Qin Lu sat in the preparation area, his expression grim.

The adrenaline from his duel with Han Ziyang had faded, replaced by a cold, creeping realization. He didn’t know when it had started, but he had changed.

He had become arrogant.

Somewhere along the line, confidence had mutated into conceit. He had abandoned his cardinal rule: plan first, act later. Instead, he had been operating on whim, treating opponents with lower cultivation bases as if they were insects unworthy of his attention.

That mindset had nearly cost him. During his fight with Jiang Yao, he had toyed with the man, only to be repeatedly cornered by a mere Seventh Layer cultivator. He had almost tripped over his own feet on the simplest of hurdles, looking dishevelled and foolish.

And it was all because he had let his success go to his head.

When did I become like this?

In the beginning, he had been a ghost—cautious, smiling, transparent. He navigated the dangers of the cultivation world by making sure no one noticed him.

But recently? He had been strutting through the Wuji Market with his chin held high, his sense of reverence for the world’s dangers eroding day by day. It was as if he believed that as long as he didn’t explicitly slap a Foundation Establishment Elder in the face, he was untouchable.

Was it after killing Wu Hao? After I broke through to the Seventh Layer? The street assassination? Or… was it because Zhang Meng left?

Qin Lu looked down at his palms. “These hands have taken over twenty lives,” he murmured. “Yet the terror and helplessness I felt after that first kill… it’s gone.”

He had become desensitized. Environment, after all, shaped the man.

Retracing his recent steps, the conclusion was inescapable. He had gotten carried away. The rapid surge in his power had inflated his ego like a balloon ready to burst.

If this were the Qin Lu of a few months ago, he never would have entered such a high-profile tournament. He wouldn’t have exposed his strength to the public eye.

He wouldn’t have gone hunting at East Head Ridge with the Cao family. He wouldn’t have teased Gu Yue to her face about being a “Mother Tiger,” much less felt that itch to test his sword against her. And he certainly wouldn’t have kicked Meng Chao across the arena in front of hundreds of spectators, creating a spectacle just to satisfy a moment of annoyance.

Every recent action had been born of a subconscious, reckless pride.

“This stops now,” Qin Lu thought, his jaw tightening. “A little strength has made me blind. If I keep this up, I’m digging my own grave.”

Safety lay in obscurity. Security lay in power—real power. Not this Qi Refining play-fighting.

I need to reach Foundation Establishment… no, the Golden Core realm. Only then can I truly relax.

I cannot remain a frog at the bottom of a well, staring up at a circle of sky and thinking I own the heavens.

He lifted his head, casting a surreptitious glance toward the VIP stands where the Foundation Establishment powerhouses sat. The mere sight of them made his chest tighten.

It was an indisputable fact: any one of those Elders could crush him with a thought. To them, he was nothing more than a slightly larger ant.

Qin Lu exhaled a long, heavy breath, forcing the swelling pride back down into the dark recesses of his mind. He recalibrated his mental state, locking it down.

The tournament’s popularity had exceeded his worst fears. It wasn’t just the Wuji Sect watching; every faction in the region had eyes on this arena.

“Participating was a mistake. It’s too loud.”

He shook his head, sinking into deep contemplation. Moments later, his eyes snapped open with renewed clarity.

He would withdraw.

There were too many monsters here. Fighting under the noses of Foundation Establishment experts was suicide; if he revealed too many of his trump cards—his perfect spellcasting, his talismans, his true sword intent—someone with ill intent would inevitably mark him.

Only by vanishing from the bracket could he return to the shadows.

Luckily, I stuck to basic swordplay for these three rounds. I haven’t used any high-level spells. I shouldn’t be on anyone’s radar yet.

He glanced around the waiting area. The herd had thinned dramatically. Of the thirty-eight cultivators in his block, only five remained.

“Hm? Why has it stopped?”

Qin Lu blinked, realizing the sounds of combat had ceased while he was lost in thought. A Wuji Sect steward stood atop the central platform, his voice amplified by spiritual energy as he addressed the crowd.

The day’s matches were over. The finals would commence tomorrow at the same time.

At the host’s command, the spectators and participants began to disperse. A few wealthy cultivators tossed artifacts into the air, stepping onto glowing swords or flying boats to streak away into the sky.

Qin Lu suppressed a smile. Perfect.

He didn’t even need to make up an excuse. If he simply didn’t show up tomorrow, it would be treated as an automatic forfeit. No awkward conversations, no need to throw a match and risk making it look fake.

Feeling a heavy weight lift from his shoulders, he stood and headed for the participant exit, walking with brisk purpose.

“Uncle Qin! Wait up!”

Qin Lu paused and turned. Lu Anchen was jogging toward him, grinning despite the grime on his face.

The young man was coming from the winner’s passage. That meant Lu Anchen had swept all three of his matches and secured a spot in the Top 10 for the Qi Refining Late Stage bracket.

Qin Lu had caught glimpses of Lu Anchen’s final bout. It had been dramatic. His opponent was Nie Feng—a neighbor from the old days, but also a disciple of the Wei Family. Given the blood feud between the Wei Family and Lu Anchen’s Xuanyang Sect, the fight had been vicious, fueled by sectarian hatred rather than sporting spirit.

Lu Anchen had won by a hair, though not without cost. His face was pale, and he cradled his arm.

“Uncle Qin, you were amazing out there!” Lu Anchen beamed, trying to act casual despite the pain. “You took down Han Ziyang like it was nothing!”

“I got lucky,” Qin Lu deflected. He nodded at the young man’s arm. “How’s the injury? That looked nasty.”

“Heh! It’s nothing!” Lu Anchen puffed out his chest. “I’ve wanted to smash that frozen block of wood for ages. The Wei Family are all scumbags. Beating him fair and square in the ring? Worth a little blood. I feel great!”

Qin Lu chuckled, though the sound was dry.

The conflict between the two Foundation Establishment factions—Xuanyang and Wei—had turned the local streets into a cold war zone. Even neighbors who had grown up together, like Nie Feng and Lu Anchen, were now bitter enemies.

“Speaking of which,” Lu Anchen said, looking around the dispersing crowd, “the sect disciples this year… they seem weaker than the last tournament. Three loose cultivators made it into the Top 10 of the Late Stage bracket. Usually, we’re lucky if one makes it.”

“The sects are probably in a transitional phase,” Qin Lu observed. “The crops are still green, and the yellow hasn’t ripened yet. I noticed some sects sent Seventh Layer disciples to fill their quotas. One group couldn’t even scrape together two Late Stage fighters.”

Under Wuji Sect rules, every vassal sect had six slots: two for Early, Middle, and Late stage Qi Refining respectively. With over twenty sects, that meant over a hundred sect disciples flooded the brackets.

But quantity clearly didn’t equal quality. Many were essentially fodder, their foundations shaky.

They walked out of the massive crater arena together, the noise of the crowd fading behind them.

“Big Brother! Over here!”

Several disciples in Xuanyang Sect robes were waving from a distance.

Lu Anchen turned to Qin Lu. “Uncle Qin, the brothers and I are going to grab some wine to celebrate. Want to come?”

“No, you go ahead,” Qin Lu waved him off immediately. “I’m tired. Going to head back and rest.”

“Alright then. See you later!”

The two parted ways.

Qin Lu walked home through the bustling streets, letting the evening breeze cool his face. The normalcy of the market was grounding, helping him settle his turbulent thoughts.

He reached his small courtyard and sat down, ready to meditate.

However, peace was not on the agenda. He had barely settled in when a knock echoed from the gate.

It was Lu Xian. And judging by the look on the older man’s face, he brought startling news.