyes peer at him from shadows. Beasts are gathering.
He doesn't wait to see why they haven't attacked the eagle yet.
Before he leaves, he turns to the terrorist's body. His hands strip the armour quickly—it might provide some protection, even if damaged. As the chestplate comes free, three sheets of folded golden paper flutter out and land on the grass.
He picks them up.
The elegant letters written across the pages gleam faintly. His heart leaps—the language of the light spirit race. He reads the headers quickly and nearly staggers with relief.
Practice method of the Light Knight.
He doesn't waste time checking further. A howl rips through the forest, closer now. Others follow. Wolves. Maybe worse.
He grabs the hilt of the terrorist's light sword, straps the armour pieces to his body, and tightly rolls the three sheets in his hand. With one last glance at the carcass of the eagle and the fallen terrorist, he darts off, choosing the path where fewer beasts seem to be gathering, every instinct screaming at him to run.
Sulla moves cautiously, every step deliberate, every breath measured. His eyes dart left and right, ears tuned to the faintest rustle. He stops often, whenever a twig snaps or the wind shifts, to scan the shadows or press against a tree, waiting for silence to return.
His wounds still ache, but he forces himself forward. He needs shelter—a place to rest, to let his light spirit body heal naturally. That's the priority.
Then he hears it.
A low, crashing sound, steady and deep, water smashing against stone. He pauses and listens closely. The stories he read come to mind: waterfalls, distant and thunderous, always told with wonder. He's never seen one, but the books say the sound can travel far. Sometimes, they say, hidden caves filled with treasure lie behind them.
It's probably nothing like that, but it's something.
He follows the sound with care, weaving between trees and low brush, until the crash of water grows louder. Through the outline of leaves, he glimpses it—a stream of water plunging from a cliff, crashing below in foaming spray.
His heart sinks a little. From this angle, he can only see the back of the waterfall. There's no cave behind it that he can tell. Still, his eyes drift upward. Maybe there's something above.
The cliff beside the waterfall is too exposed, too open. Climbing from there would be reckless. Instead, he heads into the forest again, tracing the cliffside under cover. His fingers brush against rough stone as he walks, checking for holds.
Eventually, he finds something.
Vines hang halfway down the cliff, thick and green, swaying lightly. They don't lead to the top, but to a large hole in the cliff face, partially hidden by leaves and moss. It looks deep. Wide. Possibly safe.
Maybe a perfect hiding spot.
He grips the vines, testing their strength, then begins the climb. It's hard. His muscles scream from the effort and injury, but he endures. Reaching the hole, he pulls himself up and rolls onto solid ground.
It's not just a hole—it's a tunnel. It goes further in, and as he moves deeper, the space widens. Vegetation lines the walls. Moss, ferns, and creeping roots. The air is damp, earthy, and strangely warm.
He presses on.
Soon, the darkness thickens, but the path lights up with soft glows. Bioluminescent mushrooms grow along the edges, casting blue and green hues. Shrubs appear, then saplings. Eventually, full-grown trees.
He slows down, eyes widening.
A forest inside a mountain.
That's the only way to describe it.
Beast sounds echo softly. He sees a fox vanish between trees, a boar snorting in the distance. Smaller animals dart through the undergrowth, ignoring him. It feels like a hidden world, undisturbed and alive.
He walks further, pushing between tree trunks. The forest thins. The darkness breaks.
A yellow light—not from mushrooms or crystals, but clear and strong—spills ahead. He creeps closer, crouching low, and finally sees it.
Houses.
Structures carved from stone and wood, nestled around burning fire torches. Shadows of people move between them. He can't tell what race they are—too far, too hazy—but instinct screams caution.
Meeting strangers in a hidden place like this, alone and injured, is dangerous. If they're of another race, it's worse. Different tongues. Different appearances. No common ground.
He turns to leave.
Then stops.
A sharp point presses against his chest, cold and unmoving.
He looks down.
A spear.
And someone holding it, standing right in front of him.
Merin, in his spiritual space, starts to comprehend the rune after a few minutes of Sulla leaving, as he stares at the spell model of the magic missile spell. He has not fully comprehended the runes in the spell model, but he can identify what each of the runes is about.
Some runes shape the magic energy into the form of a missile, some solidify the energy, and others transform the magic energy into combustion energy that launches the missile. He comprehends the rune that shapes the energy into a missile and is halfway through the comprehension of the runes that turn energy into solid form.
As Merin continues his comprehension for more than a couple of hours, he senses someone entering the dream domain.
Normally, he wouldn't pay much attention, but this time, he feels Sulla's consciousness entering again.
Merin assumes the terrorist must have knocked Sulla unconscious once more. With curiosity, he shifts his awareness into the dream domain and asks, acting as the spirit, what happened.
Sulla replies, "I am once again knocked unconscious. Two times in a single day, and this time I don't even know who knocked me unconscious."
Merin, hearing that, starts to doubt whether the terrorist was ever unconscious. He asks, "Other than the terrorist, his allies, or soldiers from your Empire sent to rescue you—who else would knock you out?"
Sulla replies, "I think it's people from some tribe. At the last moment, I saw the tip of a spear and blood-red eyes."
Merin grows more confused. When he paid attention to Sulla discussing his realm with the others, Sulla mentioned that six races inhabited his realm, all organised as kingdoms, empires, confederations, or federations.
There might be tribes, but not in areas near terrorist activity. Still, Sulla was captured by a terrorist, so contact with a small tribe wasn't impossible.
Merin asks, "What happened when you regained consciousness?"
Sulla says, "You wouldn't believe what happened," and then goes on to explain everything that happened from waking up in the forest to being tied to the eagle, fighting his way free, finding the primitive tribe, and blacking out again.
After a few moments of silence, Sulla asks, "You don't think they'll kill me while I'm unconscious, right?"
Merin says, "I don't know, but they might even cook you while you're unconscious."
Without waiting for Sulla's reply, Merin pulls most of his focus back to his spiritual space, leaving just enough awareness to manage the dream. He dives back into the rune comprehension.
He wants to completely comprehend the spell quickly. The reason behind this urgency is a memory from when Ivy was being taught.
The male instructor, a senior mage apprentice, had advised them to at least fully master the spells in the apprentice realm. He didn't explain why, but his serious tone suggested that mastering apprentice spells could be one of the requirements to advance to the Mage Seal Realm.
25th – Dream Domain
Sulla watches one by one as the five members leave the dream domain, Ivy being the last. Yet, he still hasn't regained consciousness after being knocked out the second time yesterday.
The longer it takes, the more anxious he becomes. But then, he feels a familiar pull—the same distant sensation he experiences each morning before waking up. A moment later, he vanishes from the dream domain.
His eyes flutter open. The first thing he sees is a ceiling made of animal hide. He quickly sits up, alert. An old man stands nearby, tall, thin to the bone, skin dark and marked with blood-red patterns.
Sulla hears the man say, "Good, you are awake."
Fear rises in him, his instincts screaming to run, to get away from this strange figure. He asks, "Who are you?"
The old man replies, "I am Appetchel. You don't need to fear me. Wait here, I will bring you food." Without waiting for Sulla's response, the old man steps out of the room.
Sulla doesn't attempt to flee. As a captive, he's certain that guards stand outside. Instead, he remains where he is, not even bothering to inspect the room. It's built from stone and wood, simple in construction. A small blue crystal embedded in one wall glows faintly, giving just enough light to see everything clearly.
Then he notices the three golden pages resting on a nearby table. He stands and picks them up. These pages contain the rare cultivation method of the Light Knight—the first training technique he has ever found that suits him.
But it is also the method used by the terrorists. If he learns it and becomes a Light Knight, he knows he'll never be allowed to return home.
He reads through the three pages carefully. The last page contains a large rune meant to be visualised. The method combines two parts: the visualisation of this rune and a set of inner breathing exercises. It only covers the first realm of the Light Knight path—the first step in the Mortal Realm.
He realises that fully visualising the rune will connect him to a being known as the Light God, who will supply energy. Practising the breathing method fuses this divine energy with his own vital force to produce Light Fighting Energy.
Now he understands why this method is forbidden in the Empire. If his energy is fused with another being's, that being may influence or even control him.
Sulla sighs in disappointment. He cannot afford to train using the Light Knight method.
Just then, he hears a voice ask, "Do you want to become a shaman?"
Sulla, hearing this, looks at the old man who has returned with a plate of food in his hand. He asks, "What do you mean?"
The old man steps forward, places the wooden plate filled with fried meat in front of him, and says, "Do you want to become a shaman?"
Sulla, hearing the term for the first time, asks, "What is a shaman?"
The old man replies, "The shaman is the cultivation path of my people."
Sulla studies the man's dark complexion and blood-red pupils. His appearance doesn't match the description of any of the six known races. So he asks, "What are your people?"
The old man answers, "We are called the Blood Spirit Pupil race."
"I've never heard of it," Sulla says.
"There are many things in this realm you haven't heard," the old man replies. "But do you want to become a shaman?"
Sulla asks, "Why do you want me to become a shaman?"
The old man says, "Because you qualify."
Sulla frowns. "Only that? I don't think you'd teach someone from another race the cultivation method of your own."
The old man sighs. "I don't have much time left, and none in my tribe have both the talent and character to reach the Great Shaman realm as I did. But you do."
Sulla questions, "How can you trust me? After I succeed in cultivation and you're gone, what's stopping me from leaving your tribe?"
The old man smirks. "Who said I trust you? If you want to learn the shaman cultivation path, first, you'll sign a contract with us, notarised by the Spirit of Nature."
Sulla falls into thought, weighing whether to accept or refuse. The old man stands and says, "Finish your food, then give me your answer. But if the answer is no, you're of no use to us."
Sulla understands the threat in those words. The old man is making it clear—he has no choice. He's completely at the mercy of the tribe.
So he replies, "No need to wait. My answer is yes."
The old man nods. "Good. Then we'll begin once you've finished eating."
He leaves the room. Sulla stares at his back, then sighs and begins to eat the food placed in front of him.
Merin, while comprehending the runes of the Magic Missile spell, senses the arrival of the six familiar presences entering his dream domain one by one. As usual, he listens quietly as they share how their day went.
Omar says his injury has healed, and he plans to go hunting again once he leaves.
Talon, too, will return to hunting with his tribe.
The Shadow Serpent mentions he will continue practising his shadow magic after leaving, as new magic cannot be developed within the dream domain—only existing spells can be trained.
Song Qi says he'll head to the Sutra Pavilion to acquire a new fighting method since he has mastered the first stage of the Bull Body Refining Method and, as an Inner Energy Realm martial artist, he now qualifies for an intermediate fighting technique. Ivy continues learning the basics of the mage apprentice path under the guidance of her two teachers.
Lastly, Sulla begins recounting what happened to him since the last time he left the dream domain, explaining everything in detail until the moment he fell asleep and re-entered it minutes ago.
After their conversation ends, Merin's consciousness retreats into his spiritual space, and he resumes comprehending the runes.
26th – Dream Domain
Song Qi wakes up to the sound of the morning bell. Without any pressing duties now, he doesn't rush but instead calmly completes his morning routine before heading to the food hall.
The hall is already crowded with menial disciples—still ordinary people—eating in a hurry before starting their day's work.
Song Qi lines up with a plate at the counter, then searches for an empty seat. If he doesn't find one, he'll have to eat standing.
Just then, someone calls his name. He looks over and sees Qin Bo waving him over. Qin Bo, like him, is a menial disciple who entered the sect at the same time and reached the Inner Energy Realm only a few days after him.
As Song Qi walks over, he notices the others at the table are also menial disciples who recently broke through into the Inner Energy Realm. Among them is a new face—Fu Wen.
Song Qi takes the empty seat and greets them with a "Good morning."
They return the greeting.
As Song Qi begins eating, he notices several of them exchanging glances and sneaking looks at him. They want to say something. He asks, "Do you guys want something from me?"
Qin Bo speaks up. "Can you help us practice the Bull Boxing technique?"
When Song Qi doesn't respond immediately, Qin Bo quickly adds, "We're not asking for free. Each of us will pay you one spirit fragment for two hours of instruction every day until the start of the competition."
Song Qi thinks to himself—if each of the five pays him spirit fragments daily, then every two days, he can afford a Golden Bead Pill. Each pill slightly boosts his cultivation, and even a slight increase in strength before the competition could make a difference. It's essentially free money. The only cost is two hours of his time each day. Since he doesn't cultivate nonstop and always rests a bit, he can use that time to teach them. So, he says, "Yes."
The five let out a small cheer.
Qin Bo asks, "When will you teach us?"
Song Qi plans to visit the Sutra Pavilion after breakfast, so he answers, "How about at noon, in the clearing inside the Black Bamboo Forest by the lake?"
Qin Bo nods. "The place where you usually practice?"
Song Qi nods back.
As he continues eating, he listens to them discuss the top contenders for the upcoming menial disciples competition, which is only nine days away. He hears that Liu Kui isn't considered the top candidate this time. Instead, someone named Tang Li is favoured to win.
Tang Li has trained the intermediate fighting technique 'Blue Wolf Claws' to a minor completion and is already on the verge of condensing his inner energy. If given a month, his inner energy would naturally condense, pushing him into the second martial realm.
They say Liu Kui is just unlucky—he might not become an outer disciple through this competition. The group seems pleased, recalling how Liu Kui's underlings robbed them of spirit fragments.
Song Qi says, "What's there to be happy about? Liu Kui can stay in the sect for another year. Even if he doesn't win now, with his talent and his elder brother's support, he'll reach the Condensed Energy Realm eventually."
Qin Bo replies, "We know. We're just happy he won't win the competition this time. He'll miss the winner's rewards and the quota to enter the Ziyuan Secret Realm."
Song Qi asks, "There are extra rewards? I thought the prize was just becoming an outer disciple."
Chen Jun answers, "If that were the only reward, many wouldn't give it their all. Those who can get a higher rank than 30 will become outer disciples anyway because of their cultivation. But the extra rewards push everyone to try harder."
Song Qi thinks it makes sense. Those who place high are likely to have full mastery over at least a low-ranked fighting technique. That technique's force can help them refine and condense their inner energy. With a year's worth of resources, they could advance easily. So risking injury for the single spot of an outer disciple wouldn't be worth it unless there's something more at stake.
He asks, "So what's the reward?"
Qin Bo says, "Last I heard, the winner could choose a low-grade spiritual weapon. I'm not sure what the prize is this time. They'll announce it at the start of the competition."
Song Qi nods and returns to eating. He doesn't ask about the secret realm—he's already read about it. What he didn't know was that the winner of the menial disciples competition gets a quota to enter that secret realm, which opens two months from now.
After finishing his food, Song Qi walks with the others out of the food hall. Before parting ways, he says, "Then let's meet after noon."
They respond with affirmation, and Song Qi turns and begins walking toward the Sutra Pavilion, which sits halfway up one of the mountains.
The Thousand Crane Sect lies within a vast valley surrounded by a mountain range. Inside the valley, twenty mountains of varying sizes and heights rise across the land. Among them, the tallest and most prominent hosts the Sutra Pavilion. It's also where the sect master and several elders reside. The sect master lives at the very peak of the mountain, overlooking the entire sect.
Song Qi reaches the front of a five-storey tower with the words Sutra Pavilion carved into the top. He enters the pavilion, walks to a corner, and waits. He wants to acquire an intermediate fighting technique, which means he has to climb the stairs and enter the first-floor inner area—an area that menial disciples cannot access without a pass token.
Someone is already at the counter, so
Song Qi waits silently.
After a minute, the outer disciple finishes and leaves. Song Qi steps forward and says, "Deacon, I want a pass token for intermediate fighting techniques."
The deacon asks, "Your sect token?"
Song Qi hands it over. The deacon checks if he has the quota. Finding that he does, the deacon returns the sect token along with a red jade slip and waves him on.
Song Qi walks through the ground floor and climbs the stairs to the first floor. He passes rows of bookshelves filled with low-level fighting techniques until he reaches the door to the inner area, guarded by another deacon. Song Qi shows the red pass and enters.
Inside, he starts browsing. Weapon-based techniques are stronger, but they require fine weapons, and he doesn't have the money to buy them. So after a quick glance, he moves on to the bookshelves containing boxing techniques. He already mastered a low-level boxing technique, so transitioning to an intermediate one would be easier.
He browses one title after another. The texts are sealed by spiritual runes; only the titles and brief introductions are visible. He reads them carefully: Iron Boxing Technique, Demon Monkey Boxing Technique, Dead Wood Boxing Technique, and others.
Among them, three techniques caught his interest—Tiger Boxing Technique, Wind Boxing Technique, and Blood Bull Boxing Technique.
Later, after noon, under the scorching heat of the sun, Song Qi stands in the clearing within the black bamboo forest, his upper robe drenched in sweat. He throws a punch into the air. The motion is correct, the form stable, but he fails to align the inner energy circulation with the rhythm of the technique.
As a result, he cannot unleash the full power of the punch. Only a sharp whoosh of wind trails behind his fist.
If he managed to fully harness the technique, then with each punch, a burst of wind force would be released from his fist, strong enough to strike and shake the bamboo in the direction of his blow.
Song Qi is practising the Blood Bull Boxing technique. He didn't choose the Tiger Boxing technique, despite its renowned power and ferocity. At minor accomplishment, Tiger Boxing allows one to release a tiger's presence—an invisible pressure that can break the will of weaker opponents even before battle begins. Against stronger wills, it suppresses their strength, making them unable to use their full power.
He also passed on the Wind Boxing technique, famed for its speed and swiftness. At minor accomplishment, a single punch becomes so fast that opponents in the same realm can't even track it.
Instead, Song Qi chose the Blood Bull Boxing technique. Upon reaching a minor accomplishment, it allows one to sense their blood and channel it to release dark energy through their punches. Though this dark energy is ineffective against well-defended opponents using inner energy, he chose it because it's an advanced form of the Bull Boxing technique he already mastered. That familiarity will let him progress faster.
He halts his training at the sound of approaching footsteps and low conversation. A moment later, Qin Bo and the other four step into the clearing.
Song Qi gives them a nod and says, "All of you, stand with enough distance between each other."
He looks at them and says, "Show me your progress in the Bull Boxing technique."
One by one, they step forward and demonstrate their moves. He watches closely, noting their footwork, energy control, and rhythm. Among them, only Chu Qi has reached a major accomplishment—his punches are steady, powerful, and rooted. The other four have only reached minor accomplishments. Their techniques are solid but lack the explosive force and control that comes with deeper mastery.
Song Qi nods after observing them. "Not bad. Now watch my punches carefully."
He takes his stance and begins to perform the Bull Boxing technique. Each movement flows smoothly into the next, his body aligned with precise control. Then, he performs the final move—the culmination of the technique he mastered.
As he throws the punch, the veins on his arms bulge. A powerful wind force bursts from his fist, blasting forward. It strikes a bamboo stalk in the direction of the punch. The bamboo shakes violently, bending back and forth under the impact.
The five watched in silence, their expressions filled with awe and determination. Then they start clapping.
Fu Wen says, "Woah! Song Qi, you've completely mastered the Bull Boxing technique and even awakened the bright energy in your punches!"
Qin Bo adds, "With your strength now, you'd be in the top thirty among outer disciples. You can easily defeat Li Fu."
Though pleased by their praise, Song Qi doesn't show it on his face. He simply says, "Enough flattery. Stop wasting time. Perform the technique again."
They return to practice under his guidance. As the sun begins to set and their session ends, Song Qi calls them to stop. After cleaning up, they head together to the food hall for dinner.
As they step out of the hall, Qin Bo says with excitement, "Let's go to the training ground. Some disciples are competing right now. Let's go watch!"
The other four immediately agree, and all five turn to look at Song Qi.
He nods. His Evergreen Pine Breathing technique has reached a stage where he can now practice it unnoticed, even while staying still. As the breathing method breaks down food into inner energy, he joins the group, and together they walk toward the training ground.
As Song Qi nears the training ground, he walks through the wide wooden gate that marks the entrance to the menial disciples' training area. The ground is enclosed by a tall wooden palisade, its upper platform built to allow spectators to stand and watch the battles below.
From the elevated walkway atop the palisade, half of the massive training ground is clearly visible. Inside, the area is divided into fifteen circular fighting rings, each marked by a thick rope laid on the ground.
Song Qi and the others step up onto the platform, their eyes scanning the various rings as disciples clash with fists, kicks, and bursts of inner energy.
Song Qi moves along the palisade, examining each fighting ring carefully. He doesn't recognise any of the disciples—their faces unfamiliar, older, likely one or two years his senior. Many of them, he realises, are stronger than he at the moment. But only for now. He notes this calmly because when they sleep, he trains inside the dream domain, where time flows three times faster. Every night grants him thrice the progress.
He pauses when he sees a disciple knock his opponent out of the ring with a punch laced with bright energy. Around him, a few spectators comment, "Looks like Ji Fan's mastered Bull Boxing. His cultivation's already at the late stage of the inner energy realm. He might break into the top ten."
"Yeah, with the top ten rewards, he'll probably step into the condensed energy realm next month and become an outer disciple."
Song Qi watches quietly. Compared to Ji Fan, Song Qi is still in the early inner energy realm, though with a few more golden bead pills, he expects to reach the middle stage before the competition. That should be enough to aim for the top twenty—and take first place in the next disciples' competition.
He walks further, observing female disciples competing in several rings. Some spar with other women, others fight against male disciples. Most of the women wield swords or spears, moving with fluid grace and sharp precision.
Then the mood in the training ground shifts. The air grows tense, filled with murmurs and rising anticipation.
"It's about to start."
"Who do you think will win—Lui Kui or Chen Jing?"
"I'd bet on Lui Kui."
Song Qi feels a tug on his robe's sleeve. He looks down and sees Qin Bo staring up at him.
"What?" Song Qi asks.
"Who do you think will win—Lui Kui or Chen Jing?" Qin Bo repeats, eyes bright with excitement.
Song Qi turns his gaze to the door below the platform. Chen Jing steps through, her long, light blue hair flowing behind her. Her beauty, he thinks, rivals that of Lan Yue.
Song Qi says," I don't know."
From somewhere behind, a disciple whispers, "Why did Chen Jing challenge Lui Kui?"
Song Qi sharpens his focus, ears tuned to the murmurs rippling through the crowd. He wants to hear the reason behind the challenge.
One disciple whispers, "It's because Lui Kui disrespected Chen Jing when they first joined the sect. He leered at her openly, but she didn't retaliate back then—his elder brother's an outer disciple, after all. But now, it's been two years, and Chen Jing has found backing… a new inner disciple, a woman."
"So, she challenged Lui Kui to return the favour," another adds with a knowing tone.
Song Qi's thoughts catch on the mention of a 'new inner disciple' supporting Chen Jing. His brow furrows. 'It can't be her,' he thinks. 'She only joined a few weeks ago...'
His mind flashes to Lan Yue.
'No…' he shakes his head slightly. Lan Yue just entered the sect around the same time I did. She wouldn't be involved in inner politics so quickly... would she?'
He turns back to the ring, eyes narrowing as Lui Kui and Chen Jing step into the circle. Chen Jing wields a sword with calm grace, while Lui Kui grips a long spear, his stance aggressive.
The match begins, and at first, it's too close to call. Blades and spears clash with sparks of inner energy. Their movements are swift, precise, neither gaining a clear edge. The rest of the fights in other rings come to a halt as spectators flock to the palisade, shouting and cheering.
"Go, Chen Jing!"
"Lui Kui will crush her!"
Bets fly through the crowd, voices loud with excitement. But Song Qi only watches with half his mind. His body stands on the platform, eyes fixed on the fierce exchange, but his thoughts drift.
'If Lan Yue really is the one backing her,' Song Qi thinks, 'I'll have to tread carefully… because I'll be dragged into the fight, whether I want to or not.'
'It's already out of my hands.' His gaze lingers on the two battling figures. I entered the sect using Lan Yue's quota. If she gets involved, then by extension… I'm already involved, too.'
Since it's already out of his hands, Song Qi sighs inwardly. 'Then I might as well watch the fight carefully and see what I can learn to improve my own fighting method.'
In the ring, Chen Jing's sword flows with precision, swift, sharp, and defensive. Lui Kui meets her strikes with aggressive spear thrusts, aiming to break her stance with brute strength. Sparks fly each time their weapons clash, the rhythm of the duel quickening with each exchange.
Spectators around the ring shout and cheer, but neither side gains an advantage. Chen Jing circles with calm grace, deflecting and redirecting every powerful strike, while Lui Kui lunges with force, trying to overpower her guard.
They seem evenly matched, neither able to land a decisive blow. Minutes pass in a deadlock.
Then, suddenly, a flare of heat flashes at the tip of Lui Kui's spear.
'Fire?' Song Qi narrows his eyes.
The spear's tip ignites with a faint blaze. With a roar, Lui Kui thrusts forward. Chen Jing reacts, bringing her sword up to block. But the moment the weapons collide, the fire-coated spear splits the blade at the edge. The force behind it throws Chen Jing backwards, her feet skidding across the ring's surface before she crashes out of bounds.
Gasps erupt from the crowd. Chen Jing lies stunned, her broken sword in hand.