"I hope Brother Xiao Fan is alright…" Fatty Li muttered under his breath.

  Ning glanced sideways at him.

  He had returned late after placing the bets, and his original seat had already been taken. In the end, Fatty Li had dragged him over and plopped him down beside him without ceremony.

  At the moment, Fatty Li looked genuinely anxious. His brows were tightly knit, eyes locked onto the arena, lips moving faintly as if he were praying under his breath.

  Then he pulled out a BLT.

  Ning blinked.

  The sandwich was already in Fatty Li's mouth.

  Ning blinked again.

  A second BLT had appeared in Fatty Li's hand, freshly unwrapped, while the first one was… gone.

  "…What?" Ning murmured.

  Before he could process it, the same thing happened again. And again.

  Fatty Li ate with terrifying efficiency. There was no wasted motion, just a smooth transition from hand to mouth to disappearance.

  At this point, Ning was fairly certain this qualified as a supernatural ability.

  'If there were a novel about this world', Ning thought, 'Fatty Li would definitely be some kind of gag character.'

  After all, his movement speed clearly changed when food was involved.

  "Brother Ning?" Fatty Li suddenly asked, pausing mid-bite. "Is something wrong?"

  Ning coughed lightly. "Nothing. I was just… wondering if you can really eat all that."

  Xin Fu had bought enough food to stock a stall for the day and Fatty Li had bought them all.

  "This much?" Fatty Li said proudly. "It's nothing."

  He took another bite.

  "When I'm worried," he continued between chews, "I eat to cope. So don't worry, I'll definitely finish it."

  Ning nodded slowly. "I see."

  He watched as Fatty Li demonstrated exactly what he meant.

  While chewing, Fatty Li's face was filled with pure bliss. The moment he swallowed, his expression twisted back into concern.

  “Brother Xiao Fan should be alright.” he said quietly, gaze fixed on the arena.

  Another bite.

  Bliss returned.

  Ning observed in silence as Fatty Li cycled seamlessly between deep anxiety and absolute culinary enlightenment.

  Worry. Chew. Bliss. Swallow. Worry.

  Over and over again, with mechanical precision.

  At this point, Ning wasn't sure which was more impressive: Fatty Li's eating speed, or his ability to regulate his emotions through sandwiches.

  As expected, anyone who could stick close to a protagonist was bound to be somewhat weird like Sun Jing and Fatty Li.

  Of course, Ning never once considered the possibility that he might also be weird.

  ...

  In the arena, the formation barrier activated once again.

  Ten figures stood scattered across the stone platform. For a brief, almost theatrical moment, no one moved.

  Unlike Ning’s own match, the contestants here were clearly out of sync. The pressure was obvious, being paired with a high-ranking opponent like Xiao Hong, who sat firmly in the top four, weighed heavily on everyone present.

  Then, the silence broke.

  Xiao Hong stood near the center, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping across the others with open contempt.

  “I’ll make this simple,” he said lazily. “Anyone who interferes between me and Xiao Fan, leave now. Otherwise, don’t blame me if you’re carried out.”

  His voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried cleanly across the arena.

  “As expected of Xiao Fan’s recurring enemy. Certified young master behavior.” Ning couldn't help but think so. After all, antagonizing a horde of enemies you were going to face soon never was a good idea.

  Around him, the other contestants were equally stunned. At that moment, even the slowest among them realized it, Xiao Fan and Xiao Hong definitely had a feud.

  Xiao Fan didn’t respond. He stood quietly, but his aura sharpened, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. Today, he clearly intended to settle this ill-fated rivalry once and for all.

  The chime rang.

  The battle began.

  Chaos erupted instantly, just as Ning had expected.

  Two disciples rushed at each other without hesitation, blades flashing wildly. Another leapt backward, hurriedly forming hand seals, panic written all over his face. Qi techniques flew in every direction.

  Xiao Hong didn’t even spare them a glance. He stepped forward and struck.

  A finger technique shot out, beams of condensed qi ripping through the battlefield and disrupting incoming attacks. One charging disciple was hit head-on. His hastily raised defense collapsed instantly, and he was sent flying into the barrier with a dull thud, sliding down unconscious.

  “Hmph. That’s what you get for not listening,” Xiao Hong sneered.

  On the opposite side of the arena, Xiao Fan moved.

  Unlike most of the others, he didn’t charge forward recklessly, nor did he retreat blindly. He circled the edges of the chaos, letting attacks brush past him by the narrowest margins. His movements were sharp, always hitting where they least expect.

  In Ning’s experience, that was exactly what made them effective.

  Someone lunged at Xiao Fan from behind.

  Xiao Fan pivoted smoothly, caught the man’s wrist mid-swing, stepped in, borrowed his momentum, and drove a short elbow into his chest.

  Crack.

  The disciple crumpled without ceremony.

  'Still as monstrous as ever', Ning noted.

  Xiao Fan’s spiritual root might be abysmal, but his combat instincts and experience were clearly a cut above the rest. His understanding of battlefield flow, timing, positioning, restraint, was something most cultivators never truly grasped.

  Xiao Fan didn’t linger. He repositioned immediately, weaving through the battlefield, subtly guiding opponents into each other’s paths. When he struck, it was always decisive, no unnecessary flair, no grandstanding.

  Meanwhile, Xiao Hong was growing visibly irritated.

  Another disciple attempted a wide-area technique, likely hoping to control the battlefield and force everyone back.

  Xiao Hong flicked a finger.

  A thin stream of qi pierced straight through the half-formed technique, dispersing it instantly before slamming into the cultivator’s shoulder. The man cried out and fell.

  The numbers dropped rapidly.

  Some were eliminated by Xiao Hong’s overwhelming power. Others fell to stray techniques, or were quietly taken out by Xiao Fan’s precise interventions.

  For a brief moment, Ning almost felt sorry for them.

  As far as he knew, this was one of those classic character-building moments for Xiao Fan. Everyone else here was little more than background, fodder meant to sharpen the protagonist’s blade. Most of them were only at the third stage of Qi Condensation, after all.

  They were here to make the climax shine.

  Soon, only three remained.

  The last disciple stood frozen between Xiao Hong and Xiao Fan, face pale, sweat dripping down his chin. He hesitated, caught between retreating and gambling on one desperate move.

  He was clearly between a rock and hard place. Ning felt sorry for the guy.

  Xiao Hong didn’t even turn fully toward him.

  He extended a finger and released a compressed burst of qi.

  The disciple collapsed instantly.

  Silence fell.

  Only two figures remained.

  Xiao Hong rolled his shoulders and finally turned his full attention to Xiao Fan, lips curling into a cruel smile. “So it’s just us.”

  Xiao Fan said nothing. He adjusted his stance slightly, lowering his center of gravity.

  Xiao Hong’s smile widened. “You should feel honored. A piece of trash like you gets to face me directly.” He raised his hand. “I’ll end this quickly.”

  'There it is', Ning thought. 'Mandatory trash talk before the final clash.'

  Xiao Hong attacked first.

  He closed the distance in a flash, movements sharp and domineering. His strikes came like a storm, heavy, relentless, each blow carrying the oppressive weight of superior cultivation. Every clash sent dull tremors through the stone platform, faint cracks spreading beneath Xiao Fan’s feet.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Xiao Fan met him head-on.

  His arms crossed, palms shifting, redirecting force where he could. He didn’t try to overpower Xiao Hong. Instead, he guided the strikes aside at the last moment, slipping through narrow gaps. Even so, the disparity was obvious. Each collision left his forearms buzzing with numbness, his breathing growing heavier.

  Xiao Hong grinned. “Is this all you’ve got?”

  He pressed harder.

  A sweeping kick forced Xiao Fan back. A downward palm strike followed immediately, smashing into the ground where Xiao Fan had just stood. Stone shattered, fragments flying.

  Xiao Fan twisted aside and countered with a short, sharp punch aimed at Xiao Hong’s ribs.

  Xiao Hong blocked, but his brow furrowed slightly.

  The impact carried more force than he’d expected.

  They separated for a heartbeat, then collided again.

  Xiao Hong’s attacks were broad and crushing, his movements grand and domineering, every technique backed by raw power. Xiao Fan’s style, in contrast, was tight and efficient, short steps, compact strikes, precise angles. He yielded ground when necessary, then stole it back inch by inch.

  Ning’s eyes narrowed.

  He’s adapting.

  Xiao Fan’s footwork grew lighter. His breathing steadied. Where he had once barely deflected blows, he now redirected them cleanly, wasting less strength. Xiao Hong, meanwhile, began to frown.

  “You little!” Xiao Hong snapped, launching another flurry of strikes.

  This time, Xiao Fan slipped inside the arc of his swing. His elbow shot forward, grazing Xiao Hong’s shoulder.

  It wasn’t a heavy hit.

  But it landed.

  Xiao Hong staggered back several steps.

  The crowd stirred at the unexpected turn.

  Xiao Hong’s expression darkened.

  “I don’t know how you reached the fifth stage of Qi Condensation so quickly,” he sneered, “but today, you will lose. I’ll show you the power of Xiao clan’s Earth-grade martial art, something trash like you could never learn!”

  With a shout, he raised his hand and pointed downward.

  “Crushing Stone Finger!”

  Qi surged violently, condensing at his fingertip. The air warped under the pressure, and fine cracks spread across the arena floor.

  Ning leaned forward slightly.

  This was the first time he would witness the true might of an Earth-grade martial art.

  From what he had read, the hierarchy of martial arts was clear, at least in theory.

  Mortal-grade techniques were the simplest, built around a single core move refined endlessly. At Great Accomplishment, that move might undergo a qualitative change, becoming a powerful finisher, but it would quickly fall behind as cultivation increased.

  Spirit-grade martial arts were a step above. They contained complete sets, openings, transitions, finishers, sometimes even movement or defense. They emphasized flow and adaptability, but they still had a ceiling.

  Then came Earth-grade martial arts.

  This was where things truly changed.

  Earth-grade techniques introduced intent.

  They could be practiced at Qi Condensation, yet they didn’t become obsolete as cultivation rose. Instead, they deepened. The same move, used by different cultivators, or even by the same cultivator at different stages, could display entirely different power.

  At Great Accomplishment, an Earth-grade martial art allowed its user to grasp a rudimentary martial intent.

  That was why such techniques were often clan inheritances. They could accompany a cultivator for an entire realm, sometimes even longer.

  As for Heaven-grade martial arts…

  Ning had only read vague descriptions.

  Unlike Earth-grade techniques, which emphasized understanding and intent, Heaven-grade martial arts were said to grow directly alongside cultivation. Their frameworks were so vast they seemed almost alive. At Qi Condensation, they might appear unremarkable. At higher realms, the same technique could shake mountains.

  With all this in mind, Ning’s curiosity burned.

  After all, he himself was still relying on mortal-grade martial arts.

  And now, he was about to witness the difference firsthand.

  The attack shot toward Xiao Fan like a falling mountain, oppressive and unavoidable.

  Xiao Fan didn’t retreat.

  Ning raised an eyebrow. He had wanted to see how the protagonist would deal with an Earth-grade martial art, if only as a reference.

  With Ning’s current cultivation combined with his body training, he could already threaten a sixth-stage cultivator. What truly concerned him wasn’t raw power, but the gap in martial arts.

  Then, he saw something unexpected.

  Instead of retreating, Xiao Fan stepped forward.

  His stance shifted.

  His breathing slowed.

  The chaos of the arena seemed to contract, as if the world itself were focusing on that single moment. Qi surged from deep within him, not explosively, but tightly restrained, compressed by sheer will.

  His fist drew back.

  “Heaven-Shattering Fist.”

  There was no dazzling light. No dramatic eruption of aura.

  It was just a punch.

  The two techniques collided.

  For a heartbeat, the world fell silent.

  Then, Boom!

  A violent shockwave tore outward. The stone platform shattered beneath them, cracks racing like lightning across the arena as dust and debris were hurled skyward.

  Xiao Hong’s pupils shrank.

  “How is this possible?!” he roared, veins bulging along his neck. “That’s an Earth-grade technique! After I took your position in the clan, where could you possibly have learned another one?!”

  His voice twisted with disbelief and fury.

  “Still, you’re just trash!” Xiao Hong snarled. “Your cultivation is lower than mine! You will lose!”

  The Crushing Stone Finger trembled as its power surged violently, cracks spreading across the arena floor under its pressure.

  Xiao Fan’s arm shook.

  Ning could see it clearly now.

  Xiao Fan was being overwhelmed.

  The difference in cultivation was real. Xiao Hong’s technique pressed down like a collapsing mountain, forcing Xiao Fan’s qi to strain under unbearable weight. Muscles tightened. Veins bulged. Blood rushed violently through his arm.

  For a moment, it looked as though his fist would break.

  Xiao Fan grit his teeth.

  “So what if your cultivation is higher?” he shouted hoarsely. “So what if you took my position?!”

  His eyes burned.

  “I’ve fought my way up from nothing!” he roared. “Every step I’ve taken, I earned myself!”

  His qi surged.

  The Heaven-Shattering Fist trembled, then stabilized.

  Ning’s eyes widened slightly.

  He’s refining it on the spot…

  Xiao Fan took another step forward, heels grinding against the shattered stone.

  “I won’t lose here!” he shouted. “Not to you!”

  The fist moved.

  Cracks spread across the Crushing Stone Finger, fracturing the condensed qi like shattered glass.

  Xiao Hong’s expression finally changed, from arrogance to panic.

  “No!”

  The finger technique collapsed.

  The backlash slammed into Xiao Hong’s arm, bones cracking audibly as the remaining force smashed into his chest.

  The punch landed.

  Xiao Hong’s body was hurled backward like a broken doll. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he crashed into the formation barrier. The barrier rippled violently as he rebounded once, then slid down limply, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

  Silence fell.

  Dust drifted slowly through the air.

  Xiao Fan stood at the center of the ruined arena, chest heaving, fist still extended, knuckles trembling faintly.

  Meanwhile, Ning was watching all this like a wife who had just seen her husband run into a wall with an erection only to break his nose first. Extremely disappointing but not surprising.

  He had wanted to learn how Xiao Fan would overcome an Earth-grade technique through finesse or insight. Instead, Xiao Fan had simply crushed it with an even stronger attack, something Ning himself couldn’t replicate.

  The outcome of the fight had never really been in doubt. All the elements had favored Xiao Fan. The only true surprise was the martial art he had used.

  “How did Xiao Fan defeat Xiao Hong?!”

  The crowd erupted again.

  “What technique was that?!”

  “That martial art is one of the five incomplete Earth-rank techniques! It’s so fragmented that everyone who practiced it suffered qi deviation. How did Xiao Fan master it?!”

  Ning couldn’t help but think that these people should apply for jobs at the Martial Pavilion.

  Then a strange thought crossed his mind.

  'Wait… doesn’t this mean I understood it too? I recognized the technique the moment it was used.'

  He quickly shook the thought away.

  “Brother Xiao Fan really won!” Fatty Li, who had been glued to the arena, suddenly grabbed Ning in excitement and pulled him into a crushing hug.

  “F-Fatty Li, too strong!” Ning struggled. Even with his body training, it was hard to pry this guy off. Somethign was clearly wrong with this guys physique.

  “O-oh, sorry!” Fatty Li said sheepishly, finally letting go.

  Ning sighed, closed his eyes, and let the noise of the arena wash over him.

  [Panel]

  Name: Ji Ning

  Spiritual Root: Mid-grade Spiritual Root

  Attributes: Five Elemental Attributes

  Talent: Extreme Space-Time Sensitivity

  Realm: 5th Stage of Qi Condensation (1599/1600), Marrow Refining (2/600)

  Cultivation Methods: Pure Qi Sutra (3rd Floor), Jade Skin and Ice Meridians (3rd Level)

  Martial Arts: Bone Forging Fist (Great Accomplishment: 12/400), Shadow Steps (Great Accomplishment: 390/400), Turtle Breathing (Great Accomplishment: 395/400), Pure Eyes (Starting: 5/300), Falling Leaf Spear Technique (Penetration), Spiral Arrow

  Spells: Small Cloud Rain Technique (Mastery), Soil Refining Technique (Great Accomplishment: 280/400), Scorching Purge (Great Accomplishment: 12/400), Golden Finger (Minor Accomplishment: 89/200), Hidden Ice Mist (Great Accomplishment: 7/400) , Withering and Fluorishing Technique (Great Accomplishment: 39/400), Fireball(Minor Accomplishment: 4/200)]

  'The only way I can get close to the top three is by reaching the sixth stage.' Ning thought. At his current level, getting hit by a earth grade martial art meant game over.

  Over the past year, Ning had pushed his cultivation relentlessly, relying on flawless pills and a mid-grade Spirit Gathering Array to advance at an astonishing pace.

  Naturally, the resources consumed were enormous. Even with his multiple sources of income, he was barely able to sustain himself. But it was worth it.

  He was very close to the sixth stage.

  What held him back now was digestion.

  To break through, Ning had consumed one of his few remaining stalks of Dragon Qi Grass. The surge of energy had been immense, but it had also brought problems. His cultivation had increased too quickly, leaving his foundation slightly unstable and forming a minor bottleneck.

  Fortunately, Ning understood exactly what was happening.

  The solution was simple in theory: stabilize the energy within his body and allow it to fully integrate.

  Under normal circumstances, he would have entered seclusion for a week or two. When he emerged, he would naturally be a sixth-stage Qi Condensation cultivator.

  But time was no longer a luxury he possessed.

  There were only a few ways to refine such excess energy quickly.

  One of them was battle.

  By fighting under pressure, just like Xiao Fan was doing now, he could force his cultivation to harmonize, pushing past the bottleneck in the midst of conflict.

  Ning narrowed his eyes.

  “If that’s the case,” he muttered, “then I need to prepare for prolonged combat.”

  ...

  Ning casually savored the next couple of matches, mainly to observe the strengths and weaknesses of his potential opponents. At the same time, he made sure to show his support for the people in his association. After all, connections always required constant maintainence even if it was just symbolic.

  It was only when his communication talisman lit up that he finally left the arena.

  He had just turned into a quieter corridor when he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a stone pillar.

  Sun Jing.

  His robes were slightly disheveled, and there was a faint smear of dried blood on one sleeve, but his eyes were still bright.

  “Congratulations on your win,” Sun Jing said first, breaking the silence.

  Ning nodded. “Yeah.” After a pause, he added more carefully, “You fought well too.”

  Sun Jing laughed. “Maybe, but I still lost.”

  He caught the worry flickering across Ning’s face and immediately waved it off. “Relax. I never expected to place very high in the first place. I know my own strength.”

  Then his chest puffed out a little. “Besides, unlike most people, I lost with style.”

  Ning stared at him. “…That’s not a thing.”

  “It is if you don’t cry about it,” Sun Jing replied easily, waving a hand as if the matter were already settled. “Plus, it wasn’t all bad.”

  Ning raised a brow. “Oh?”

  “At least my handsome face didn’t get punched by Qiu Han,” Sun Jing said proudly, clearly determined to focus on the positives.

  “Qiu Han,” Ning repeated. The top-ranked newcomer, the one most people believed had the highest chance of winning the entire tournament.

  “Yeah. That guy’s a beast,” Sun Jing said seriously. “No wasted movements at all. You know those people who look like they’re barely trying, but somehow you’re the one getting pushed around?” He clicked his tongue. “That’s him.”

  His smile faded slightly, turning more serious, though his tone stayed light. “Be careful if you run into him. He’s strong.”

  Ning nodded slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Sun Jing clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, enough about me getting bullied. Your weapon’s finally here.”

  “Oh?” Ning’s interest was immediately piqued. “Show me.”

  Sun Jing tapped his spatial pouch and pulled out a long, cloth-wrapped object. With an entirely unnecessary flourish, he unwrapped it.

  A spear emerged.

  The shaft was a deep, dark color, almost black, with faint grain-lines that looked like flowing water trapped in wood. The spearhead was narrow and clean, its edges gleaming coldly, the kind of sharp that made your fingers itch just from looking at it. Even without channeling qi into it, Ning could feel its bite.

  Ning’s expression tightened slightly. “This is excellent.”

  “Right?” Sun Jing said, clearly pleased. “The tip’s forged with cold-iron sand, so it cuts through qi coatings better than normal steel. And just like you asked, we added a bit of profound ice during the forging.”

  Ning took the spear, feeling its weight settle naturally into his palm.

  It felt… perfect.

  Sun Jing crossed his arms, eyes bright. “Go on. Give it a name.”

  Ning blinked. “A name?”

  “Of course,” Sun Jing said seriously. “You can’t just stab people with an unnamed spear. That’s disrespectful.”

  “That’s… not how respect works,” Ning spoke, speechless.

  Sun Jing ignored him. “If you don’t name it, it’ll feel underappreciated. Then it’ll start missing its targets on purpose.”

  Ning paused, then sighed. “You’re making things up.”

  At this point, he was sure that this guy was having a brain fart. As he thought, all the guys the protagonist associated with were weird in one way or another.

  “Am I?” Sun Jing leaned closer and whispered dramatically, “Are you really willing to gamble your spirit stones on that?”

  Ning’s lips twitched despite himself. He looked down at the spearhead again, thoughtful.

  “…Alright,” he said slowly. “Then let’s call it Friendship.”

  “Friendship?” Sun Jing blinked. Some say his thought process was hard to understand; these people have never met the guy beside him. He was even going to suggest a name if Ning hadn't picked one, something like Heavenly Saintly Dragon Piercer, which sounded domineering and awesome.

  “Yes,” Ning said with a smile. “I call my bow Love. So this spear will be Friendship.”

  Love and Friendship.

  Ning nodded to himself.

  Yes. Now he would fight with the power of love and friendship by his side.

  ...

  Thanks for reading~