After a month and a half, the day finally arrived: the opening of the secret realm. A brutal proving ground, the secret realm would pit three sects—including the illustrious Linglong Family—against one another in fierce competition.
More than thirty disciples had gathered at the sect square, their whispered conversations buzzing like flies in stagnant air. The majority were late-stage and peak Rank 1 cultivators. The absence of middle-stage disciples was telling—weaklings had no place in this blood-soaked contest.
"Senior Brother, you’re finally here! Does this mean you’ve broken through to Rank 1 late stage?" Xiao Ge asked eagerly, his voice trembling with admiration.
Yanwei smiled faintly, the perfect picture of a humble yet ambitious disciple. “That’s right, Junior Brother. Finally, I can step into the secret realm with my head held high. Who knows? Senior Sister Yan might even notice me.” His words carried a subtle mix of self-deprecation and confidence—enough to sound genuine, but not enough to provoke envy.
Before Xiao Ge could respond, a sharp, mocking voice sliced through the air.
“You? Be noticed by Senior Sister Yan?” A handsome young man emerged from the crowd, his disdainful gaze locking onto Yanwei. “Do you even deserve to speak her name? Who do you think you are?”
The crowd stirred. Whispers spread like wildfire.
“Isn’t that Jiang Yu?” one disciple muttered, their tone a mix of awe and envy.
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“The sect leader’s true disciple!” another added breathlessly.
“I heard he’s been in seclusion to break through to Rank 1 peak stage,” said a burly cultivator, his voice dripping with jealousy. “Look at his aura—he really did it.”
A young woman giggled nervously. “He’s so handsome…” she murmured, her cheeks tinged pink.
Yanwei tilted his head, his expression a carefully crafted blend of confusion and fear. “?? Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, as though overwhelmed by Jiang Yu’s oppressive presence.
Jiang Yu sneered, his voice laced with killing intent. “You don’t even know who I am? I’m Jiang Yu, the sect leader’s true disciple. You dared to make trouble for me despite not knowing who i am?” His aura flared, suffocating the space around him. “You’re either the most arrogant fool in the sect… or the most suicidal.”
The crowd erupted into a storm of murmurs.
“He’s done for. Offending Jiang Yu? What a joke.”
“That’s Wu Shang, right? Senior Sister Yan’s little lapdog. I heard he doesn’t even have a background.”
“A loner like him? He might as well dig his own grave.”
Some disciples sneered openly, others shook their heads in feigned pity. But beneath the surface, their true feelings were laid bare.
This was human nature at its most raw.
For the onlookers, Wu Shang’s misfortune was a mirror reflecting their own insecurities. They clung to the belief that his failure stemmed from some inherent flaw—arrogance, stupidity, or bad luck. Not like me, they thought. I’m smarter. I’m careful. I would never make such a mistake.
It was a fragile, fleeting superiority, born from the desire to validate their own mediocrity.
But there was another, simpler truth: Wu Shang was alone. In a world where alliances were shields and connections were lifelines, a loner was easy prey. His downfall was not just entertainment—it was a reminder to everyone watching of the price of standing alone.
The disciples whispered, laughed, and sneered, their judgments piling onto the image of a desperate fool. Yanwei’s hands trembled, his head bowed slightly, as though crushed beneath Jiang Yu’s aura.
They saw what they wanted to see.
What escaped their notice was the glint of calculation in his lowered eyes, the subtle control in his quivering fingers before they settled behind his back.
Weakness is a mask they’ll never question, Yanwei thought, his expression betraying nothing. The dead don’t speak, but the living scream loud enough to reveal everything.