By the second day of the competition, the mood within Qingyun Sect had shifted.
What had begun as casual curiosity turned into something sharper.
Resentment.
Suspicion.
Jealousy.
Because Luo Qingyan remained on Qingyun Peak.
Unpunished.
Protected.
And everyone understood what that meant.
Zhao Ming sought him out in a quieter part of the sect, away from the crowds and watchful elders.
"You are still here," Zhao Ming said, his tone carrying clear disdain.
Luo Qingyan lay stretched across a wooden bench, arms folded behind his head.
"Unfortunately."
"You think this is amusing."
"I think everything is amusing. It makes life easier."
Zhao Ming stepped closer.
"You do not belong here."
"I have been informed."
"Then leave."
"I would, but I am currently under contractual obligation."
Zhao Ming's gaze dropped to his wrist.
The golden thread shimmered faintly.
"…That thing."
"It is very inconvenient."
"You rely on it."
"I survive with it."
"That is weakness."
"That is practicality."
Zhao Ming's expression hardened.
"You think Master protects you."
"I do not think. I observe."
"You misunderstand."
"Then clarify."
Zhao Ming's hand tightened at his side, frustration evident.
"He has never allowed anyone to stay on that peak."
"That sounds like a very exclusive arrangement."
"It makes you a problem."
"I have always been a problem."
Zhao Ming studied him, searching for something he could not quite identify.
"…Why you?" he asked finally.
Luo Qingyan considered the question.
"…I ask myself that regularly."
The honesty of the answer only seemed to irritate Zhao Ming further.
"This will not last," he said.
"Neither will I," Luo Qingyan replied lightly.
But as Zhao Ming turned away, the tension lingered.
Because the truth was clear.
Shen Wuyou's attention was not something that could be ignored.
And it was not something easily shared.