One by one, outer sect disciples continued to enter the arena, taking their places among the crowd of participants. Names were announced. Cultivation stages confirmed. Talents assessed with quick, dismissive glances. Yet despite the steady flow of new arrivals, the atmosphere no longer carried the same excitement as before.
Whispers filled the arena—but they were quieter now. Measured.
After witnessing the Bai siblings’ performances—especially Bai Shaoyue’s Heaven Grade technique—most displays felt pale in comparison. Expectations had shifted. Standards had risen. What had once impressed now barely earned a nod.
"So," Elder Ning Ruyan said lightly, her lips curving into a smile as she leaned back against her seat, "your daughter has finally chosen her Dao partner."
The words fell casually.
The effect was anything but.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the elders. Even those who had mastered emotional restraint could not fully conceal their surprise. Mei Lingling’s name carried weight—far more than most outer sect disciples realized. Her beauty alone was exceptional, refined and rare, the kind that left lasting impressions rather than fleeting desire.
Just like her mother.
At the Qi Condensation Realm, such natural charm was almost unheard of. Given time, she would inevitably become a figure capable of shaking sects—perhaps even the continent itself.
Many had already tried.
Inner sect disciples. Core disciples. Even the Holy Sons of major clans had shown interest, some openly, others through carefully placed intermediaries. Not merely because of Mei Lingling herself—but because of Mei Lingyao standing behind her. A master alchemist. A trusted confidant of the Sect Master. A woman whose resources and influence made others tread carefully.
No one had dared to push too far.
Her daughter, however, was another matter.
"Who is he?" Ning Ruyan asked again, her tone pleasant, almost curious.
She truly was in a good mood.
In truth, Ning Ruyan had never liked Mei Lingyao. There were only two reasons—but they were more than enough. One was her beauty. The other was her unshakable position beside the Sect Master, earned through alchemical brilliance rather than brute strength.
And now?
Now, Ning Ruyan, She had gained everything Mei Lingyao possessed—and more. A stunning, powerful disciple who drew admiration without effort. And yet, Mei Lingyao still had her biological daughter, whose chosen Dao partner was... nothing. A nameless outer sect disciple.
This time, Mei Lingyao did not respond immediately.
Her gaze remained fixed on the arena below, calm on the surface, though her thoughts were anything but. She, too, was curious. Curious enough to look forward to meeting him. Yet when she recalled his cultivation stage, hesitation crept in uninvited.
Perhaps... after seeing his alchemy talent, she thought quietly, I can decide.
The elders did not linger on the matter.
They all knew it was only a matter of time.
Sooner or later, they would witness the truth for themselves—and whatever unfolded would be far more entertaining without advance explanations.
Elsewhere—
Xuanyan Pov
After bringing every newly acquired technique to a basic, serviceable level, Xuanyan finally allowed himself to slow down.
He washed carefully, methodically, letting cold water run over his skin again and again, though it did little to cool the lingering heat beneath the surface. His body still hummed faintly, muscles tight with residual Qi, as though the Heaven-grade techniques had not merely been learned—but had left something behind. A subtle pressure settled deep in his bones, equal parts promise and warning, reminding him that power always demanded a price.
By the time he finished dressing, the sensation had not faded.
His thoughts drifted naturally, without urgency, settling on what had already been done.
I had already crossed a line with Sister Lingling.
The realization came without excitement, without guilt. It did not stir triumph or lust the way it once might have. Instead, it grounded him—like crossing a threshold that could never be uncrossed.
That was when the next question surfaced.
So... who next?
The answer followed almost immediately, as if it had been waiting.
The third disciple of the Sect Master.
Xuanyan paused mid-motion, fingers stilling against the fastening of his robes. A faint curve touched his lips—not a smile of desire, but calculation.
She wasn’t the strongest. She wasn’t the most celebrated. But she existed at the precise intersection of relevance and neglect—close enough to matter, distant enough to be overlooked. Influence brushed her shoulders without fully settling, and that made her exploitable. More importantly, Xuanyan already possessed something tied to her. Something that could be used. Leveraged. Bargained with.
Still...
He exhaled slowly.
That alone isn’t enough.
Support mattered. Not borrowed favor. Not fleeting protection. What he needed was something heavier—something that could erase consequences before they had time to form. The kind of backing that didn’t ask questions when blood was spilled or rules were bent.
And inevitably, his thoughts shifted again.
Mei Lingling’s mother.
The reaction was immediate and physical, his body responding before his mind could intervene. His body reacted before his thoughts could follow, drawing a quiet scoff from his lips. He had already tasted what should not have been tasted. Whatever line existed yesterday no longer mattered today.
So this is how it starts, he thought dryly.
Xuanyan understood himself well enough to recognize the danger—not in desire, but in pretending restraint after crossing a point of no return.
In this world, multiple partners were not taboo. They were expected. Power gathered power. Influence multiplied excess. Morality bent easily under cultivation logic.
Still—
"No," he muttered, shaking his head.
The motion small but final. It wasn’t refusal that settled in him—it was resolve. There was no hesitation left to argue with, no illusion of restraint worth entertaining. He couldn’t stop now, not after Lingling, not after crossing a line that had already erased the comfort of turning back.
Something sharpened behind his eyes as ambition, advantage, and appetite folded together without conflict. He didn’t bother lying to himself or dressing it up as affection or fate. This wasn’t love. It was hunger.
With that thought settled, Xuanyan stepped out of the cave and began moving toward the Outer Sect Tournament grounds.
He made no attempt to hide.
From the first step onto the mountain path, his Qi spilled outward deliberately—not recklessly, but with intent. His presence etched itself into the surrounding space, faint layers of Heaven-grade Qi imprinting themselves like invisible scars. Each step left behind something lingering, something that did not fade easily.
He wasn’t careless. He was confident—confident enough to leave traces behind without worrying who might notice.
Qi Condensation cultivators could barely grasp Divine Sense, let alone refine it. Even those rare few who brushed against its threshold lacked the clarity to perceive Heaven-grade imprints properly.
They would feel it—not as understanding, but as unease creeping along their senses, a pressure they couldn’t name, a distortion they wouldn’t recognize until it was too late.
Xuanyan continued forward at an unhurried pace, his focus razor-sharp. Every few steps, another imprint settled into place. Then another. Then several more, overlapping, folding into one another with growing complexity.
He didn’t stop. He adjusted, refined, optimized—each correction flowing into the next so seamlessly that what surprised even him was how fast it came together.
This wasn’t something that took hours of preparation or days of setup. Within thirty minutes, the path behind him had transformed quietly into something lethal—a dense web of layered Qi imprints, responsive to his presence, dormant but waiting.
Hundreds of them.
Compressed into a few hundred meters.
A formation without a visible core.
"The more, the better," he muttered under his breath.
Like women.
Like treasures.
He clenched his fist slightly, feeling the subtle resonance ripple outward as the imprints responded in kind.
And he kept working.
Unaware—or perhaps simply unconcerned—that elsewhere, Four figures were already moving with restrained intent.
Aoyagi Ren
And the three cultivators at his side. Qi Condensation Stage Six himself and Stage Five all three of them.
Their killing intent was contained, disciplined.
And their target was already marked.
Xuanyan.