Chapter 14: Chapter 14

The training grounds emptied in a matter of breaths, leaving Jin Tian alone with the weight of Elder Zhou's announcement still pressing against his chest. Three hours. One hundred and eighty minutes to prepare for an opponent who had already killed him once.

He walked slowly toward the meditation pavilion at the edge of the outer disciple compound, his mind racing through every possible scenario. In his first life, Liu Feng had been ranked seventh among the inner disciples, but that ranking had been three years from now. The current Liu Feng would be weaker, less experienced, his techniques still in their formative stages.

But Jin Tian was also weaker. A twelve-year-old body with barely enough qi to sustain a single battle, let alone the prolonged exchanges that inner disciples specialized in.

He needed an advantage.

The pavilion stood empty, its stone floor worn smooth by generations of disciples seeking clarity. Jin Tian sat in the center, cross-legged, and closed his eyes. His consciousness drifted inward, tracing the meridians that had carried qi through his body for over three centuries.

In the past two months, he had reconstructed sixteen of the thirty-six fundamental meridians. That was enough for basic cultivation, enough for the outer disciple techniques he had been using. But against Liu Feng, it would not be enough.

He needed the eighteenth meridian.

The decision came with a weight that settled into his bones. The eighteenth meridian connected the heart to the dantian, allowing qi to flow freely between the body's core and its extremities. It was not a dangerous breakthrough—not by his old standards. But in a twelve-year-old body, forcing the connection would carry risks.

The memory of pain flashed through him. He had done this before, in his first life. It had taken him three days and left him bedridden for a week. Now he had three hours.

He began the process.

Qi gathered at his dantian, a warm pulse that grew with each breath. Jin Tian guided it upward, threading through the seventeenth meridian, feeling the familiar resistance at the junction where the eighteenth should open. The wall between them was thick, calcified by years of neglect.

*Push.*

The qi pressed against the barrier. Pain lanced through his chest, sharp and immediate. He ignored it.

*Push harder.*

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart stuttered, skipped, then resumed its rhythm with renewed force. The wall began to crack.

And then, without warning, the pressure vanished.

Jin Tian's eyes snapped open. His qi had stopped flowing, not because of failure, but because something had caught it, absorbed it, redirected it into nothingness.

He looked down at his chest.

A small black mark sat over his heart, no larger than a fingernail. It pulsed with a faint, oily sheen, and as he watched, it *moved*.

"Impossible," he whispered.

The mark was a seal. A qi-suppression seal, expertly crafted, placed directly over his heart meridian. It had been dormant, waiting for the moment he attempted to breakthrough the eighteenth meridian to activate.

He had been poisoned before he even started.

The seal was not meant to kill. It was meant to cripple. Anyone who triggered it would find their cultivation permanently stunted, their qi unable to flow past the heart meridian. They would never advance beyond the outer disciple stage.

And the seal had been placed inside him for at least two weeks.

Jin Tian's mind raced through every meal, every drink, every interaction he had had since awakening in this body. The seal could not have been placed by force—he would have noticed. It had to have been ingested, hidden in food or medicine, designed to activate upon contact with concentrated qi.

The morning tea. The bitter aftertaste he had dismissed as poor quality herbs. The kind smile of the serving disciple who had handed him the cup.

*Chen Wei's man.*

The realization crystallized with cold clarity. Chen Wei had not been content to let the tournament decision stand. He had been planning this for weeks, waiting for Jin Tian to push his cultivation far enough to trigger the seal. And Jin Tian had walked right into the trap.

He pressed his palm against the mark. The seal pulsed again, as if laughing at him.

In his first life, he had never encountered such a technique. The Heavenly Sword Sect had prided itself on honorable combat, on direct confrontation. Seals and poisons were the tools of demonic cultivators, of sects that had abandoned the righteous path.

But this seal was not demonic. The craftsmanship was too refined, the design too elegant. This was the work of someone trained in the sect's own formation arts.

Someone within the sect had given Chen Wei this seal.

The implications spread like ripples in still water. Chen Wei was not acting alone. He had an ally among the inner disciples, possibly among the elders themselves. The same network that would eventually betray Jin Tian in his first life was already forming, already moving against him.

And he had three hours until his match against Liu Feng.

Jin Tian stood slowly, his legs unsteady. The seal had weakened him, disrupted his qi flow, but it had not broken him. He still had the sixteenth and seventeenth meridians. He still had the techniques he had mastered over three centuries.

He would fight Liu Feng with one hand tied behind his back. It was not ideal, but he had fought in worse conditions. He had fought with a shattered arm, with a collapsed lung, with poison burning through his veins.

This was just another obstacle.

But as he walked out of the pavilion, a new thought settled into his mind, darker than the seal itself.

If Chen Wei had an ally among the inner disciples, then Liu Feng's betrayal in his first life took on new meaning. Liu Feng had not acted alone. He had been part of something larger, a conspiracy that stretched beyond the tournament, beyond the sect, into something Jin Tian had never fully understood.

The match against Liu Feng was no longer just a battle. It was the first thread of a tapestry he needed to unravel.

The arena was already filling when Jin Tian arrived. Inner disciples lined the elevated platforms, their robes marking their ranks, their eyes cold and assessing. Elder Zhou sat in the center, his face unreadable. And at the far end of the arena, Liu Feng stood waiting.

He was younger than Jin Tian remembered. Nineteen, maybe twenty, with a lean build and sharp features. His hair was the color of autumn leaves, pulled back into a tight ponytail. A sword hung at his hip, its sheath plain but its hilt ornately carved with fire-aspected formations.

Their eyes met across the arena floor.

Liu Feng smiled. It was not a friendly smile.

"Outer Disciple Jin Tian," Elder Zhou announced, his voice carrying across the crowd. "You have chosen to face Inner Disciple Liu Feng in the first round of the inner division tournament. Do you accept the terms?"

"I accept," Jin Tian said, his voice steady.

"And do you understand the risks? Inner division matches are fought to submission, not to death. But accidents happen."

"I understand."

Liu Feng stepped forward, drawing his sword. The blade caught the light, gleaming with a reddish tint that spoke of fire-aspected refinement. "I've heard interesting things about you, junior brother," he said, his tone conversational. "They say you defeated Chen Wei's best man in three moves."

"The rumors exaggerate."

"Do they?" Liu Feng's smile widened. "Then I suppose I'll find out for myself."

The gong sounded.

Liu Feng moved first, as Jin Tian had expected. He was aggressive, confident, used to overwhelming opponents with speed and power. His sword lanced forward, trailing a ribbon of flame that split the air with a sharp hiss.

Jin Tian sidestepped. The flame passed within inches of his face, the heat searing against his skin. He did not draw his sword.

"Not going to fight?" Liu Feng asked, already pivoting for a second strike.

"I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to show me something interesting."

Liu Feng's eyes narrowed. His third strike came faster, lower, aimed at Jin Tian's legs. The fire aspect had intensified, the blade now wreathed in actual flames that crackled and popped.

Jin Tian jumped, twisting in midair, and landed three steps to Liu Feng's left. His hand remained empty.

"You're fast," Liu Feng admitted. "But speed won't save you."

He changed his stance. The flames around his blade dimmed, condensed, and the sword itself began to glow with a deep, internal heat. The temperature in the arena rose noticeably.

*The Crimson Serpent technique. Rank four, first stage.*

Jin Tian remembered this technique. Liu Feng had used it in their first life, in the battle that had ended with a blade through Jin Tian's heart. It was powerful, destructive, and almost impossible to dodge at close range.

But Jin Tian knew its weakness. The technique required a full second of charge time, during which the user's qi was completely committed to the attack. In that second, the user could not defend.

Liu Feng's blade flared.

Jin Tian moved.

He closed the distance in a single step, his hand finally going to his sword. But he did not draw. Instead, he struck with the sheathed blade, driving the scabbard directly into Liu Feng's wrist, disrupting the flow of qi before the technique could complete.

The flames fizzled. Liu Feng's eyes widened in shock.

Jin Tian stepped back, his sheathed sword lowering. "Your stance gives away the charge," he said, his voice calm. "You shift your weight to your back foot a full second before you strike. Anyone watching your feet can predict the attack."

Liu Feng's face flushed. "You—"

"You rely on the flames to intimidate," Jin Tian continued. "They're effective against opponents who haven't faced fire-aspected techniques before. But fire is predictable. It follows the path of least resistance. It burns in a straight line."

He finally drew his sword. The blade was simple, unadorned, the standard issue for outer disciples. But in his hands, it seemed to hum with potential.

"Show me something I haven't seen before," Jin Tian said. "Or this match will end very quickly."

Liu Feng's composure cracked. The easy confidence vanished, replaced by something raw and violent. He lunged forward, abandoning technique for pure aggression, his blade carving wild arcs of flame that left afterimages in the air.

Jin Tian met him head-on.

The first exchange lasted three seconds. Their blades clashed four times, each impact sending sparks cascading across the arena floor. Jin Tian's movements were precise, economical, each deflection setting up his next position. Liu Feng's were wild, powerful, but uncontrolled.

The second exchange lasted two seconds. Jin Tian's blade found Liu Feng's shoulder, cutting through his robe and drawing a thin line of blood.

The third exchange lasted half a second.

Jin Tian's sword pressed against Liu Feng's throat.

The arena fell silent.

Liu Feng's hands dropped to his sides, his sword clattering against the stone floor. His face was pale, his breath ragged. "How?" he whispered.

"I told you," Jin Tian replied, holding his blade steady. "Fire is predictable."

He stepped back and sheathed his sword. The crowd erupted in murmurs, voices rising in disbelief. An outer disciple had just defeated a seventh-ranked inner disciple in three exchanges. It was impossible. It was unprecedented.

Elder Zhou rose from his seat, his face a mask of carefully controlled emotion. "The match is concluded. Jin Tian advances to the second round."

But Jin Tian was not looking at the elder. He was looking at Liu Feng, who had not moved from his kneeling position. The inner disciple's head was bowed, his shoulders shaking with barely contained rage.

"Liu Feng," Jin Tian said, lowering his voice