Night fell like a heavy velvet curtain over the White Jade Market, but the Life-and-Death Arena was ablaze with spiritual light. It had been years since the platform had hosted a duel of this caliber. A boiling sea of cultivators poured in from every alleyway, their voices rising in a feverish din that echoed off the surrounding stone walls.

At the center of the square, the massive stone stage hummed with ancient power. A shimmering veil of translucent blue energy rippled across its surface—a containment shield designed to ensure that the inevitable devastation within would not incinerate the thousands of spectators.

The crowd stood in thick, suffocating layers, three circles deep and then three more. It seemed as if the entire market had abandoned their stalls and forges to witness a Foundation Establishment expert be humbled—or slaughtered.

In the shadowed preparation alcove to the right, Qin Lu sat in a silent, cross-legged trance. He was surrounded by a somber gathering: Gu Yue, the Lu couple, Cao Yunxi’s family, and young Lu Anchen. They hovered over him like mourners at a wake.

Having learned that Qin Lu had accepted this suicide mission to shield them from Kong Mengli’s vengeance, their faces were etched with a mix of profound gratitude and bone-deep dread. They knew the math of the cultivation world all too well.

The gap between Early and Mid-Foundation Establishment was not a mere step; it was a chasm. In the Qi Condensation stage, a clever fighter could bridge the gap between layers with a better sword or a dirty trick. But here, the difference was fundamental. If Qin Lu was a pond, Kong Mengli was a rushing river, her decade of seniority placing her leagues ahead in raw spiritual reserves.

“Old Qin,” Lu Xian whispered, his hand trembling as he reached toward his friend’s shoulder. “Isn’t this… isn’t this too much? You’re throwing your life away for us.”

Qin Lu opened his eyes, the irises clear and untroubled. “It is no trouble at all. Simply stay here and wait for the good news.”

“The risk is madness,” Cao Yunxi hissed, leaning in. “We can flee the market. We can vanish into the wilderness. Why trade your soul for a patch of dirt and a few vendors?”

“No,” Qin Lu said, his voice dropping to a somber, resonant tone. “I bear the weight of Xiao Yi’s death. That night at the Tao Mansion, the boy asked if she had backing. She gave him my name, and because I was a ‘nobody,’ he felt emboldened to take what he wanted.”

He stood up, his robes snapping in the wind. “If I had shown the world I was a Foundation Establishment master then, she would still be alive. Tonight, I am telling this market: I am here, and my people are not to be touched.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Most of them looked at him with pity, seeing a man blinded by guilt. Only the young Cao Mo seemed to vibrate with a different energy. The little fatty leaned in, his eyes gleaming with greed. “Uncle Qin… if you’re that certain, can I go put a few stones on the line?”

Qin Lu let out a sudden, booming laugh that broke the tension. “Go! Bet it all. I’ll make sure you’re the richest boy in the market by midnight.”

“You got it!” Cao Mo cheered, sprinting into the crowd before his father could clip his ear. Qin Lu turned back to the remaining, somber faces. “Don’t look so grim. You should be planning for tomorrow. You’re going to be very busy soon.”

Before they could ask what he meant, a roar went up from the stands. The time had come.

Qin Lu didn’t walk; he ascended. He drifted over the heads of the crowd, his beige robes fluttering like the wings of a crane, and landed with feather-light grace upon the stone stage. His black hair cascaded down his back, framing a face that was as resolute as tempered steel.

The air above the arena suddenly shrieked. A blur of black cut through the sky as Kong Mengli descended like a falling star, hitting the stage with a bone-jarring thud. She was dressed in tight, midnight-black leathers, her longsword already humming in her hand. Her eyes were twin pits of glacial hate.

“Fellow Daoists!” Market Master Jiang Ge appeared on the edge of the shield, his voice amplified by a golden talisman. “Tonight, I witness the duel of Kong Mengli and Qin Lu! Under the laws of the Life-and-Death Arena, injuries are fated and death is beyond dispute. Once the blood is spilled, the debt is paid!”

The crowd roared, the sound like a boiling pot overflowing. Jiang Ge looked at the two combatants, his expression momentarily softening with genuine concern. “You are both pillars of our strength. Remember… leave some room for mercy, that you might meet again in another life.”

Neither moved. Neither blinked. Qin Lu reached out and summoned the Seven Star Sword, its blade catching the moonlight with a murderous silver sheen. The atmosphere turned frigid as his killing intent began to leak out, heavy and suffocating.

Jiang Ge saw there was no room left for words. He swept his arm down with a violent finality.

“Let it begin!”