The sect’s minor competition was a test of points. Upon entering the illusionary formation, participants were tasked with hunting phantom beasts to climb the rankings. The higher the level of the beast, the more points it yielded.

Of course, the trial also permitted disciples to seize points from one another. Each participant carried a jade slip that tracked their tally. In the face of a lethal threat, they could crush the slip to teleport to safety, though doing so reset their accumulated score to zero.

Consequently, the intensity of the competition was far more savage than most had imagined.

Nearby, Zhou Ziling stood surrounded by his followers. Having already secured a master and significant backing within the sect, he watched the proceedings with an unreadable expression. His gaze drifted toward Shen Xian.

“Senior Brother Zhou, everything is arranged,” a trusted subordinate whispered into his ear.

Zhou Ziling gave a slight, imperceptible nod. His eyes shifted to the disciples heading toward the teleportation formation, eventually settling on Wang Yu.

Hmph. If you want to be a lapdog for a noble family, you’d better have the bite to match, he sneered inwardly.

The competition officially commenced. Above the Illusory Sword Platform, the ancient bronze mirror erupted with a blinding golden radiance.

Seventy-two black iron sword pillars trembled in unison. Runes peeled away from their surfaces, intertwining in the air to form a vast golden net that blotted out the sky. At the presiding elder’s command, the participating disciples vanished into the shimmering curtain of light.

At the center of the high platform, a massive water mirror floated in mid-air, dividing the scenes from the illusionary realm into dozens of flickering frames.

Shen Xian leaned back casually in the spectator seats, his gaze fixed on one particular corner of the mirror. Wang Yu was sprinting through a bamboo forest, wooden sword in hand. The jade slip at his waist glowed faintly, the number having already jumped from zero to thirty-seven.

With a cultivation level approaching the half-step Golden Core Realm, Wang Yu was like a fish in water. Shen Xian realized his jar of Drunken Immortal Wine was likely as good as gone.

But it didn’t matter. Having a powerful subordinate was an asset, especially once Wang Yu’s improved status helped clear away the sect’s trivial troubles.

However, just as Shen Xian thought Wang Yu had victory in his grasp, a crisis emerged.

Inside the illusionary realm, within a dark gorge, Wang Yu knelt on one knee. His wooden sword was buried deep in the earth, serving as a crutch for his teetering body. Blood trickled from his forehead, staining his cyan Daoist robes.

Five disciples from Dan Peak had him encircled. At their head stood Li Yan.

“Wang Yu, didn’t you say you’d show me what you’re made of?” Li Yan sneered, stepping forward as his Crimson Flame Fan flickered with tongues of fire. “A dignified Foundation Establishment Realm cultivator acknowledging a Qi Refining Realm trash as his master? You’re a disgrace to all cultivators!”

Wang Yu spat a mouthful of bloody foam, his lips curling into a mocking arc. “Li Yan… trash like you isn’t even worthy of tying my Young Master’s shoes.”

He felt no shame. Shen Xian’s identity was extraordinary; the man was destined for a meteoric rise. To Wang Yu, these people were simply blinded by jealousy.

“Seeking death!” Li Yan roared. With a fierce swing of his fan, three fiery serpents lunged forward.

Wang Yu barely managed to raise his sword. The spirit patterns on the wood flashed frantically, but the impact sent him reeling backward into a cliff wall.

Though his half-step Golden Core cultivation was formidable, facing Li Yan—who sat at the same level—alongside four other Foundation Establishment experts was a losing battle.

Wang Yu grunted as the number on his jade slip turned a glaring, ominous red. He could crush it at any moment to escape.

“Look at your sorry state!” an inner sect disciple mocked. “You’ve thrown away your dignity just to curry favor with a noble scion!”

Wang Yu struggled to his feet and let out a low, raspy chuckle. The sound sent an inexplicable chill down the spines of his attackers.

“How could fools like you possibly understand my mind?” Wang Yu’s eyes flashed with a crazed glint.

“Arrogant!” Li Yan screamed. He raised his Crimson Flame Fan high. “Since you’re so stubbornly deluded, die for your foolish loyalty!”

Scorching flames transformed into a giant palm that slammed down toward Wang Yu.

At the precipice of death, Wang Yu pulled a crumpled talisman from his chest. It ignited with an eerie blue flame, instantly engulfing his figure.

Boom!

The fiery palm struck empty air, leaving a charred pit in the ground.

“Where is he?!” Li Yan shouted, frantically scanning the area.

Suddenly, a cyan light erupted from the shadows of the cliff. Wang Yu appeared like a ghost behind a Dan Peak disciple, his wooden sword piercing the man’s back with surgical precision.

“Ah!”

The disciple screamed as his jade slip shattered automatically. His figure was teleported out of the realm, his points transferring instantly to Wang Yu.

“First one,” Wang Yu croaked, his voice terrifyingly hoarse. He was covered in blood, yet he stood straight, pointing his sword at the remaining four. “You’ll pay back the third-grade spirit talisman I just wasted with your own points.”

His remnant spiritual power surged into the wooden sword. The seven spirit patterns twisted like living creatures, emitting a piercing hum.

“Green Bamboo Seven Transformations—Mutual Destruction!”

Spiderweb cracks appeared on the wooden sword’s surface. Li Yan and the others paled, hurriedly summoning defensive artifacts and retreating. They assumed Wang Yu was opting for a suicidal explosion.

Boom!

A deafening blast shook the gorge as wooden fragments transformed into a storm of cyan light, each shard carrying lethal sword energy. Smoke and dust blotted out the sun.

“Form a defensive formation!” Li Yan shouted, frantically waving his fan to create a wall of fire.

However, the fatal follow-up never arrived. When the dust settled, the group was astonished to find that Wang Yu’s original position was empty.

“Dammit! We’ve been tricked!” Li Yan realized, his face twisting in fury.

A hundred yards away, a blood-stained figure staggered toward the dense forest. Wang Yu clutched a burning Swift Movement Talisman, a cold smile on his face.

“Li Yan…” his hoarse voice drifted on the wind. “Wang shall remember this ‘gift’ of yours.”

Before the words could fade, he vanished into the lush bamboo depths.

In the spectator seats, Shen Xian sat quietly, his fingertips tapping the armrest. His expression remained calm, but his deep eyes reflected the image of Wang Yu’s frenzied, retreating figure.

“This guy…” he murmured softly, his thoughts unreadable.