The sun had climbed past mid-morning, leaning toward noon, but within Green Willow Sect, time seemed to thicken and slow. Tower shadows stretched long fingers across courtyards, bending over pavilions and tiled roofs. Every walkway, every balcony, every sheltered corner held disciples and guests, their collective focus drawn to a single point: the duel platform at the center of the main square.
The food stalls that had opened at dawn now stood abandoned, their owners pressed shoulder to shoulder with the crowd. The sizzle of oil had been replaced by a deeper, more pervasive sound, the hum of expectation, a pressure that filled the very air of the sect.
Not everyone was present.
Word had spread in fragments through hushed exchanges: Ji Suyin, the sect's rising star, had departed at dawn. Her leaving was so sudden, so complete, that it spawned whispers of family crisis or political maneuver.
"She didn't stay for the duel?" someone murmured behind a sleeve.
"She must have known something," came the low reply.
Leng Xin, seated among the elders on the raised dais, heard the whispers. Her expression remained unchanged, though a slight crease deepened between her brows. She knew the truth, Ji Suyin had been summoned home by her father with urgent, non-negotiable terms. Yet the timing felt like a pulled thread in the sect's fabric. Her gaze flicked toward the Alliance delegation, assessing whether they read significance into the absence.
The Asura's Gate Alliance delegation occupied their seats with detached composure. Seven cultivators in crimson-and-ebony robes embroidered with the four-winged Asura sigil sat in two neat rows.
At their head was Su Cheng, heir of the Crimson Life Exaltation Sect. He was tall, lean, with a scholar's bearing and eyes that held a quiet, analytical weight. The disciples seated near him shifted subtly, as if his presence imposed a silence they felt but could not name.
He leaned slightly toward Elder Lan Xue, his voice low but clear.
"I have heard," he said, "that your third elder has taken a male disciple under her guidance. Unusual, given her known preferences."
Lan Xue's practiced smile did not waver. "Elder Mai has always cultivated according to her own insights. This disciple has shown… notable promise."
Su Cheng's gaze drifted toward the empty platform. "There were whispers in the provincial city. Remarkable results on his first mission. Some even speak of anomalies in his Qi."
A deliberate pause.
"We shall observe."
Leng Xin's fingers curled minutely against her robe. Lan Xue's reply flowed smooth as water. "Observation is the foundation of understanding, Young Master Su. Today will provide ample material."
Su Cheng inclined his head and said no more.
On the platform, Qin Shuren was already standing.
He had not made an entrance. He had walked up at dawn, ascended the stone steps, and planted himself at the arena's center. There he remained.
Hands clasped behind his back, feet rooted, his gaze sweeping slowly across the assembled crowd. Not impatience. Not arrogance. Control.
He wanted them to feel it, he had claimed this space before the duel began.
Subtle signs of his Qi permeated the immediate environment. A faint resinous scent of pine threaded the air. Hairline cracks between the arena stones glimmered with a soft green luminescence, as if roots pressed upward from below. When the morning wind passed over him, it did not scatter his robes but coiled and stilled, as if caught in invisible branches.
Disciples in the front rows whispered, their voices tinged with awe and unease. "His Yin Wood Qi… you can feel it from here."
Qin Shuren did not look at them. His eyes were fixed on the far side of the square, waiting.
Beneath the pale willows lining the inner walkway, Yan Shen stepped into view.
No fanfare. No projected aura.
Yet the moment he appeared, a subtle ripple passed through the onlookers, a collective adjustment in breathing, as if the air itself had grown denser. His steps were measured, almost casual, but each footfall seemed to settle the stone beneath him more firmly.
Whispers flared anew.
"His presence… it feels heavier than last week."
"He's only Qi Gathering. Why does it feel like the air bends around him?"
The inner disciples who had witnessed the Mission Hall clash felt it most acutely. This was not the pressure of Qi. It was something else, physical density, focused intent, the weight of self.
Yan Shen acknowledged no one. His gaze remained fixed ahead, on the platform and the figure standing upon it.
On the dais, Elder Lan Xue's sharp eyes softened a fraction. Leng Xin remained taut, arms folded, tracking his progress as if her will alone could steady him.
A junior disciple approached, bowed low, and whispered into Leng Xin's ear. "She left at dawn. I saw the carriage myself. Ji Suyin has departed the sect."
Leng Xin's jaw tightened imperceptibly. She offered no reply, only a slight flick of her sleeve in dismissal. Another variable, logged and set aside.
The distance from the willow walkway to the platform was not great. Yet each of Yan Shen's steps carried the weight of a deliberate drumbeat.
As he reached the barrier, the protective talismans hummed, their light shimmering and then stabilizing, as though the formation had calibrated to his presence.
He ascended the steps without pause.
Qin Shuren finally turned his gaze, and their eyes met.
A tangible ripple passed through the crowd.
Qin Shuren chuckled softly. He reached down, snapped a stray willow branch that had blown onto the platform, twirled it once between his fingers, and tossed it aside.
"So," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent arena. "The stray dog has teeth."
His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell me, Qi Gathering ant… do you truly believe you can take her from me?"
Yan Shen's eyes did not waver. His voice, when it came, was calm but edged.
"You misunderstand." He let the words hang, measured and deliberate. "My women are not yours to conquer."
A wave of audible gasps shuddered through the spectators.
Internally, Yan Shen allowed a sliver of detached appreciation. Direct. Uncompromising. If I am to be the unshakable mountain, the tone must match.
His expression revealed nothing but calm defiance.
Qin Shuren sighed, a theatrical exhalation as he shook his head. "So serious. You perform confidence, but confidence without foundation is merely theater."
Qin Shuren's Qi did not erupt.
It spread.
Slow, deliberate,like groundwater rising after a thaw, swelling without sound until its presence was simply there. A dark-green mist shimmered across the arena floor, seeping into the seams between stone slabs. From those seams, roots began to emerge, fine filaments at first, then thickening, branching into tendrils that curled outward.
They brushed past Qin Shuren's legs like obedient hounds before sweeping toward Yan Shen, dragging across the stone with a sound like whispering grain. The air grew thick with the sharp, resinous scent of pine and damp earth.
Disciples in the front rows gasped, some clutching their robes as the oppressive Qi pressed against their lungs. A few swore they felt phantom roots brush their ankles from behind the barrier.
Yet Yan Shen stood unmoved.
The roots reached him. Brushed against his boots. Curled toward his waist like seeking vines.
And then, nothing.
They could not penetrate. Could not gain purchase. Could not find soil.
It was as if they encountered not flesh, but polished jade or mountain bedrock sunk too deep to erode. The tendrils slid away, recoiled faintly, but never once broke his skin.
To the crowd, Qin Shuren's Qi was a flooding river, overwhelming all in its path.
But where it met Yan Shen
the river found the immovable stone.
The water roared, the roots strained, the branches clawed… and he remained.
No Qi flaring. No aura blazing.
Just a body.
Just density.
From the Alliance stand, Su Cheng's eyes narrowed. He had heard reports of irregularities in this Qi Gathering disciple. He had been briefed on the "mission prodigy." Now, witnessing the clash, he understood.
His lips curved the barest fraction.
A glint, sharp, calculating, lit his gaze.
Not merely talent. Not luck. His physical constitution resists. As if Qi alone cannot touch him. A stone in the river's path… intriguing. I wonder… would that body resist refinement as well?
Around him, the other Alliance members murmured, debating Qin Shuren's evident dominance, but Su Cheng remained silent. His attention did not drift to the crowd or even linger on Qin Shuren's display.
It remained fixed on Yan Shen.
Elder Lan Xue's knuckles whitened where they gripped her chair. Across the way, one of the Alliance elders leaned forward, intrigued. Even they could perceive it, this was not defiance through force, but the simple truth of a fundamental law:
The stone does not move for the river.
Qin Shuren's jaw tightened, though he masked it with a faint, dismissive smile. Yet his thoughts betrayed him:
His body… it feels denser than before. He stands against me without even releasing Qi…