"How was your date with your lady love?" Song Song teased as we were in her waiting room. I hadn't gone to the arena immediately today since there was no need to check out other fights.

"It went pretty well. I think we both enjoyed each other," I replied curtly. The shadows in her new waiting room seemed to crawl and felt more eerie than usual. The walls were adorned with dark, heavy drapes that absorbed the light, making the room dim and claustrophobic. The air was thick with the faint, musty scent of old wood and incense.

"You think?" she asked.

Song Song was lounging on a plush red chair, one leg draped over the other. The chair creaked under her weight as she leaned back so that only two shanks touched the floor. A confident smile graced her face, illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby lamp that cast long, shifting shadows across the room.

I leaned against the cool stone wall, my hands buried in my pockets. Despite the room's opulence, I felt a twinge of unease, as if the ornate furniture and rich dyes were closing in on me.

"Are you sure everything is ready?" I inquired. "You don't have to fight; it's not like the tournament reward means much to you. You're rich, and your father still sends cultivation supplies in bulk."

"I find your lack of trust disheartening," Song Song said, pointing an accusatory finger at me. Her smile, however, suggested she was jesting, the warmth of her expression a stark contrast to the somber room.

"I don't know; Ye An isn't exactly a fool."

"Well, I wouldn't call her smart either," Song Song reasoned. "We both know she has an extreme physique. If things go south, we can always blackmail her."

"Those with extreme physiques are bound to live short lives. Your master and her group would drop someone like that quickly if they found out. Ye An isn't the right person for their ambitions," I said, more for my own consolation. "If you decide to go for the kill, be careful. Extreme physiques can be dangerous when their lives are at risk."

"I know," she sighed.

Song Song likely didn't enjoy my pessimism, but it was my job to be the paranoid one. At the same time, she was the recklessly instinctual cultivator with talent.

A sudden beeping from a device in the corner of the room broke the silence, its shrill tone bouncing off the walls. Song Song stood up, her blue robes flowing around her as she moved.

"That's my signal. Don't blink, or you'll miss me decapitating the frosty bitch," she chuckled, her laughter echoing off the high ceiling as she walked out, her steps fading into the corridor.

I left the room too, stepping into a dark, narrow hallway. The torches lining the walls flickered sporadically, casting erratic shadows that danced like leaves in the wind. The corridor smelled faintly of burning wood and old stone. I walked in the opposite direction, the cold, damp air growing heavier with each step.

Unlike Song Song, I used my movement technique to dash through the hallways, my footsteps barely making a sound. I finally arrived near one of the entrances to the viewer section of the stadium.

As I emerged from the shadows, sunlight hit me, making me squint as my eyes adjusted to the brightness. The stadium, bathed in afternoon light, was a stark contrast to the dimness of the corridors. The stands were bustling with spectators, their excited chatter blending with the occasional roar of anticipation.

I had no idea why the fight was scheduled for the afternoon. Even my cousins said nothing like this had happened last year. It felt like someone powerful, who stood to gain a lot, had pushed for the fights to occur at this time.

Or maybe it was just a monstrously powerful cultivator who didn't want his morning naps disrupted and pushed the entire tournament back.

The announcer's voice boomed across the arena as I walked toward where my fiancée and cousins were sitting.

"This year, the tournament has been like never before! It will be an unprecedented encounter between two dark horses that will conclude with the finals!"

The announcer's grand words merely masked the fact that this year's finalists weren't the strongest participants. Though his words had a lot of subtext, I doubted most people understood the implication.

"Now we welcome our finalists," the announcer hollered. "Ye An from the Blazing Sun Sect and Song Song from the Blazing Sun Sect. Please step forward and begin fighting only after I give the word."

On one side, Ye An walked onto the arena, her demeanor focused and intense. On the other side, Song Song strode confidently, her expression calm and assured.

If Ye An were up against anyone else, she might have had a chance, given her ability to punch above her weight. But her opponent was Song Song, who not only had similar prowess but also possessed incredible instincts.

Before the fight started, Ye An created an ice dagger in each hand.

"I said you can fight only after I announce it!" the announcer bellowed, clearly displeased with Ye An's premature move. Sometimes, a cultivator's reputation was as good as their discipline.

"You said we could fight only after you announced it. I'm not fighting, just preparing my ice daggers to cool off in this midday heat," Ye An retorted.

The announcer was a tall man with a round belly. His long mane of dark hair flowed down his back, though the top of his head was bald. His hair was thick on the sides and back but thin on top. The man was clearly surrounded by yes-men who lacked the courage to tell him how shit his haircut was.

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The announcer's eyes blazed with fury as he stared at Ye An. It almost seemed like he would jump down and handle her himself. Instead, through gritted teeth, he said, "Do not use Qi or anything else before I announce the beginning of the fight. Otherwise, I will come down there and deal with you myself."

Despite the announcer's threats, Ye An remained unruffled, meeting his gaze without flinching. After a moment, she shrugged and dispelled her ice daggers.

I couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for the announcer and his unfortunate haircut. With such a reaction, he clearly didn't recognize Ye An's faction. Perhaps her allegiance was less known than I initially thought, or the half-bald announcer had recently emerged from seclusion.

Now that I thought about it, were there techniques to address hair loss? There probably were. Qi could achieve many things, and growing a new head of hair should be easy.

Or perhaps it was more complicated. I'd seen many bald cultivators; I should look into it when I have free time.

As I reached middle age in my previous life, I had issues with hair loss, though not as extreme. A friend once told me that it wasn't the baldness itself people disliked but the process of balding. That same friend had a head full of luscious hair.

"Begin!" The announcer's command jolted me out of my reverie.

Surprisingly, Ye An and Song Song remained rooted in place. The staredown lasted several seconds. Song Song's playful smirk was laced with murderous intent, while Ye An's expression was a deep frown, with sweat forming on her forehead.

"What, you're not making the first move? You seemed so excited making your little ice daggers," Song Song said in a sweet, condescending tone, like an adult speaking to a child. "If that's the case, then I'll come at you."

In an instant, Song Song's figure blurred, and she appeared in front of Ye An, a hardened blood spear already in hand and a fierce, wild look in her eyes.

As the spear lunged toward her throat, Ye An quickly raised her daggers to block the attack. But before the blood spear made contact, it twisted and transformed like a serpent, becoming liquid blood.

Ye An's eyes widened in shock as the blood spear hardened again and drove into her left eye.

The viewing disciples gasped in horror. Some lamented the loss of Ye An's beauty, while others murmured that she had lost more than just her looks—her life was likely in jeopardy.

"Ahhh!" Ye An screamed in agony, and a wave of ice spread out, freezing the blood spear and everything around her.

Song Song maintained her hold on the now-frozen spear, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and a smile still playing on her lips.

"You scream like a whore," Song Song taunted, kicking Ye An in the stomach and sending her tumbling toward the edge of the arena.

Ye An quickly got up, her face a mask of grim determination. She clamped her hand over the gaping, bloodied hole where her left eye had once been. The sight was gruesome—a raw, pulsating wound that had turned the surrounding flesh into a grotesque mess. Despite the severe injury, she maintained an almost serene composure. With swift, practiced movements, she pulled out the bloody remnants of her eye, her fingers moving with cold efficiency. The detached, gruesome mass was discarded with a flick of her wrist.

Ignoring the intense pain, she summoned her Qi to encase the wound in a layer of ice. The ice spread rapidly, sealing the gaping hole and halting the blood flow. The cold bite of the ice seemed to be the only thing that touched her expression. No sound of pain escaped her lips, nor did her resolve falter.

"Is that all you can do?" Ye An asked, her remaining eye locked onto Song Song.

Though anxious and nervous during the fight, Ye An showed no fear of Song Song.

There's a saying from my previous life: Don't get in the way of crazy people.

Now I understood exactly what they meant.

"I'm going to enjoy cutting you up like a fish," Song Song chirped, twirling her blood spear and reshaping it. "Do you think I should go for your other eye? Or perhaps I should butcher you slowly—start with your nose, tongue, and ears and disfigure you thoroughly before blinding you."

Fu Yating, my fiancée, shuddered at the words. She opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it again, her face paling. The rest of the disciples looked similarly disturbed.

"Then again, I'd like to cut off your arms and legs too. Have you flopping around like a fish," Song chuckled, enjoying the disturbing imagery that others found horrifying. "Maybe I'll keep you alive like that as a pet."

I clenched my teeth and tightened my fists involuntarily, the memory of the Song Clan prison resurfacing—a memory I had worked hard to suppress.

"If I end up in such a state, then you can do whatever you want with me," Ye An replied nonchalantly. Despite the threats, she remained as cool as ever. "You sound like one of those demonic cultivators from stories who make books from human skin or forcefully deform humans into grotesque furniture. Unnecessary cruelty… If I kill you, I won’t make a whole parade about it."

Song Song made the first move again, her speed so overwhelming that even Ye An struggled to keep up. One of Ye An's arms was sent flying, but simultaneously, an ice sword pierced into Song Song's lower belly.

"This is the best you can do?" Song Song mocked, echoing Ye An's own words. "Your sword didn't even cut through my muscles."

"Because it wasn't supposed to," Ye An muttered. The entire arena was enveloped in a freezing chill in the next instant, and bright crimson icicles erupted from Song Song, blooming like a sunflower.

Ye An then retreated and moved toward her severed arm. She encased it in an ice block to preserve it and discarded the limb from the arena. Her gaze shifted to the bloody stump of her shoulder, her expression one of grim concentration.

A small ice spike protruded from the stump, halting the bleeding. The ice spike grew steadily, reshaping into a crude but functional replica of her previous arm. It was a stark, translucent imitation, lacking the sleeve that had been sliced off with her original arm.

Ye An glanced up at the sky, her gaze fixed on the sun. Though little time had passed since the fight began, much had happened.

I watched anxiously as Song Song, surrounded by crimson ice spikes, seemed to be in a perilous situation. The situation was dire despite still sensing her presence and indicating she was alive. Ye An had something planned, and I didn't like this development at all.

Suddenly, Song Song's figure trembled, and the icy sunflower shattered into thousands of fragments. Song Song was freed and bleeding profusely, but her smile remained unchanged. Blood that had flowed out of her body began to return, and her injuries healed almost instantly.

Or at least they appeared to heal. I knew how challenging it was for Song Song to activate her healing, especially for internal injuries. There was a significant chance she was suffering from internal bleeding, merely masking it with her blood manipulation.

"That almost tickled," Song Song commented, her tone unaffected by the dire circumstances.

I wanted to intervene, but it was clear that neither of these fierce fighters would concede defeat easily. I had no authority to stop this madness.