Chapter 85: The Figure in the Corner

The outer sect competition usually lasted about three days, with the final round reserved for the elite disciples of each mountain. At a glance, the weakest among them were already at the late stage of Qi Refinement, and many were on the verge of perfection. After ten years of arduous cultivation, they had finally made it to the last stage, spirits soaring with pride, yet the unease flickering in their eyes betrayed the tension within.

The source of their anxiety was the graceful figure standing in the arena. For two consecutive rounds, she had defeated her opponents with a single move, ending the matches so swiftly that no one had the chance to gauge the depths of her strength.

“Greenhill...”

“Why have I never heard of it before?”

A few familiar disciples exchanged puzzled looks, quietly inquiring about the young woman’s background. Nearby, a disciple from Cloud Residence Peak smiled faintly. He had already received instructions from the elders and naturally understood the situation. Fortunately, he would not be facing her in the next round, thus avoiding any awkwardness.

Having come this far, who wouldn’t want to vie for first place? Even the elders would understand. After all, the final reward was a Foundation Establishment Pill bestowed by the inner sect itself—the best opportunity for any disciple in the Qi Refinement stage.

Su Bailu stood quietly, eyes closed, conserving her strength. When the steward called her name, she slowly opened her eyes, drew her sword, and turned to look—her expression shifting subtly.

A woman in purple, biting her lip, stepped out from the crowd and gazed at her apologetically. After a long silence, she called, “Junior Sister Su.”

“Senior Sister, isn’t this a bit too much of a coincidence?” Su Bailu smiled helplessly, a trace of complexity in her eyes. She had not expected Senior Sister Zhao to be in Group D, nor that they would happen to meet.

It might have been mere coincidence, but recalling her senior sister’s words from a few days ago, it was likely the handiwork of Li Qianchen.

It had been some time since she last saw Zhao Ling, and now her senior sister wore several new trinkets—whether the hairpin at her temple or the jade pendant on her chest, each radiated the aura of a magical artifact.

“I’m only following Master’s orders. Please don’t take it to heart,” Zhao Ling said, gripping her sword in embarrassment. She knew full well that her entry into Elder Qingfeng’s tutelage was due to Senior Lin’s favor, yet now she stood in Greenhill’s way.

Su Bailu shook her head, indicating it was fine.

Zhao Ling sighed in relief and drew her sword. “When I win the prize, we’ll split it evenly, sister.”

Her tone seemed to take victory for granted.

While the other disciples were already engaged in fierce combat, only these two lingered in conversation, naturally drawing the attention of the Southern Hall’s steward. He glanced over and was surprised to see that the sword in the purple-robed disciple’s hand was wreathed in tendrils of wind.

“The Clear Wind, Bright Moon Sword?”

That was a secret art never taught outside Qingfeng Mountain—a genuine high-grade technique. Even he, an elder, was a little envious.

The treasured art that even the many stewards of Qingfeng Mountain coveted had appeared in the hands of a disciple who had been in the sect for less than ten years. When had Li Qianchen become so generous?

Zhao Ling gazed quietly at her opponent. Elder Qingfeng had yet to recover from his serious injuries; to save face and hide the fact that he had lost to Senior Lin, he only allowed her to care for him. While bedridden, he had spent all his time imparting this sword technique to her, hoping she would restore Qingfeng Mountain’s honor.

Unfortunately, time had been too short. She had barely mastered the basics, but even so, its power far surpassed any technique she had learned before.

As the wind on her sword grew louder, she stepped forward, her aura unstable and seeming about to collapse. This was a precarious realm, teetering on the edge.

Yet all the dueling disciples stopped and looked over, their hearts pounding. This was the realm they all dreamed of achieving.

Had a Foundation Establishment cultivator finally appeared in Group D?

The Southern Hall steward shook his head. From his perspective, the foundation was only half-formed. It could be called Half-Step Foundation Establishment, but in truth, it was still Qi Refinement—just far more powerful than the ordinary.

Normally, a disciple wouldn’t find themselves in this situation unless they’d taken a Foundation Establishment Pill but failed to break through fully.

He thought to himself, “With another Foundation Establishment Pill as the tournament reward, she’ll succeed.”

That was exactly Zhao Ling’s intention. No one could resist the allure of doubling one’s lifespan; even if she and Su Bailu were the closest of friends, she was no exception. As for Li Qianchen’s request, it was merely an afterthought.

“Junior Sister, I owe you one for this.”

She clenched her teeth, guilt mingling with determination, and charged forward. With both realm and technique overwhelming her opponent, defeat was impossible.

Su Bailu remained standing, a hint of hesitation on her face. The watching disciples thought she was afraid, unaware that the girl was deep in thought.

She sighed. Senior Sister Zhao was clearly acting on Li Qianchen’s orders. If she lost without a fight, she’d have no way to explain herself afterward. As for letting her win—that was out of the question.

She could only ensure her senior sister’s defeat left no room for complaint.

With this in mind, Su Bailu suddenly looked up. A surge of energy, even denser than before, burst forth from her—several times stronger than Zhao Ling’s.

The difference was immediately clear.

In the early versions of the simulator, the Daoist modeled after Lin Ze had no need to resort to ambushes against the two women. Any cultivator with even a little common sense would never challenge someone an entire major realm higher unless they had a truly astonishing trump card; otherwise, it was nothing short of courting death.

Less than three feet away, Zhao Ling halted in shock, the wind about her sword dissipating. Her eyes were full of confusion. She could not understand how, after all her efforts to obtain a Foundation Establishment Pill early from Li Qianchen, Su Bailu could have done the same.

Before she could think further, a wave of astonished cries erupted from the crowd. What could be more intriguing than a false Foundation Establishment meeting a true one?

Su Bailu had not used her sword at all. A simple look was enough to halt her senior sister.

The Southern Hall steward instinctively turned around. The old man reclining in a wooden chair, who had nearly dozed off, had opened his eyes at some point.

Immortal Yellow Dragon’s eyes flickered with interest, but only for a moment. He soon returned to his serene composure.

To enter the inner sect, this alone was not enough.

A look of dejection passed over the faces of all the dueling disciples in the arena, their spirits visibly dimmed. The moment Su Bailu revealed her Foundation Establishment cultivation, the competition in Group D was, for all intents and purposes, over.

He Lin and Pan Yang exchanged glances. Their old faces flushed red with indignation as they searched for Lin Ze to demand an explanation, only to find he had vanished without a trace.

Elsewhere, a small figure crouched on the ground, clutching the hem of the Daoist’s robe with stubborn determination and whispered, “You can help me.”

Lin Ze shook his head. He himself did not know why he had suddenly decided to wander over here—perhaps he saw a familiar shadow in this young girl. But he had no intention of intervening, so he replied,

“I have no reason to help you.”

“You’ve been watching me all this time,” she retorted, lifting her head to reveal a face covered in bruises beneath her short hair.