Wuji Market, The Government Office.

Inside the council hall, the air was stagnant, heavy with suppressed rage. A privacy formation hummed softly against the walls, sealing the conversation from prying ears.

Bam!

An elderly cultivator with a frost-white beard slammed his palm against the mahogany table, the force of the blow rattling the tea service.

“Look at this mess!” he roared, his voice trembling with fury. “A once-in-a-decade tournament, and you managed to humiliate the Patriarch into leaving early? The Wuji Sect has lost all face! Who the hell is going to answer for this?”

Under the weight of his glare, the gathered Foundation Establishment cultivators flinched, staring at their boots. Silence reigned.

“Elder Qin,” a square-faced man stood up abruptly, bowing low with cupped fists. “The fault is mine. I failed to investigate the Immortal Crane Sect properly. I never imagined they would bed down with the Dragon Tiger Sect.”

“Hmph.” Elder Qin sneered coldly. “You certainly won’t escape punishment. Save your excuses for the Patriarch when we return.”

“Yes, Elder.” The man nodded grimly and sank back into his chair, his face pale.

A female cultivator spoke up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “It makes no sense. For years, the Immortal Crane Sect has sat on the fence, maintaining strict neutrality. Why announce an alliance with the Dragon Tiger Sect now?”

“Exactly! We treated You Ye well, yet that ungrateful wolf bit the hand that fed him!”

“Elder Qin! We cannot let this slide. We must reclaim our honor!”

“Those Dragon Tiger bastards… they sow discord everywhere they go. One day, we’ll raze their ancestral hall to the ground!”

A single stone had cast a thousand ripples. The room erupted, the cultivators clamoring for blood. Years of friction and a mountain of corpses had long ago pushed the Wuji and Dragon Tiger Sects past the point of reconciliation. They were like two vipers in a pit—coils tightened, fangs dripping with venom, waiting in the dark for the other to blink.

In the corner, Li Qingdu sat in the shadows. His voice cut through the noise, gloomy and dripping with malice.

“Elder Qin. Yang Zhen and his master can’t have gone far. Why don’t we chase them down and slaughter them? We can wash our shame with their blood.”

“Shut your mouth!”

Elder Qin’s rebuke was instant. The room froze.

“Do you think we haven’t been humiliated enough?” the Elder demanded, glaring at Li Qingdu.

“How is killing them humiliating?” Li Qingdu shot back.

“Use your head! If we strike now, what will the world say? ‘ The Wuji Sect loses the title, so they murder the victors in the wilderness?’ It would destroy a reputation we’ve built over centuries. No one would dare enter our territory again!”

Li Qingdu’s jaw tightened. The words died in his throat.

He knew the Elder was right—killing them now was bad business—but his blood burned too hot for logic. He slammed his hand on the armrest, standing up with a scowl.

“So we do nothing? We let them shit on our heads? That is true humiliation!”

All eyes turned to Elder Qin. As the Law Enforcement Elder, his word was law, even if his cultivation was only at the early Foundation Establishment stage. He had trained half the people in this room.

“We cannot strike openly,” Elder Qin said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial low. “Their lives are cheap; the Sect’s foundation is not. However…” He looked at Li Qingdu. “What about the two shops they won?”

“They left immediately,” Li Qingdu replied. “They’ll send agents to claim the deeds later.”

“Hmph. Trying to plant a flag in my market?” Elder Qin’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t let them succeed. Seize the properties back. Use whatever excuse you need.”

A cruel light flickered in Li Qingdu’s eyes. “Rest assured, Elder. On my turf, their doors will never open.”

As the ‘Local Emperor’ of the Wuji Market, strangling a business was child’s play for him.

Elder Qin scanned the room one last time. “We return to the mountain to report to the Sect Leader. Qingdu, handle the cleanup here. Do not act rashly. Wait for orders.”

“Understood.”

“I hold you responsible for the aftermath.”

With that, Elder Qin strode out, the other Foundation Establishment cultivators falling into step behind him. They were efficient men; after a few final instructions, they took to the sky, flying west toward the sect’s mountain.

Li Qingdu stood in the doorway, watching them vanish into small black dots against the twilight. His expression was grave.

He returned to the empty hall and slumped into a high-backed chair, closing his eyes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His finger struck the wooden table, the rhythmic sound echoing in the silence.

Moments later, his eyes snapped open—hawk-like, predatory, and cold.

“Immortal Crane Sect. You Ye. Yang Zhen…” he hissed. “You dare insult the Wuji Sect? You will die.”

A scheme began to knit itself together in his mind. He mentally moved pieces around the board—shopkeepers, thugs, loose cultivators. Then, a specific face surfaced from the memories of the tournament.

Qin Lu.

The man meditating peacefully in his home had no idea that his name had crossed the mind of a psychopath. Despite Qin Lu’s best efforts to remain low-key, his performance in the arena—however theatrical—had left a mark.

And because of that mark, an unwarranted calamity was descending upon him.

Night claimed the sky, scattering stars like dust across the void.

The Wuji Market came alive with a different energy. The Joyous Lane overflowed with winners seeking pleasure, while taverns roared with the drunken boasts of gamblers who had backed the right horse. The losers hid in their hovels, sleeping off their shame.

The arena created a panorama of human life—joy for some, misery for others.

But the spectacle was over. The once-a-decade tournament had concluded.

For Qin Lu, however, the real work was just beginning. It was time to break through to the Ninth Level of Qi Refining.