Xing Wuye opened his eyes slowly, the familiar hum of his Qi coursing through his veins. As a cultivator in the Body Refinement stage, his need for sleep was minimal, allowing him to stay energized through the long hours of cultivation. He breathed in deeply, feeling the night's essence still lingering in the early morning air. The tournament grounds would already be buzzing with the ongoing challenge matches, and it was time for him to return.

He rose smoothly to his feet, brushing off his robes before heading back toward the arena. His mind was still processing the previous days—his defeat, the lessons learned, and the strength displayed by his fellow disciples. But there was no time to dwell on it now. The tournament was far from over.

As he arrived at the grounds, the atmosphere was as intense as ever. Disciples watched eagerly from the stands, and the core disciples overseeing the tournament observed with their usual stoic expressions. Wuye scanned the arena and saw that the challenge matches had already begun.

The first person to catch his attention was none other than his master, Li Zhang. Wuye's eyes narrowed with anticipation as he watched the elegant and patient figure of Li Zhang facing off against a powerful inner disciple. The two combatants stood across from one another, the air between them thick with tension.

The inner disciple sneered, clearly underestimating Li Zhang. His arrogance was evident in the way he carried himself, and Wuye could already sense that his opponent's ego would be his downfall.

The fight began with a series of rapid exchanges, their fists and strikes moving at blinding speed. Qi clashed as they engaged in a furious melee, each trying to gain the upper hand. Li Zhang, ever patient and composed, fought with a calm efficiency, not letting his opponent's overconfidence rattle him. His movements were fluid, his steps precise, and he conserved his energy, waiting for the right moment.

His opponent, on the other hand, attacked aggressively, trying to overwhelm Li Zhang with sheer force. But Li Zhang did not waver. He deflected, dodged, and blocked, always keeping himself just out of range of a decisive blow. The arrogance of the inner disciple began to show as frustration seeped into his movements. His strikes became sloppier, more desperate.

And then, in a single moment, Li Zhang found his opening.

With a quick sidestep, he evaded a powerful punch, and before the inner disciple could recover, Li Zhang's fist shot forward, connecting with his opponent's chest. The Gale Burst Fist. The burst of wind and Qi exploded from the impact, sending the inner disciple stumbling backward, his balance disrupted. Li Zhang wasted no time, following up with another strike that sent his opponent crashing to the ground, completely incapacitated.

The crowd erupted in applause, and Wuye couldn't help but feel proud of his master's skill and patience. Li Zhang had won without even breaking a sweat, his elegance and restraint shining through the chaos of the battle.

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Next up was Bai Feng, The Raging Dragon. Wuye watched with mild interest, though a part of him still felt a lingering tension whenever Bai Feng entered the arena. Bai Feng's victory over Zhang Rui had been brutal, and his reputation for being ruthless in combat was well-earned. This time, his opponent was a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Wuye—at least in terms of height and build.

The match started off somewhat slowly, with Bai Feng testing the waters, his movements almost lazy as he dodged the first few attacks from his opponent. But anyone familiar with Bai Feng's style knew this was a dangerous lull. The Raging Dragon never stayed calm for long.

As the fight progressed, a subtle change overcame Bai Feng. The calm demeanor he had begun with started to slip away, his strikes becoming faster and more forceful. Wuye noticed it—the same shift that had happened in his previous fights. The opponent hadn't done anything to warrant such aggression, but Bai Feng's eyes seemed to darken as if he were reminded of something personal.

Xing Wuye.

Bai Feng's attacks grew feral, his spear lashing out with terrifying precision and force. His opponent barely managed to parry, each blow sending him staggering backward. Wuye could tell that Bai Feng wasn't fighting simply to win—he was fighting to send a message. His movements were violent, each strike filled with rage. And then, with one swift motion, Bai Feng's spear struck his opponent's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

There was no applause this time. The match had been brutal, and even the core disciples watching seemed somewhat unsettled by Bai Feng's ruthlessness. Medics quickly rushed into the arena to carry the injured disciple away, while Bai Feng stood tall, his eyes burning with the same intensity as before.

Wuye couldn't help but clench his fists. Bai Feng was a force to be reckoned with, and despite the overwhelming odds, part of Wuye wished he had been the one to face him.

The next match, however, was far less eventful. Zhang Rui stepped into the arena to face his chosen opponent, but it was clear from the start that there was no real contest. Zhang Rui's opponent was weak in comparison, and the fight ended quickly with Zhang Rui emerging victorious. Wuye raised an eyebrow, slightly disappointed by the lack of challenge.

Liu Chen, who was seated beside Mei Ling, leaned in with a knowing expression. "I wouldn't be surprised if Zhang Rui has already been recruited by one of the major factions within the sect," he remarked, his voice low enough for only Mei Ling and Wuye to hear. "There are many ways to manipulate a tournament's outcome without drawing attention, and it seems that Zhang Rui's path has already been smoothed for him."

Mei Ling frowned, clearly unimpressed. "You mean someone's pulling strings to help him join the inner sect?"

Liu Chen shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time. Talent is important, but connections can be just as powerful."

Wuye listened quietly, taking in Liu Chen's words. It made sense, though it didn't sit right with him. But before he could dwell too long on it, something else caught his attention.

The atmosphere shifted suddenly. The crowd grew quiet, and even the core disciples seemed to stiffen, their gazes all turning toward the central peak of the sect. Wuye followed their stares, his heart skipping a beat as he saw what they were looking at.

An old man, his long white hair flowing behind him, was flying through the sky, descending from the highest peak of the sect. As he moved, the very sky seemed to change color, clouds swirling around him in a display of power that made even the strongest disciples hold their breath. His presence alone radiated authority, and Wuye could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

"Who… who is that?" Wuye whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Mei Ling, equally shocked, could only shake her head. "I don't know…"

Yu Feng, the young sect leader, had already risen to his feet, his eyes locked onto the approaching figure. The tension in the air was palpable, and as the old man drew closer, the entire sect seemed to hold its breath.

Wuye's mind raced, a mixture of curiosity and fear filling him as he tried to understand what was happening. Whoever this old man was, his power was undeniable—and his arrival marked the beginning of something far greater than the tournament.

As the old man descended, the crowd could only watch in stunned silence, the sky above them shifting in response to his immense aura.