The tournament narrowed.

  Forty-seven became twenty-four.

  Twenty-four became twelve.

  Chen Xi won his quarterfinal in twenty-one seconds against a cultivator from the Jade Serpent Clan who used a variant of the Coiling Python technique.

  The serpent constructs were more sophisticated than the first-round version — semi-autonomous, capable of independent targeting, and coated in a corrosive energy layer that dissolved anything they touched.

  Chen Xi identified the targeting algorithm (a simple proximity-seeking protocol), spoofed it by generating a decoy Qi signature three metres to his left, and hit the confused serpents with a cascade that reduced them to green mist.

  The crowd, now familiar with the lightning, cheered.

  Little Abacus had stationed himself at the eastern monitoring station with Su Yiran's grudging permission, and was tracking every match with the feverish attention of a boy living his best possible life.

  His notebook was now supplemented with a second notebook, purchased that morning, because the first was full.

  He had begun categorising techniques by what he called their "waste coefficient" — the ratio of total energy expenditure to combat-effective output.

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  "Average waste coefficient for the tournament: 94.7%," he reported to Chen Xi between rounds.

  "Your waste coefficient: 31.2%. After the lightning modification: 39.5%. You're still three times more efficient than the next most efficient fighter."

  "Who's the next most efficient?"

  "Liu Fang, actually. Before you blew up her wings. She was at 87.4%, which is excellent by tournament standards.

  The Petal Lady — her name is Wen Qing, by the way, you should probably use her name — is at 97.8% waste.

  She is, in energy terms, setting fire to spirit stones and throwing them at people."

  "She's also the favourite to win."

  "Because she looks like a goddess destroying an army with flowers. People don't see waste. They see beauty."

  "Those are the same thing," Chen Xi said, and immediately heard how that sounded, and added: "Thermodynamically."

  Little Abacus wrote something in his notebook. Chen Xi leaned over to see.

  The boy had written: *MC said beauty is waste. Thermodynamically. Is this what flirting sounds like for scientists?*

  "That's not—"

  "I'm documenting. For posterity."

  ---

  The semifinal bracket:

  Chen Xi versus Wen Qing (Hundred Petal Cascade).

  Li Wei versus a cultivator from the Northern Sword Pavilion.

  The crowd wanted Chen Xi versus Wen Qing. They wanted to see whether lightning could destroy flowers.

  The betting pools had shifted: Chen Xi was no longer a technical anomaly. He was the dark horse.

  The odds were 3:1 against him, which Little Abacus informed him was an excellent opportunity for anyone with inside information.

  "I'm not betting on myself."

  "I'm not suggesting you bet on yourself. I'm suggesting I bet on you, with your permission. And a small loan."

  "No."

  "The expected value—"

  "No."

  Chen Xi was not thinking about bets.

  He was thinking about the Arena's energy readings, which had been getting worse.