Lin Yun reached the stele. The kind-faced elder gave him an encouraging nod. "Ready when you are, student Lin."
Lin Yun nodded back but remained still, his gaze fixed on the dark stone. Internally, his mind was racing. The Heavenly Eyes were active, the golden grid highlighting the complex energy web and the specific weak point he had chosen.
This is the problem, he thought, a sliver of uncertainty creeping in. I've never done this before. How much force do I need?
He ran a quick calculation. A standard strike from a 3rd Level cultivator would score around 300-400. His Fire Fist was at Level 3, which should significantly boost that. Hitting the weak point would amplify the result further. He needed a score high enough to be competitive, but not so high it defied all logic and drew excessive, dangerous scrutiny.
If I put 80% of my power into a strike on the weak point, he reasoned, it should theoretically score between 750 and 800. That would be impressive for my level, but not earth-shattering. It would place me in the upper tier without being unbelievable.
It was a calculated risk. He decided to go for it.
He took a deep breath, centering his energy. He settled into the Fire Fist stance, his right fist clenching. He consciously held back, channeling only about eighty percent of his available spiritual energy. The flames that erupted around his fist were potent and controlled, but not the all-consuming inferno he was capable of.
He focused entirely on that one, shimmering weak point his Eyes had marked. With a sharp, explosive step, he drove his fist forward in a straight, powerful line.
FWOOM-BOOM!
The sound was a concussive blast of fire and force. The moment his fist connected with the precise coordinate, the blue energy lines on the stele didn't just flare—they blazed with an intensity unseen in any previous test.
The jade screen reacted instantly.
The number didn't climb; it erupted.
100... 200... 300...
It shot past 400 in a heartbeat.
By the time it hit 500, the first murmurs of surprise began. A score of 500 was already very good for a 3rd Level cultivator.
But it didn't stop.
600…
A wave of exclamations swept the stands. "Six hundred! At the 3rd Level? How?"
"This is already impossible!"
Ji Xuan, who had been watching with a condescending smirk, felt the smile freeze on his face. His eyes narrowed. This can't be right.
Wang Kun's jaw had gone slack. "What trick is this?" he muttered.
Hua Mengyan, sitting beside Lin Yun's empty seat, had her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
On the screen, the number continued its relentless ascent.
700…
The murmurs turned into shouts of disbelief. "Seven hundred?! That's the level of a 6th or 7th Level cultivator!"
Bai Chenfeng, who had been observing with detached interest, now leaned forward, a genuine look of surprise on his scholarly face.
Nangong Qing'er's serene composure finally shattered. Her eyes, which had been cool and calculating, turned icy cold, a flicker of something dangerous glinting within them. This was not part of her calculations.
However, no one knew that Inside, Lin Yun was actually panicking.
Shit! Shit! Shit! he cursed inwardly, his heart hammering against his ribs. It's not stopping! I only used 80%! How is this happening?!
He had underestimated the multiplicative effect of hitting the absolute perfect weak point with a high-level technique. It wasn't just adding power; it was bypassing the stele's defenses entirely.
Stop! Please, just stop at 800! he prayed, watching the number with growing dread.
But the number, fueled by the flawed reading of the formation, scorned his prayers.
800…
The avenue was in an uproar. "Eight hundred! He broke eight hundred!"
810… 820… 840… 860… 880… 890…
It climbed past Nangong Qing'er's score of 891 without even a pause.
"WHAT?!"
A deafening roar erupted from the crowd. He had surpassed the elegant genius! The "waste" had beaten Nangong Qing'er!
Ji Xuan's face was no longer just gloomy; it was a mask of dark, thunderous fury. His hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. This was a direct slap to his face, worse than any insult.
But the nightmare wasn't over for Lin Yun.
900…
"Nine hundred!"
"No way!"
"What's going on here?!"
When the score reached 900, everyone instantly lost their minds.
The number, slowing but still climbing, punched through the 900 mark.
910... 920...
It actually inched past Ji Xuan's score of 923.
"What the hell?!"
The uproar reached a fever pitch. It was chaos. Disciples were standing, pointing, shouting. He had not only beaten Nangong Qing'er, he had dethroned Ji Xuan! He was now in second place!
Then, with one final, shuddering leap, the number settled.
938!
Silence.
A profound, absolute, deafening silence descended upon the entire Martial Practice Avenue. It was so quiet one could hear the rustle of leaves in the distant trees.
Hundreds of students and teachers stared at the jade screen, at the number 938 glowing defiantly in the air. It was a number that belonged to the peak of the Qi Condensation Realm, a number that should have been impossible for someone at the 3rd Level.
The silence stretched, thick and disbelieving.
Then, it was shattered by a raw, furious roar.
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
Wang Kun shot to his feet, his face purple with rage and disbelief, pointing a trembling finger at Lin Yun. "CHEAT! HE MUST BE CHEATING! THERE'S NO WAY! HE'S ONLY AT THE 3RD LEVEL!"
His shout broke the spell. The avenue exploded into a cacophony of accusations, questions, and stunned exclamations.
Lin Yun stood frozen before the stele, his fist still slightly extended. Internally, he was reeling. This was a disaster. He had wanted to be competitive, not become the center of a storm. He had aimed for a respectable 750 and had instead nearly broken 940.
He slowly lowered his arm, the flames around his fist dying out. He could feel the weight of countless hostile and suspicious stares. He saw the kind-faced elder looking at him not with encouragement, but with deep, serious scrutiny.
Damn it! This is a miscalculation!