The path to victory was never straight — it twisted like smoke through broken alleys and shattered pride.
The orb pulsed in Lu Mao's palm as he ran. A low, living warmth, as though the artifact itself was aware of the chaos burning through the city around them.
Wind clawed at his cloak. Boots hit stone. Every exhale felt heavier than the last.
The courtyard had vanished behind them — only its echoes remained. The cries of cultivators, the crash of steel, and the fading roar of qi clashing against qi. Now the city stretched before them like a labyrinth of dusk — its walls bleeding with the red glow of the trial orbs that dotted the skyline like phantom suns.
Yan Mei ran just ahead of him, whip coiled tight, her braid snapping behind her like a flag. Chen Yuan carried Bao Fu under one arm, the fat cultivator bouncing like a badly tied sack but still cursing with every step.
Marco flanked their side, sword drawn, breath sharp and measured despite the blood at his collar.
They weren't safe — not yet.
Every street hid movement. Every rooftop seemed to breathe.
⸻
The sound of distant fighting thundered through the air. In the skies above, qi storms flared where the prodigies battled — blinding light, fragments of shattered buildings raining down like silver dust. The faint screams of those who failed drifted down the alleys like whispers of the dead.
Even the strongest were breaking.
So much for Heaven's favorites.
Lu Mao glanced toward a distant plaza, where another team was crushed beneath the strike of a red-robed senior. Qi detonated in a bloom of light — too bright, too cruel. The losers were flung away, unconscious, their bodies smoking with qi burn.
He looked down at the orb in his hand again, at the faint heartbeat of crimson inside it.
They had stolen this from the jaws of the impossible.
Now, they had to survive long enough to keep it.
***
"Don't slow down!" Yan Mei's voice cracked through the wind. "We're close to the central district — once we hit the gathering grounds, we'll be safe!"
Bao Fu groaned from under Chen Yuan's arm. "Safe? You call running through death traps safe? Spirits choke my luck—!"
"Save your breath," Chen Yuan grunted. "You're heavy enough already."
"Blame my charm, not my size!" Bao Fu snapped, but the humor was thin. Beneath it, Lu Mao could hear fatigue, see the faint tremor in his fingers as he clutched his rune bag. They were running on fumes now — every pulse of qi burned like fire through strained veins.
Yet they couldn't stop.
Not while the trial still hunted them.
***
Ahead, the alleys split into three paths — one slanting toward the old clocktower ruins, another vanishing under a crumbling archway, and the third leading straight toward the faint glow of the gathering grounds beyond the district wall.
Yan Mei hesitated only a fraction. "Middle path. It's faster!"
Lu Mao's instincts twitched.
The silence there was too clean. Too still.
Before he could speak, a sharp gust sliced past — a whisper of movement above.
He looked up.
Figures moved across the rooftops — dark silhouettes darting like shadows between the tiles. Three on the left, two on the right. He caught the glint of qi on a blade.
His gut dropped.
"Yan Mei!" he barked.
She looked up — too late.
A cultivator dropped from above, hammer first. Marco met him mid-fall, steel against steel — the impact cracked the street like thunder. Dust and shards of stone burst outward. Marco staggered, feet skidding, but held his ground, veins bulging at his neck.
"Ha! That all you've got?" he snarled.
The attacker grinned, spinning his hammer for a second swing— until Bao Fu shouted,
"Duck, you idiot!"
Marco ducked.
A rune sphere flew over his head and detonated mid-air, showering sparks and concussive qi. The hammerman was blown backward.
***
Lu Mao turned — and froze.
Ahead of them, blocking the narrow street, stood Zhang Wei.
He was calm, perfectly composed, flanked by four others — two in front, two behind, cutting off every escape. His black robes fluttered faintly in the wind. His smile was the kind that made your fists itch.
"Well, well," Zhang Wei drawled, his tone dripping arrogance. "Didn't think Heaven would deliver my prey this early."
Yan Mei's whip twitched at her side. Her eyes narrowed. "Move, Zhang Wei. Or you'll regret staying."
He laughed — a soft, confident sound. "Regret? You must be joking. You've barely any qi left to stand, and you think you can threaten me? You got lucky once, girl. But luck doesn't last twice."
Lu Mao stayed silent, studying him.
The alley walls rose high — no room for aerial escape.
Zhang Wei's team had them boxed in, their formation tight. All high qi cultivators — veterans of guild drills. This wasn't a brawl. It was an ambush.
And they were cornered.
"Your first mistake," Zhang Wei continued, "was joining a team of lowborn trash. Your second—" he gestured lazily toward Lu Mao "—was thinking a thief could outrun fate."
Yan Mei's lips curved. "Funny. I was about to say the same."
⸻
Bao Fu shifted, his injured arm trembling. He leaned toward Lu Mao, voice low.
"Lu Mao. Trust me. Take the route we came from when the trial began."
Lu Mao blinked. "What—?"
"Just trust me," Bao Fu hissed, eyes flashing with a rare seriousness. "I've got… surprises waiting."
Marco glanced between them. "Surprises? You mean those smoke bombs again?"
"Better," Bao Fu said, grin returning. "Let's call them… insurance."
Lu Mao hesitated only a heartbeat.
He could see it — the conviction behind Bao Fu's humor. The fat cultivator might not be a front-line fighter, but he planned ahead like a viper waiting in grass.
Lu Mao gave a curt nod. "Fine. We go on my mark."
Yan Mei turned slightly, voice tense. "What are you planning?"
"Something stupid," Bao Fu muttered.
"Something clever," Lu Mao corrected softly.
***
Zhang Wei raised a hand, qi flickering red around his palm. "Enough talk. Kill them and take the orb."
That was the signal.
The alley exploded with movement.
Qi flared. Steel screamed.
Lu Mao lunged first — his dagger a flash of silver under crimson light. Zhang Wei's twin blades crossed in time, sparks flying as their weapons met. The shockwave rolled down the narrow street, rattling windows.
Then — instead of pressing the attack — Lu Mao twisted away. "Now!"
Marco grabbed Bao Fu by the collar like a sack of grain and sprinted down the opposite end, back toward the earlier route. Bao Fu's legs flailed uselessly as he shouted, "Easy! I'm fragile cargo!"
Chen Yuan and Yan Mei stayed behind, blades and whip flashing to hold the front.
"Don't think you can run!" Zhang Wei roared,"After them!"
He and his team surged forward — only to be met by Chen Yuan's blade and Yan Mei's whip crashing down together, buying precious seconds.
Lu Mao darted besides Marco, the orb tucked tight against his chest. The sound of battle faded behind him — replaced by the thunder of pursuit.
⸻
They ran.
Through the alleys, over cracked cobblestone, under the flickering lanterns that burned with qi fire. Every shadow seemed to move; every echo felt like a heartbeat behind them.
"Bao Fu," Lu Mao panted. "You said you've got something planned. What exactly?"
Bao Fu grinned, cheeks jiggling with every step. "Remember when I kept falling behind earlier? You all thought I was resting, didn't you?"
Lu Mao's brows furrowed. "You were… placing something."
"Exactly." Bao Fu smirked. "Qi-charged talismans. Family technique. Habit of mine — I set them on walls, floors, pillars… little marks that feed on surrounding qi. Thought they'd come in handy if we got chased."
Marco blinked. "You mean we've been running through a minefield you made?"
"Minefield's a strong word," Bao Fu said. "Let's say… an artistic surprise."
Lu Mao couldn't help it — he almost smiled. Even while dangling like luggage, Bao Fu still found time to outwit half the city.
***
The air shifted — the faint shimmer of glowing talismans blinked across the walls they passed. Tiny patterns etched in gold and blue, pulsing like quiet hearts.
Behind them, Zhang Wei's shout echoed, closer now.
"Don't let them escape! They're almost drained!"
Lu Mao's instincts screamed to turn and fight — but Marco's voice cut through.
"They're gaining. How much longer, Bao Fu?"
"Patience!" Bao Fu yelled. "They're not deep enough yet. We need them right in the middle — just a few more meters—"
A flicker of red qi flashed in the corner of Lu Mao's eye — Zhang Wei's vanguard had caught sight of them.
"They're here," Marco warned.
"Now?" Lu Mao asked.
"Now," Bao Fu said — and his voice carried a weight that silenced everything.
***
He tore a red talisman from his pouch — the paper flared alive, sigils blazing across it in shifting runes. Bao Fu channeled the last of his qi, his arm trembling as he pressed two fingers together.
"Release."
The word cracked like thunder.
A ripple surged outward — invisible at first, then blooming into red lines racing along the walls, connecting the scattered talismans in a web of glowing veins.
For one breath, everything went still.
Then the world erupted.
Explosions rippled down the alley in a chain — BOOM-BOOM-BOOM — walls shaking, air splitting. The glow flared so bright it painted the entire street crimson.
Zhang Wei's front line screamed — the shockwave hit them like a hammer. Their qi barriers shattered; pain arced through their bodies as the trap's resonance struck their nerves, making muscles seize.
Even from afar, Lu Mao felt the air vibrate — the hum of spiritual interference biting at his ears. He stumbled, caught himself, teeth clenched.
"Dusk take me…" Bao Fu muttered, panting. "It worked."
"Worked?" Marco barked. "You nearly deafened me!"
"Artistry always has a price," Bao Fu wheezed. Then, straightening, "Go! I'll hold them from here!"
Lu Mao met his eyes — saw determination there, under the exhaustion.
"Are you sure?"
Bao Fu grinned. "I'm clever, not suicidal. I'll catch up. Just move!"
Lu Mao nodded once. "Don't die."
"Not on an empty stomach," Bao Fu said with a wink.
***
Lu Mao ran.
The walls blurred. The city roared. The orb pulsed hotter in his hand.
Behind him, the muffled echoes of fighting resumed — Zhang Wei's furious shouts, Yan Mei's whip cracking, Marco's steel clashing against multiple foes. The air smelled of burnt talisman paper and blood.
But Lu Mao didn't look back. He couldn't.
The finish line — the gathering grounds — gleamed ahead like the mouth of salvation.
***
He burst through the outer gates, breath tearing his throat. The plaza beyond shimmered under the crystalline dome of the trial screen — the elders watching, their eyes following every contestant. Spectators whispered, pointing as his figure appeared.
Lu Mao slowed just enough to present the orb, its crimson glow reflecting in his eyes.
Elder Ji Han received it with both hands, his expression unreadable — though the faintest spark of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The orb's light dimmed, sinking into the crystal pedestal beside him.
Trial complete.
Lu Mao stood straight, chest heaving, cloak torn, hair matted with dust — but his eyes burned steady.
He'd made it.
***
Moments later, chaos spilled through the gates.
Zhang Wei's team stumbled in — bloodied, panting, eyes wide in disbelief. Their qi flared briefly, then faded into hollow exhaustion as they saw Lu Mao standing before the elder.
The orb — gone.
Their victory — stolen.
Zhang Wei's blade slipped from his hand, clattering against stone. He fell to his knees, jaw tightening. "No… impossible…"
Lu Mao met his gaze once. Calm. Silent.
The elder raised a hand. "Team Lu Mao. Completed the trial. You may step forward."
Around them, the crowd erupted — some cheering, some laughing, others muttering in shock. The same crystalline screens that had broadcast Lu Mao's cunning battle earlier now replayed the final scene: his sprint, the trap, the finish.
A legend, in the making.
***
Back at the gate, Bao Fu finally staggered in — soot-covered, hair smoking slightly. He raised a trembling hand and shouted, "Did we win?"
Yan Mei's voice answered, weary but proud. "We did."
Bao Fu grinned through the grime. "Then someone better feed me before I faint."
Lu Mao couldn't help the small, tired smile that crossed his lips.
***
Far above, Elder Ji Han's gaze lingered on him — sharp, calculating.
"The heavens may abandon many," the old man murmured under his breath, "but not the clever."
And in the shimmering air of the trial ground, the words clever echoed again — this time, not as mockery, but as acknowledgment.