Chapter Fourteen: The Tears of the Beauty

As night descended, Zhou Xuanhong opened his eyes. He had once again reverted to the state he’d been in that morning—his entire body stained red with blood. After cleansing himself with a spell of clear water, his deathly pale skin appeared all the more eerie in the darkness.

Stepping outside, Zhou Xuanhong noticed that the seeds of the Vitality-Raising Grass he’d sown that morning were showing signs of sprouting. He nodded with satisfaction, then descended the Sect Master’s Peak, intending to see if that pair of siblings was at the Martial Arena—hoping to scrounge a meal.

At the Martial Arena, the newly admitted disciples had just finished their lesson. Elder Xu Yuan had floated away, but a sixth-level Qi Refining outer disciple blocked the path of Miss Chen, who had also been listening to the lecture.

As the most admired beauty of Luoshui City, Miss Chen’s status was lofty beyond the reach of ordinary folk, yet within the Xingyan Sect, she was merely a striking new outer disciple, with perhaps a few inner sect relatives—none particularly close.

The one who stopped her was a disciple who had joined the sect the previous year, claiming to want to spar with her over the basic spells taught by Elder Xu Yuan earlier that day.

As a mid-stage Qi Refining disciple, he could wield spells, channeling his inner spiritual power to stir the elements of heaven and earth, creating mystical arts.

Miss Chen found it difficult to refuse. The challenger’s cultivation was only one level higher than hers, and he, too, was a member of the Chen clan, albeit from a collateral branch. Though his provocation seemed inexplicable, the Xingyan Sect did not oppose justified duels as long as no lives or limbs were endangered, nor any underhanded means employed. Such contests were permitted.

Confident she wouldn’t lose to a collateral relative, and aware that a single level’s gap could be bridged by talent, she agreed to the duel.

The two ascended the dueling platform—specially constructed for such matches. There were major and minor platforms: the major for Foundation Establishment inner disciples, and the minor for those in the Qi Refining stage.

The platform was forged from black iron stone, harder than refined steel, impervious to attacks below the Foundation Establishment stage, and arrayed to isolate outside interference.

They didn’t activate the array—no need to waste spirit stones on a simple spar.

Whether in the mundane or cultivation world, an audience is never lacking. Soon, the platform was surrounded by onlookers; the new disciples were all eager to witness their senior sisters duel, knowing it would benefit their own cultivation.

The pair of siblings blended into the crowd. Suddenly, the boy felt a hand on his shoulder. Zhou Xuanhong greeted him with a smile.

Seeing Zhou Xuanhong’s gaunt frame, the boy knew exactly why he’d come and sighed. “Senior brother, with your status, do you still need to beg for food from me?”

Zhou Xuanhong grinned shamelessly. “What can I do? I spent all my spirit stones preparing a gift for you. Now, I have no choice. Would you really watch your senior brother starve to death?”

“Well… fine, fine. Let me watch this duel, then I’ll come.”

Zhou Xuanhong beamed. “Great! I caught a Qi Refining stage beast today—let’s see what you can do with it. Ever since I tasted your cooking, I can’t stomach anyone else’s food!”

“No problem, leave it to me.”

Zhou Xuanhong was adept at reading people. This was a boy of about ten, with a little sister in tow, naturally eager for praise. Though wary, he was still just a child—and what child doesn’t like gifts? There was no way he’d refuse.

Turning his gaze to the duel on the platform, Zhou Xuanhong’s eyes narrowed—not merely watching, but carefully scanning the crowd for those paying particular attention to him.

A challenge from a collateral to a main branch was not altogether unreasonable, but the timing was odd. If it was truly about proving oneself, he would not have attacked so soon—just three days after her entry. True victory should be gained openly and honorably, otherwise, what was the point? Moreover, the one being challenged was none other than an old acquaintance: Miss Chen Yan of the Chen clan!

Combining these clues, the implications were all too clear.

Sure enough, Zhou Xuanhong soon spotted Wei Yuli—the one he’d encountered in the library—standing in a corner with another youth of about seventeen, whom Zhou Xuanhong also recognized: Wang Li, heir to the Wang family.

So, they’re trying to lure me into a trap? But all you’ll succeed in is provoking my wrath—nothing else.

Zhou Xuanhong’s expression remained calm, but in his eyes, a glint of icy light grew ever colder.

On the platform, the duel was heated. Neither used talismans or artifacts—they’d agreed to test only their spells, otherwise they’d violate the rules and be punished by the Hall of Enforcement.

While this collateral branch member’s cultivation surpassed Chen Yan’s, her mastery of spells was in no way inferior—and with her innate affinity, she cast even faster than her opponent.

That was talent. As a green-level genius, she could suppress cultivators of lesser aptitude, making it possible to challenge those above her level.

“Chen Xin, we’ve exhausted ourselves. Shall we call it a draw?” Chen Yan’s voice was melodious but breathless. Though her opponent couldn’t overcome her, his spiritual power was wild and difficult to withstand, prompting her to propose a truce.

But Chen Xin sneered, “A duel is about endurance. If you can’t go on, just concede—you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Hmph!”

Chen Yan snorted, stubbornly drawing on her strength and forming a spell to counter his Water Arrow technique.

Dozens of rounds later, blood trickled from her lips—she was at her limit.

Chen Xin, by contrast, seemed to have inexhaustible, destructive spiritual power—tireless and relentless.

Chen Yan, unable to keep up, sighed inwardly, realizing her reserves had been lacking. About to admit defeat, a faint pulse of spiritual energy slipped into her mouth during a clash, sealing her lips so she could make no sound.

No one noticed except Zhou Xuanhong, who, with sharpened spirit from recent practice of the Xingyan Technique and his attention fixed on Wei Yuli and Wang Li, recognized that the covert spiritual force originated from Wei Yuli.

Just as he suspected.

Zhou Xuanhong sensed something amiss with Chen Xin. At the sixth level of Qi Refining, he should not have such endless, berserk spiritual power. Years spent among itinerant cultivators in the mortal world had taught him this was unnatural.

On the platform, panic flashed in Chen Yan’s eyes as she found herself unable to speak—her mouth sealed. She realized this duel was a set-up and lost all will to fight.

In that moment, Chen Xin seized the chance—a stone pillar erupted from the ground, striking her from behind and slamming her to the ground. Blood, which she could not spit out, welled in her mouth as she struggled in vain to open it.

“What’s going on? Why hasn’t Junior Sister Chen Yan conceded?”

“Just give up—this isn’t worth it.”

“Junior Sister, you’re still young. In a few months, you’ll be able to beat her easily.”

Some of the older male disciples, drawn by her beauty, began to call out from below.

At this point, seeing Chen Yan sprawled on the ground, Chen Xin intended to stop, but a voice sounded in her ear: “Keep going. Be careful—not too hard. Don’t kill her!”

Chen Xin hesitated, but seeing Chen Yan rise, attacked once more. Four Ice Arrows formed before her and, with a sharp whistle, pinned Chen Yan’s limbs, slamming her down again.

“Stop, Junior Sister! We are all fellow disciples. Aren’t you violating sect rules by going this far?”

“That’s enough—just concede!”

Wei Yuli and Wang Li now stepped forward, their Foundation Establishment aura suppressing the protesting disciples into silence.

Wei Yuli said coldly, “There are rules to these duels. Since Junior Sister Chen Yan hasn’t admitted defeat, and Junior Sister Chen Xin hasn’t endangered her life or caused grave harm, this is within the sect’s bounds. If you interfere, you’ll break the rules—want to visit the Hall of Enforcement?”

“No, we wouldn’t dare!”

Though some had been moved by her beauty, they kept their wits. Sensing something amiss, none dared speak up for Chen Yan—not with Wang Li, the grand elder’s disciple, at Wei Yuli’s side.

Watching Chen Yan tormented on the platform, Wei Yuli cast a malicious glance at Zhou Xuanhong, only to find his face calm, a faint smile lingering—as if he cared nothing for Chen Yan, watching only for amusement.

Wei Yuli, puzzled, sent a message to Wang Li, “Didn’t you say that boy was once engaged to this Chen Yan? He seems utterly unmoved.”

Wang Li was equally perplexed. “They were engaged, the families were close. I often saw them together in Luoshui City, strolling and laughing. How could he not react at all? He must be pretending. Push him harder—I refuse to believe he won’t crack!”

On the platform, Chen Yan’s breath was shallow, her limbs skewered by ice, unable to move. Her organs seemed displaced, and she suffered indescribable agony. But worst was the helplessness of being unable to voice her pain—a despair that consumed her.

She turned her head, glimpsing Zhou Xuanhong in the crowd. Hope flickered in her eyes, but seeing only his tranquil gaze, she fell into deeper despair.

Zhou Xuanhong’s indifference unsettled her; it also felt eerily familiar—just as she had once looked upon him, a beggar beneath the city of Luoshui.

Karma, inescapable and relentless.

Faced with Chen Yan’s silent plea, Zhou Xuanhong remained aloof—not out of vengeance, but because the more he showed distress, the more harm would befall her.

He said to the boy, “Let’s go. If I don’t eat soon, I’ll starve.”

The boy, too, showed no indignation, following Zhou Xuanhong from the arena with equal detachment, as if the tragedy unfolding on the platform was nothing more than a performance.

“Then starve, and you’ll stop pestering me for food.”

“Hey, don’t be so heartless!”

As Zhou Xuanhong’s figure disappeared into the distance, Chen Yan, lying on the platform, on the brink of death, shed a silent tear.