Xue Laohu leapt gracefully from the stands, his movements fluid and swift, until he landed beside his disciple, Xue Tuzi. His wide grin stretched across his face as he reached down, patting his shoulder. "Hey," he said, voice warm with pride. "You were incredible. I'm proud of you. Now, let's get you to the medical ward." Without waiting for a reply, he scooped the injured Xue Tuzi into his arms as though he weighed nothing, carrying him off the arena floor with ease.
From the loge seats, Shudu stood rigid, his piercing gaze following their every movement. The shadow of his brow darkened his already grim expression. Behind him, Xiao Zongzi crawled closer on her many spider legs, her glossy carapace glinting faintly in the light. "Master, why didn't you go to him?" she asked, tilting her head curiously. Her voice was soft but tinged with accusation.
"Tch." Shudu scoffed, turning away from her and folding his arms over his chest. His face was sharp with defiance, but the flicker of unease in his eyes betrayed him. "He wouldn't want me touching him," he muttered under his breath, as though the words tasted bitter.
Xiao Zongzi's bushy brows furrowed. Xue Tuzi's behavior towards her master was a constant enigma. He was cruel and venomous when it suited him, yet at times he transformed into something tender, almost painfully sweet. She didn't trust the change. It was too calculated, too deliberate. And yet, she could see the truth written all over her master's face: he was addicted to that fleeting kindness, willing to endure the sting of rejection just to taste it. A fool's desire, she thought, but she kept her opinion to herself.
Meanwhile, the Disciple Showdown raged on. Li Zhameng, now reinvigorated with newfound resolve, fought with an almost reckless determination. Each strike, every calculated move, bore the weight of his unspoken mission: to save his Shizun. Xue Tuzi, now recovered from the poison, unleashed his power without restraint. Opponent after opponent fell before them, their skill and will no match for the intensity they carried.
By the semifinals, the battlefield had narrowed to four, then two. Fei Hong fell to Xue Tuzi, while Cheng Lan succumbed to Li Zhameng's ferocity. Now, the two stood alone in the arena, facing each other under the watchful eyes of the sect elders and audience. Both had clawed their way to the finals, and the crowd roared in anticipation of what would surely be a spectacular clash.
Xue Laohu stood at the edge of his seat, his voice rising above the noise as he cheered for his disciples. "Ah, incredible! Both of them made it to the finals!" His grin stretched wider, his chest swelling with pride. Though he admired Li Zhameng's perseverance, he was certain of the outcome. Defeat was inevitable for the boy. Against Xue Tuzi, his little NPC didn't stand a chance.
"Grandmaster Xue," a firm yet familiar voice interrupted. A hand clasped his shoulder, Xue Laohu turned to see Sect Leader Mao standing behind him, his wife poised elegantly at his side. The older man's silver beard gleamed, and his eyes were sharp beneath bushy brows.
"This is your first year participating in the Disciple Showdown, and yet here you are, with both of your disciples in the finals. You must be immensely pleased with yourself," Sect Leader Mao said, his tone congratulatory.
Xue Laohu's grin widened further as he snapped his fan shut, his teeth on full display. "This, of course, is only to be expected from someone as great as myself," he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated humility.
Sect Leader Mao chuckled, stroking his beard. "Naturally. Such a result is befitting of a grandmaster of your caliber." His wife, standing silently beside him, gave the faintest nod, her hand delicately resting in his.
Elder Yanse and Elder Zhiwu stepped forward to bow in greeting, but Sect Leader Mao lifted a hand to stop them. "No need for formalities. Please, take your seats," he said, gesturing towards the loge. His stern eyes returned to the arena as the match was about to begin.
A maid arrived, moving gracefully as she poured tea for each elder. Sect Leader Mao lifted his cup, inhaling deeply as the steam rose to his face. "The aroma is exquisite," he murmured, bringing the rim to his lips. Before he could take a sip, his wife's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Careful, Master. Or you'll burn yourself," she said, her tone calm yet filled with quiet authority. Her lips curved into a serene smile as she held her own cup near her face, savoring the scent.
Sect Leader Mao grumbled under his breath and set the cup down, her head snapped towards him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Her hair seemed to rise, strands lifting like a predator preparing to strike. "Did Master say something?" she asked, her voice low but menacing.
"N-nothing, nothing at all!" Sect Leader Mao stammered, visibly paling. The veins in her eyes seemed to pulse as they bore into him, and for a moment, the great leader of Mount Dingbu looked as though he might faint.
"Sweet wife," he groveled, dropping to his knees in a dramatic display of submission. "This foolish husband has spoken out of turn. Please forgive him." Clapping his hands, he summoned a maid. "Bring a banquet immediately!" he ordered, desperation clear in his voice.
His wife's glare softened slightly at the gesture, her lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smile as a platter of delicacies was placed before her. Sect Leader Mao lifted her hand delicately, pressing his bushy lips to it in a placating kiss. Her anger simmered down, and she began sampling the food.
Xue Laohu watched the exchange from the corner of his eye, his fan partially concealing his amused smirk. "You know," he muttered to himself, "I think I'll stay single forever." He snapped the fan open, hiding his grin as he turned his attention back to the arena.
Li Zhameng and Xue Tuzi stood at opposite ends of the arena, the tension between them obvious as the crowd quieted in anticipation. Both disciples bowed respectfully, their eyes locked in a silent challenge. The gong rang, and in an instant, they charged toward one another.
Their clash was explosive, a rapid exchange of over a hundred blows that echoed through the arena. Fists flew, kicks struck with precision, and yet every attack was met with an equal counter. Xue Tuzi deflected a punch with the back of his hand, twisting to evade a high kick, while Li Zhameng ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the strike of an elbow. For a moment, they seemed evenly matched, like two raging storms colliding. Then came the first impact: both disciples landed a strike on each other's faces simultaneously. The crowd gasped as they stumbled apart.
Xue Tuzi turned his head, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. His lips curled into a sly smile. "Shizun is rooting for me and me alone," he taunted, his voice rough from exertion. He coughed into his hand, his tone almost mocking.
Li Zhameng's eyes narrowed, his swollen cheek twitching. He shot a glance toward the stands, where his Shizun sat with an unreadable expression. Xue Laohu's face was composed, his fan lifted slightly to hide his emotions. No sign of favoritism, no reassurance.
"Liar!" Li Zhameng roared, his voice breaking as he surged forward. He launched a kick, but Xue Tuzi sidestepped with a snicker, his movements fluid and precise.
They continued to tussle, exchanging blow after blow, each fighting to gain the upper hand. Sweat dripped from their brows, and their breathing grew heavier, but neither was willing to give an inch. The audience was on the edge of their seats, mesmerized by the intensity of the battle. Then, in a sudden, audacious move, Xue Tuzi pulled off his ribbon, the pink threads shimmering as he let it unfurl in his hands.
"A-Tuzi, that's not fair!" Li Zhameng protested, his voice rising with indignation. He had been prohibited from using his own spiritual weapon—it wasn't on the list of approved items for the tournament. But Xue Tuzi clearly had no intention of playing fair.
Though Li Zhameng had his sword strapped to his side, he barely knew how to wield it. Hesitantly, he unsheathed it, holding it awkwardly as he dodged the ribbon's lashing strikes. The ribbon moved like a serpent, cutting through the air with a sharp crack as it sought to ensnare him.
"Don't run from me, Meng Meng," Xue Tuzi jeered, his voice hoarse, though the smirk never left his face. His taunts were interrupted by a fit of coughing, but even that didn't stop him. With a flick of his wrist, the ribbon coiled around the hilt of Li Zhameng's sword, yanking it from his grasp. Before Li Zhameng could react, Xue Tuzi lunged forward, slamming him to the ground.
Li Zhameng hit the arena floor with a resounding thud, groaning as the impact knocked the wind out of him. Xue Tuzi wasted no time, twisting his opponent's arm behind his back and pinning him down. His grip was unyielding, his cold gaze unflinching.
"Give up," Xue Tuzi demanded, his voice low and unrelenting. "I'll let you go if you surrender. I don't want to dislocate your shoulder."
Li Zhameng's screams of pain filled the arena, but Xue Tuzi didn't falter. Above, Xue Laohu's heart pounded in his chest. He hid his worried expression behind his fan, though his hands trembled. Give up, Meng Meng, he pleaded silently. It pains me to see you like this. There's no way you're beating the main character.
But Li Zhameng wasn't done yet. Gritting his teeth, he threw his head back, slamming it against Xue Tuzi's forehead with all his strength. The impact was devastating, the sound like a stone striking metal. Xue Tuzi staggered back, clutching his head as a stream of blood trickled down his face, staining his sleeve as he wiped at it.
Li Zhameng scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving as he glared at Xue Tuzi, who swayed unsteadily but refused to yield. Blood smeared across Xue Tuzi's face, he steadied himself, his eyes alight with a fierce determination.
The fight continued, their movements growing more desperate. Li Zhameng hopped onto his sword, taking flight in a last-ditch effort to evade Xue Tuzi's relentless attacks. But Xue Tuzi wasn't about to let him escape. With a powerful leap, he landed on the sword beside Li Zhameng, forcing him to lose his balance.
The two grappled midair, grabbing each other's shoulders as they pushed and shoved, each trying to maintain their footing. The crowd held their breath, the tension unbearable.
Then, Xue Tuzi's body betrayed him. A violent coughing fit overtook him, weakening his grip. He tumbled backward, falling from the sword and landing hard outside the bounds of the arena. The gong rang, signaling his elimination.
The crowd erupted into cheers and gasps, some stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Li Zhameng collapsed onto his knees, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Xue Tuzi lay on the ground outside the ring, clutching his chest as his coughing continued, his face pale and streaked with blood.
In the stands, Xue Laohu let out a long breath, lowering his fan to reveal a complex mix of relief and pride. "Well," he murmured to himself, "I didn't see that coming." But even as he smiled, his eyes flicked to Xue Tuzi with a hint of worry.
Li Zhameng sprinted across the arena, his boots pounding against the dirt as he rushed to Xue Tuzi, who lay crumpled on the ground, his body wracked with violent coughs. Each convulsion seemed to drain the life out of him, and Li Zhameng's heart twisted painfully at the sight.
Xue Laohu, watching from the stands, froze his fan slipped slightly, revealing wide, worried eyes. His first instinct was to rush down and intervene, but he hesitated when he saw Li Zhameng kneeling beside Xue Tuzi, cradling the injured disciple in his arms with surprising tenderness.
Li Zhameng pressed two fingers against Xue Tuzi's wrist, channeling his spiritual energy to stabilize him. His lips moved soundlessly, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Xue Laohu glanced at Shudu's empty seat alarmed, his gaze darted to the arena just in time to see Shudu, land gracefully near the two disciples. Without hesitation, Xue Laohu leapt down to follow.
"Shudu Gongzi," Li Zhameng said in a trembling voice, his worry plain. "A-Tuzi, he's—"
Shudu's sharp gaze silenced him. "The toxins are still lingering in his body," Shudu said curtly, brushing past Li Zhameng to crouch beside Xue Tuzi. "He needs time to make a full recovery."
The venomous stares of the other disciples bore into Shudu, their disapproval obvious. He ignored them, a smug smirk creeping onto his face as he took Xue Tuzi's chin in his hand. Tilting his head to face him, Shudu parted Xue Tuzi's lips. Before anyone could react, he leaned in, and with a dark, guttural sound, vomited a stream of demonic energy directly into Xue Tuzi's mouth.
The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs of shock. Xue Laohu, just steps away from the scene, came to an abrupt halt. His face contorted into an expression of sheer horror, he raised his fan to shield himself from the sight. "Ah fuck," he muttered under his breath, clutching his chest.
Li Zhameng stumbled backward, his face pale and nauseated. Though he had seen this process before, it never ceased to unsettle him. The demonic energy glowed faintly, black and sickly, as it poured from Shudu into Xue Tuzi, who shuddered violently before letting out a weak, muffled groan.
"Mn," Xue Tuzi murmured, his throat convulsing as he swallowed the dark energy. His brow furrowed, but his breathing began to steady.
Shudu pulled back, wiping the corner of his mouth with a smug smile. His sharp canines glinted in the light, adding a feral edge to his otherwise elegant demeanor. "That should be enough," he said, standing tall as if he hadn't just performed a grotesque, forbidden technique in front of hundreds of spectators. His gaze shifted to Xue Laohu, who had finally mustered the courage to approach.
Xue Laohu coughed into his hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Shudu. "Yes, well… let's get his injuries checked," he said, stepping around Shudu. Gently, he lifted Xue Tuzi into his arms, careful not to jostle him.
Once they arrived at the medical ward, Xue Tuzi's eyes fluttered open, his vision hazy but gradually sharpening. The first thing he saw was Xue Laohu's face hovering above him, relief etched deeply into his Shizun's features. "Thank goodness," Xue Laohu breathed, his voice low and warm. He settled Xue Tuzi onto a bed and handed him a bowl of medicine. "You were fighting with a fever."
Xue Tuzi frowned, his gaze flickering to Li Zhameng, who hovered nervously nearby, twisting his hands. Li Zhameng jolted when Xue Tuzi's sharp eyes fixed on him. "A-Tuzi," Li Zhameng stammered, his voice soft and shaky. "I'm… I'm glad you're okay."
Before Xue Tuzi could muster a retort, a loud clang broke the fragile quiet. Xue Laohu had dropped the medicine bowl, his hand clutching his forehead. His face twisted in pain as he stumbled backward, collapsing onto his knees.
"Shizun!" Both disciples cried out in unison, rushing to his side.
Xue Laohu's body convulsed, his breathing uneven. His fan fell from his hand, forgotten, as he gripped his head tightly. His voice was strained, almost as if he were fighting something unseen. "Stay back," he gasped, but his disciples didn't listen. Panic filled their faces as they knelt beside him, each trying to steady him, but the storm brewing inside Xue Laohu was far beyond their control.