Morning light slanted across the blue stone slabs of the training ground, illuminating crack after crack. I stood at the edge of the platform, holding the wooden sword across my body, my palm faintly warm. The Heaven-Slaying Origin accumulated last night still flowed slowly through my meridians, like a dormant snake winding along beneath my flesh. The system operated silently. That thread of meridian-protecting barrier had already settled over my body, waiting only for the Demonic Blood to touch it.
Three beats of the gong rang out, and the crowd stirred.
Ji Hantian descended slowly from the high platform, his Purple Gold Python Pattern Robe fluttering lightly in the breeze, his folded fan held in hand, a smile at the corner of his lips. With every step he took, clan members murmured around him. Some sneered, some shook their heads, but more were waiting to watch the fine show of a cripple's madness.
"Cousin." He stopped three paces away, his gaze falling on the wooden sword in my hand. "Are you afraid? You don't even dare touch a real weapon?"
I did not answer. I merely raised the wooden sword gently, its tip aimed at the center of his brow.
His eyes narrowed before he suddenly burst out laughing. "Good! Since you want an Ancestral Sacrifice, I'll grant your wish!" Before the last word fell, the Frost-Breaking Sword left its sheath. Cold light flashed as it slashed straight for my left shoulder.
I turned aside to evade it, but the sword edge still swept across my clothes. In that instant, my fingertips trembled imperceptibly—Demonic Blood had seeped into the fabric, crawling along its fibers like fine needles piercing my skin.
The Pseudo-Primordial Body reacted at once. A faint golden glow circulated beneath my skin, sealing the blood poison outside the outer layer. At the same time, the Heaven-Slaying Origin automatically drew upon the Battle Intent Fragments, forming a reverse pulling force that quietly locked down that thread of evil blood.
I took two steps back with the motion, staggering as a low growl escaped my throat and my eyes reddened.
"Ah!" someone below the platform cried out.
"He's been hit!"
"Look at his eyes—they're already bloodshot!"
A flash of satisfaction crossed Ji Hantian's eyes as he advanced with his sword once more. "Trash will always be trash. You didn't even dare touch my sword, yet now you've gone and thrown yourself into it?" His voice suddenly rose. "After today, who would still dare call you the Young Master of the Direct Lineage?"
I gritted my teeth, my body trembling slightly as though I were battling poison spreading madly through me. In truth, my consciousness was perfectly clear, and every ripple of Spiritual Power remained under precise control. I knew what he was waiting for—waiting for me to lose control, throw myself at him and injure myself, or collapse to my knees howling. So long as I showed the slightest abnormality, the elders would strip me of my status on the spot, perhaps even lock me in the dungeon under the pretext of "madness."
But I could not let them have their way.
Nor could I let him leave unscathed.
At the instant he closed in and raised his sword again, I abruptly lifted my head. The blood-red haze had yet to fade from my eyes, but a trace of chill had appeared within them. The wooden sword turned, brushing over the wrist holding his sword as lightly as a willow branch caressing the wind.
The movement was so light that it barely made a sound.
Yet the instant the blade left his body, the meridian-protecting Spirit Pattern around his wrist snapped apart. A thin line of blood appeared, blood seeping out and dripping from the web between his thumb and forefinger—right into the groove of the Frost-Breaking Sword.
That spot was where the Demonic Blood had soaked deepest.
Time seemed to freeze for a breath.
Then Ji Hantian's expression changed abruptly. He released the Frost-Breaking Sword with a violent jerk. It fell to the ground with a clang, while he staggered backward, clutching his arm, blue veins bulging at his temples.
"What's happening?!" he howled.
No one answered.
Because everyone saw it—the black markings spread rapidly across his exposed forearm, winding upward like living things. Wherever they passed, his skin darkened, his veins bulged, and something seemed to wriggle beneath his flesh.
"The Demonic Blood... is backfiring?" an elder blurted out.
"Impossible!" Ji Hantian roared, forcibly circulating his Spiritual Power to suppress it. Yet the more he exerted himself, the faster the black markings spread. His pupils began to lose focus, his breathing grew rapid, and his legs shook beyond his control.
"Save me! Give me the antidote, now!" He turned toward a steward at the edge of the platform, reaching out to grab him, only to yank his hand back abruptly. His entire right arm convulsed violently, his knuckles twisting out of shape as though invisible things were pulling at them.
"He's turning into a puppet!" another elder cried. "Seal off the area! No one is to approach!"
Two guards rushed onto the platform, propping up the swaying Ji Hantian and dragging him toward the side courtyard. He struggled all the way, babbling incoherently, "It wasn't me... it was Ji Wuchen! He touched my sword! He must have tampered with it..."
His voice faded into the distance, vanishing at last beyond the end of the corridor.
I remained where I was, lowering the wooden sword and lightly blowing away the dust on its tip.
The area below the platform was silent.
Only after a while did someone speak softly. "He... won?"
"With a wooden sword, he broke Frost-Breaking?"
"But he was clearly the one who got hit first... so why was he fine instead?"
The stewards crowded around, chattering as they asked about my condition. Some offered me a damp cloth, telling me to wipe away the sweat on my face. Others reminded me to go to the ancestral hall and burn incense to comfort the ancestors, proving my innocence.
I answered each of them calmly, as though I truly were only a Wasted Meridian Young Master who had narrowly escaped disaster by luck.
Only after the crowd had mostly dispersed did I slowly raise my hand and brush my fingertips across the corner of my clothing that had been grazed at the left shoulder. There was a tiny tear there, its edges faintly blackened—Demonic Blood had indeed entered my body, but the system had stripped it away at the instant of contact and transformed it into a fresh thread of Heaven-Slaying Origin.
This body had long ceased to be what it was three years ago, when anyone could carve it up at will.
It had hidden its edge for far too long, waiting only for this moment—to let its enemies push themselves into the abyss with their own hands. ...
Afu hid at the back of the crowd, gripping the hem of his clothes tightly with both hands, his face pale. He had watched Ji Hantian fall with his own eyes, and he had also seen the Young Master's seemingly frail yet mountain-steady figure.
"It's over, it's over..." he muttered. "Someone's been killed. Someone's really been killed..."
He did not dare look any longer. Turning around, he squeezed out of the crowd and ran toward their residence with his head lowered. He bumped into several people along the way without stopping. The moment he entered the room, he rummaged through chests and cabinets, taking out every Copper Coin he had saved over the past three years and stuffing them into a small bundle.
"I have to go... I must go..." he muttered as he packed. "If the Young Master is held accountable, I won't escape either... maybe I'll be dragged away for questioning tomorrow..."
He took out his wine gourd as well. After hesitating for a moment, he stuffed it into the bundle anyway.
Just as he finished tying the knot, footsteps sounded outside the door.
His entire body stiffened. He spun around and saw Hongxiu peeking through the doorway. He immediately waved his hands. "Don't come in! I'm leaving!"
Hongxiu frowned. "Leaving? Where are you going?"
"To save my life!" Afu lowered his voice. "The Young Master made his move today! He cut Brother Hantian's hand with a wooden sword, and that man went mad on the spot, rolling all over the ground with black mist wrapped around him. He looks like he's about to be crippled! This wasn't a sparring match—this was maiming someone! If the Great Elder investigates, we'll all be buried with him!"
After hearing him out, Hongxiu did not panic. Instead, she smiled. "Are you stupid? Do you think that cut was made carelessly?"
"Wasn't it?"
"Didn't you see the blood on Brother Hantian's sword? That was Demonic Gu Blood. Anyone who touches it goes mad. But what about your Young Master? He never even touched that sword. His clothes were scraped open, yet he was completely fine." She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "What does that tell you? It tells you he knew this was coming, which was why he took a wooden sword onto the platform."
Afu froze. "You mean... he did it on purpose?"
"What else?" Hongxiu snorted. "Did you think your Young Master had truly been useless all these years? He's clearer-headed than anyone. That strike wasn't meant to win. It was meant to make Ji Hantian reap what he had sown."
Afu stood rooted to the spot as the bundle slowly slipped from his hand.
"Then... I don't need to run?"
"Run?" Hongxiu shot him a glance. "If you run now, that'll make you truly suspicious. Stay. Serve your master properly, and maybe you'll even earn a reward."
With that, she turned and left, leaving Afu standing dumbly in the room. After a long while, he muttered, "So... the Young Master had been waiting for this day all along..." ...
More than half the training ground had already been cleared, leaving only a few stewards examining the bloodstains on the ground. I stood alone at the edge of the platform, staring in the direction Ji Hantian had been dragged away.
The wind swept up a fallen leaf, sending it spinning down beside the Frost-Breaking Sword.
The sword lay quietly on the ground, its blade cold and dark, a thread of deep-red blood still lingering in its groove. It had once slain demon kings and once been sealed within the ancestral hall. Yet now it had become a tool for framing others, only to backfire upon its master because of his greed and malice.
Truly filthy.
I stepped forward and bent down to pick up the wooden sword, my fingertips lightly stroking its blade.
A bell rang in the distance—the Heart-Cleansing Order marking the passing of noon.
I turned to leave, only to feel my sleeve sink—wind had lifted the torn corner of my clothing, catching it on an iron nail at the edge of the platform. The sound of fabric tearing was faint, yet clear.
Looking down, I saw that the skin beneath the tear was completely unmarked. Only an exceedingly fine golden line flashed beneath the sunlight for an instant before vanishing.
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