Watching Jiang Yao’s dejected figure disappear into the tunnel, Qin Lu exhaled a long, heavy breath and slumped back into his chair.

The herd had been culled. Of the dozens who started in this bracket, only ten fighters remained in the preparation area. The raucous energy of the early rounds had evaporated, replaced by a heavy, meditative silence. Each survivor sat isolated, conserving their strength.

The sycophantic group of loose cultivators that had surrounded Qin Lu earlier was gone—all eliminated. He was the last one standing.

Qin Lu scanned the remaining competitors. It was a grim realization: aside from himself, only two other loose cultivators had survived. The other seven were all sect disciples, their equipment and bearing vastly superior to the rabble.

In the corner sat Yang Zhen, “The Mad Dog.” He meditated with his legs crossed, eyes closed, radiating a palpable aura of arrogance. In the previous round, Yang Zhen hadn’t even broken a sweat, crushing his opponent with just a few casual strikes.

Qin Lu’s eyes narrowed. His energy signature is dense. He’s significantly stronger than Gu Can.

If they crossed swords, Qin Lu wasn’t certain he could maintain his “weakling” disguise and still win.

His thoughts drifted back to his own recent performance. A cold knot of shame tightened in his gut.

I let Jiang Yao push me to the brink. I was reckless.

When did I become so complacent?

The old adage echoed in his mind: Even a lion uses its full strength to catch a rabbit. Yet, faced with a cultivator of lower realm, he had been dismissive. He had played with his food and nearly choked on it.

My mindset has drifted. If I don’t fix this, I’m going to get myself killed.

Before he could spiral further into self-reflection, a booming voice commanded the arena’s attention.

High above the crater, the Wuji Sect host hovered on a flying artifact.

“Attention! The second round has concluded. As night has fallen, we will pause for a recess. The third round will commence at precisely 9 PM!”

The announcement, amplified by spiritual energy, rolled over the crowd like thunder.

The spectators rose in a synchronized wave. After hours of watching bloodshed, the audience was starving. It was time to hunt for dinner.

Qin Lu stood to leave, but before he could reach the exit, a familiar trio approached him.

Cao Yunxi led the way, his face beaming. He had been eliminated in the second round by a Ninth Layer sect disciple—an expected loss—but he didn’t seem bothered.

“Big Brother! You were amazing!” Cao Mo, the little fatty, bounced forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Trusting you was the best investment ever! I made a killing!”

Smack!

Cao Yunxi slapped the back of his son’s head.

“You little rascal, no sense of seniority! I treat Brother Qin as a peer, and you call him ‘Big Brother’? Are you trying to be my brother too? Call him Uncle!”

“Ouch…” Cao Mo rubbed his head, putting on a tragic face. “Uncle Qin…”

Qin Lu laughed, waving off the formality. “It’s just a title, don’t worry about it. What’s this about winning money?”

“Come, let’s talk while we walk,” Cao Yunxi said, gesturing toward the exit.

“You can place bets in the stands?” Qin Lu asked as they merged with the exiting crowd.

“Aye,” Cao Yunxi nodded. “Several major gambling houses set up onsite bookie stations today. When Mo said he won money, he meant he bet on you to beat Old Ghost Jiang.”

“Ah, right.” Qin Lu recalled the invitation from the Jishan Store a few days prior.

He had ignored it on principle—if you quit gambling, you quit for good—and the thought hadn’t crossed his mind since. He was surprised the gambling houses were efficient enough to run live betting during the matches.

“What were my odds?” Qin Lu asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“You’re Eighth Layer, Jiang was Seventh. You were the favorite, so the payout wasn’t huge. Ten pays five, right, Mo?”

“Exactly!” Cao Mo grinned, flashing a pouch of Spirit Stones. “I bet fifty stones and made a net profit of twenty-five!”

“Fifty Spirit Stones?” Qin Lu stopped walking, staring at the boy. “Since when do you have that kind of capital?”

“Hehe! It’s my hard-earned money!” Cao Mo puffed out his chest. “I’ve been stockpiling my talismans for months. I knew the tournament would bring a huge influx of customers, so I sold everything right before the opening ceremony. The market was hot! I made dozens of stones easily.”

Qin Lu gave the boy an appreciative thumbs-up. “Smart kid. You’ve got a head for business.”

As they chatted, the group exited the crater and stepped into the outer wilderness.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, but the plain was not dark. It was ablaze.

Thousands of lanterns and magical lights floated in the air, turning the rugged landscape into a sea of stars. It looked less like a cultivation gathering and more like a grand lantern festival.

The air was thick with the mouth-watering scents of roasted meat, spices, and steam.

“Tsk tsk,” Qin Lu marveled. “It’s a massive food court.”

“Brother Qin, shall we grab a bite?” Cao Yunxi suggested.

“Lead the way.”

They waded into the throng. The path was lined with makeshift stalls selling everything imaginable: wontons, hand-pulled noodles, soup dumplings, sesame cakes, steamed buns, and nut-cakes.

Behind each stall stood a loose cultivator in shabby, patched robes, shouting themselves hoarse to attract the passing cultivators. It was a stark reminder of the class divide; while the sect disciples dined in luxury villas, the loose cultivators hustled for copper coins and Spirit Sand in the dirt.

The atmosphere was intoxicatingly human—full of smoke, fire, and noise.

As they browsed, Qin Lu’s gaze snagged on a familiar figure.

At a modest stall a few yards away, a young girl was busy kneading dough. She was about seventeen, radiating youthful vitality, with dewy skin that glowed under the lantern light.

Qin Lu recognized her from his dinner at the Yueman Tower. She was the friend of Zhang Meng, the waitress.

Ning Ning, if I recall correctly.

I heard her father ran a food stall. This must be it.

Qin Lu paused, pointing toward the stall. “Let’s eat there. I know the owner.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cao Yunxi agreed immediately.

The four of them navigated through the press of bodies, heading toward the wooden sign that read: Big River Wonton.