Chang Le swore and kicked the gambling stall over in one violent motion.
Spirit Stones clattered across the ground, flashing mockingly in the sunlight. He didn't bother picking them up. Instead, he slapped his empty waist out of habit and shouted, "Lid—come!"
With a deep metallic hum, the ancient bronze furnace lid materialized beneath his feet.
He leapt onto it and shot into the air, pointing toward the arena. "Gou Dan! Watch the stall—no, forget it! Just hide! Watch your big bro teach that bastard a lesson!"
The lid wobbled, crooked but fast, slicing through the air toward the main platform.
"Stop."
The voice cut cleanly through the noise of the crowd—cool and authoritative.
Chang Le braked midair. The lid trembled beneath him as he looked toward the stage.
Ye Yuetang had stepped forward.
She rose lightly onto the arena like a snowflake drifting onto ice—quiet, resolute.
"Yuetang?" Chang Le muttered, hovering at the edge of the crowd.
Her expression was frost itself. She bowed toward the high platform.
"Sect Master. Elders. Disciple Ye Yuetang requests the third match."
Gasps rippled outward.
She turned to Zhang Kuang, her gaze sharp as a drawn blade.
"Sect disciples are not wagers. This match is not for betting. It is to defend the honor of Pudu Mountain—and to remind certain people that a personal disciple here is not to be insulted."
The final words struck like a slap.
On the high platform, the Sect Master nodded once.
"Granted."
Zhang Kuang's smile twisted. "Good. I enjoy breaking pride like yours."
The referee announced the start.
Zhang Kuang had come prepared. His intentions had never been as simple as public arrogance. Marrying Ye Yuetang would secure him a foothold on Pudu Mountain. The strange celestial phenomenon over the sect had already stirred suspicion in his home pavilion. If a hidden treasure existed, proximity would matter.
But he had underestimated her.
The moment the match began, Ye Yuetang moved.
Her sword ignited in ice-blue light.
Eight Overturning Seas.
Her blade did not thrust—it surged. Each strike flowed into the next like layered tides, force building upon force. Water intent coiled through her movements, soft yet relentless, cold yet overwhelming.
Zhang Kuang staggered under the assault.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Sword-light and crimson finger-force collided in violent bursts of spiritual energy.
His confidence eroded quickly.
She was only at Foundation Establishment perfection—yet her qi was pure, her swordplay merciless. His Burning Heaven Finger, once unstoppable against previous opponents, could not pierce her defense.
He felt like a fragile boat in a storm.
In the crowd, cheers swelled.
Chang Le pumped his fist. "That's it! Hit him! Lower! Eyes! No mercy!"
Beside him, Gou Dan clanged a broken gong enthusiastically.
"Big sis invincible!"
"Focus on the fight!" Chang Le hissed.
On the platform above, even the elders nodded.
Zhang Kuang's pride burned.
He could not tolerate being suppressed—especially by a woman. Especially while that apothecary boy shouted insults below.
His eyes darkened.
He feinted backward.
His right hand formed a sword gesture. His left hand slipped into his sleeve—and crushed a hidden talisman.
A thread of dark light merged into his attack, thin as a needle and deadly as poison.
It shot toward Ye Yuetang's dantian.
"Watch out!" Chang Le shouted instinctively.
Ye Yuetang sensed the danger—but her momentum had already peaked. She could not fully withdraw in time.
"Insolence!"
A figure flashed forward.
Peak Master Lin Xizhu appeared before her disciple, a single flick of her finger releasing condensed sword-qi that struck the dark beam midair.
The explosion was muted but violent.
The talisman shattered.
Silence followed.
Lin Xizhu's gaze turned glacial.
"A sparring match—and you deploy a Golden Core talisman? Is this the conduct of your pavilion?"
The arena erupted.
"Golden Core talisman?"
"Shameless!"
Zhang Kuang's face paled.
"There were no rules forbidding talismans," he argued stiffly. "Strength is strength."
Lin Xizhu's voice cut like steel. "This is a sect competition, not a life-and-death battle."
The Sect Master intervened calmly.
"This round is ruled a draw. The wager is void."
Zhang Kuang understood.
He had lost more than face. He had been outmaneuvered politically as well.
Grinding his teeth, he stepped down from the arena.
Chang Le immediately rushed to Ye Yuetang's side, slipping an arm around her waist without hesitation.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she replied, though her complexion was pale from qi depletion.
Zhang Kuang saw the gesture.
His temper snapped.
"Who are you," he demanded coldly, "to stand beside her?"
Chang Le put his hands on his hips.
"Chang Le. Apothecary boy of Qingxi Peak. And you? A cheat who couldn't win fair and square."
The insults that followed were so blunt, so utterly lacking in refinement, that Zhang Kuang stood momentarily speechless.
"I'll remember you," he said at last, voice tight. "Pray you never leave Pudu Mountain."
Chang Le snorted. "Next time my dog will handle you."
Gou Dan blinked, confused but vaguely offended.
Zhang Kuang finally stormed off.
Back at Qingxi Peak, the door closed behind them.
The outside world faded.
Chang Le studied Ye Yuetang's face, still faintly drained.
"You really alright?"
"I said I am."
He hovered a moment, then softened.
The tension from the arena lingered in the air between them. She did not push him away when he pulled her closer. For once, there was no frost in her silence—only quiet fatigue.
Afterward, as calm settled over the room, Chang Le suddenly sat up.
"No. Not enough."
Ye Yuetang raised an eyebrow.
"I'm making pills," he declared. "Something special."
"For Gou Dan?"
"For Zhang Kuang," he corrected darkly. "Through Gou Dan."
He bolted toward the east-wing laboratory, dragging the bewildered dog along.
"Big bro's cooking something memorable!"
Gou Dan whined faintly.
Ye Yuetang watched them go, then lay back against the pillows.
A faint, nearly imperceptible smile touched her lips.
The five-day Grand Examination concluded in brilliance.
Ye Yuetang emerged as champion of the Foundation Establishment division.
Her name spread through Pudu Mountain like starlight.
At the award ceremony, she received the top-grade flying sword Ningshuang and a fifth-grade spiritual herb—Star Illusion Grass—from the Sect Master himself.
Admiration burned in countless eyes.
So did jealousy.
Chang Le beamed at first.
"That's right. I trained her," he muttered proudly.
But when elite disciples gathered around her, smiling too brightly, his expression soured.
"A bunch of toads," he grumbled.
His gaze hardened.
No more complacency.
If he didn't grow stronger, someone else might one day stand where he stood now.
And that… was unacceptable.
He glanced toward his laboratory.
Time to refine.