The young master’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of annoyance. “Are you deaf, peasant? I said—”
Zhuo Qianfeng raised a hand, not in supplication, but as a dismissive gesture. “Your chosen method of establishing dominance is inefficient. It wastes time and Qi on a target whose potential for utility is currently negative. Move.”
The azure-robed youth, whose face now resembled a freshly peeled beet, sputtered. “Inefficient? Do you know who I am? I am Jian Feng, son of Elder Jian Ren! You will address me with respect!”
“No,” Zhuo Qianfeng stated, his voice flat. He stepped around Jian Feng, his movement fluid and economical, heading towards the archway that led deeper into the Nimbus Jade Academy grounds. Respect was a tool, most effective when wielded rather than demanded.
Jian Feng stood frozen for an instant, then bellowed, “You insolent cur! I’ll teach you respect in the dueling grounds!” Zhuo Qianfeng had already moved on toward the courtyard gates, categorizing the institute's layout and locating its densest spirit reserves.
The central plaza was a vast expanse of polished obsidian, reflecting the nine miniature suns that orbited the spire of the Grand Lore Hall. Thousands of disciples, clad in varying shades of clan silks, milled about in a chatter of ambition and privilege. Zhuo Qianfeng, in his faded hemp, drifted like an unremarkable grey pebble among cut gems. He cataloged the sneers and dismissive glances as exploitable blind spots.
He took a place among the newest initiates, a nervous cluster relegated to the rear ranks. The Headmaster, an elder named Quan Yi with a beard long enough to braid into a rope, stepped upon the dais. His voice, magnified by resonance arts, boomed across the stones.
“Welcome, novices, to Nimbus Jade! Here, the future pillars of Jiutian forge their destinies! Today, each of you will step before the Veiled Mirror, revealing your innate element and latent aptitude!”
One by one, novices stepped forward. A girl touched the glass; it pulsed vibrant emerald, signaling an uncommon Wood alignment and deep aptitude. Mutters stirred the crowd. A broad youth puffed out his chest, turning the glass scarlet: Fire alignment, exceptional talent. Applause broke out.
Then came Zhuo Qianfeng’s turn. He moved with the same unhurried pace, oblivious to the snickering that grew louder as he approached. He placed his palm on the shimmering surface of the Veiled Mirror. Silence stretched. The glass remained completely dark. Not a flicker, not a hum.
Sharp gasps gave way to brazen mutters across the square. Elder Quan Yi squinted at the artifact, then down at Zhuo Qianfeng. The elder gestured for a second attempt. Still nothing. His brow furrowed into deep crevices.
“Unprecedented,” the Elder finally declared, his amplified voice tinged with bewilderment. “The Veiled Mirror detects… nothing. No resonance, no latent gift. As if his channels are… dead.”
The whispers surged, morphing into open laughter and ridicule. “Dead channels? A mortal?” “A beggar from the wastes, no doubt.” “They admit anyone now.”
Zhuo Qianfeng registered the words, the scorn, the pity. They were data points. A dead core was a nuisance, yet hardly an obstacle for someone who had once unraveled the heavens. He lowered his hand, his mouth twitching with quiet mockery at the grand cosmic irony.
Suddenly, a voice, loud and booming, sliced through the derision. “Silence!”
A youth with a shock of scarlet hair, dressed in senior robes of deep jade, marched out from the front line. His copper irises burned with outrage. This was Lei Ban, the school's loud prodigy, rumored to advance an entire realm each turning of the year.
He stopped before Zhuo Qianfeng, towering over him with bristling energy. “This insults us!” Lei Ban bellowed, gesturing wildly at the silent mirror. “To our lineage! To the path of power itself! Admitting a husk with severed channels stains our honor!”
Zhuo Qianfeng simply tilted his head, regarding Lei Ban with the same cool, analytical gaze he'd given Jian Feng. A useful idiot, perhaps. Strong, yet predictable. An excellent candidate for public demolition.
“I, Lei Ban, challenge you to a duel!” the youth roared across the stones. “Right here, right now! Let us see if broken channels can withstand a true martial artist!”
The crowd held its collective breath. A duel, unannounced, on the first day? And against the academy’s top talent? This was unheard of.
“A duel?” Zhuo Qianfeng responded, his voice almost a murmur. “Very well. But know this: I only fight battles with purpose. What will I gain from your inevitable defeat?”
Lei Ban’s jaw dropped. The audacity! “Gain? The swift end of your humiliation! Or if you manage to land even one strike, I will call you an inconvenience!” He tore a broad sabre from his back, steel catching the nine suns. A low drone rose as energy flooded the fuller.
“Insufficient,” Zhuo Qianfeng said. “Upon my victory, you will yield to my judgment in martial theory and procure materials and intelligence on my behalf.”
Lei Ban barked a laugh. “Done, cripple! Prepare for disgrace! I agree to your absurd terms, spoken like a lunatic!”
Elder Quan Yi cleared his throat, but Lei Ban waved him off. “Headmaster, this must happen! The academy’s pride demands it!” With a sigh, the Elder nodded, acknowledging the inevitability.
Lei Ban lunged with a deafening yell, steel trailing vermilion fire. “Comet Severing Cleave!” The blade arced downward in an inferno, aimed straight for Zhuo Qianfeng’s shoulder—a strike meant to splinter collarbone and rupture lungs.
Zhuo Qianfeng did not move. Not until the last possible instant, when the scorching heat of the blade was inches from his skin. Then, with dry unconcern, he took one measured pace sideways. The roaring blade split the obsidian floor where he had stood an instant prior, throwing shards of rock and sparks into the air.
The spectators sucked in their breath. Lei Ban jerked his hilt back and snarled. “Blind evasion!” He spun into a frenzy of slashes, each faster than the last. “Azure Serpent’s Coil! Gale Cyclone! Obsidian Bolt!”
Zhuo Qianfeng moved. A step back, a lean to the side, a fractional shift of his weight. Each movement was minimalist, economical, precise. He offered neither block nor parry; he was simply absent from the edge's path. Maneuvers meant to box in targets sheared empty air or whispered through hemp sleeves without nicking skin. Lei Ban’s face mottled, his ragged breaths echoing in the quiet.
“Sloppy,” Zhuo Qianfeng observed amidst the whistling metal. “Your stance drags. Your circulation races ahead of the edge. Half your force bleeds away correcting for bad balance.”
Lei Ban faltered, his overhead slash halting mid-arc. “You dare disparage my family's Scarlet Vortex? It is an exalted martial art!”
“Loud in its detonation, perhaps,” Zhuo Qianfeng replied, “yet structurally defective. Watch.” He pointed toward the pavement. “Your final thrust routes force through the minor Xuan conduit before reaching the spine, producing a stutter in momentum. A fatal hole.”
Lei Ban glared, doubt battling fury. “Lies! The grandmaster deemed it unassailable!” Roaring, he drove forward to unleash the stance’s finale. He forced his internal stream to jump the gap Zhuo Qianfeng had named, but panicked haste tore the conduit open. Internal backlash detonated inward. Lei Ban collapsed face-first onto the obsidian, limp, his blade clattering across the stones.
Absolute quiet gripped the terrace. Hundreds of onlookers and Elder Quan Yi stood petrified. The favored champion lay felled not by steel, but by a clinical diagnosis that shattered his own flow under pressure.
After several dragging breaths, instructors scurried forward. Zhuo Qianfeng casually flicked ash from his sleeve, strolled to the downed challenger, and nudged the fallen sabre with his toe. He raised his chin toward Elder Quan Yi.
“The terms,” Zhuo Qianfeng stated, his voice carrying clearly in the stunned silence. “He accepted.”
Elder Quan Yi looked from the prone form of Lei Ban to the utterly unperturbed Zhuo Qianfeng, then back again. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened once more, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was as if the very foundations of his understanding had been turned to dust.
Several minutes later, Lei Ban stirred, groaning. His eyes fluttered open, then snapped into focus on Zhuo Qianfeng. He remembered. The humiliation. The casual, almost dismissive dismantling of his most profound technique. The collapse of his own Qi.
He scrambled up, heaving. Shaking, he leveled a finger at Zhuo Qianfeng. “You... you monster! You saw right through the path! This is not ruin—this is proof! The heavens have sent me the rival I sought!” He struck his chest with a fist. “Zhuo Qianfeng! I swear by my path to surpass you! I will hound you until I take my victory! You are my rival!”
Zhuo Qianfeng blinked. A rival? He had simply pointed out faulty geometry. Still, an obedient pawn held utility. The youth possessed heavy core reserves, raw drive, and a blunt bluster well-suited for clearing obstacles. Lei Ban would serve.
He had just acquired his first tool. And, he reflected, the boy hadn’t even realized he was being used. The first step in his grand re-ascension. Yao Shimei would be amused by his new… acquisition, assuming she ever deigned to acknowledge the existence of such a trivial speck as a newly reborn Empyrean Sovereign. Zhuo Qianfeng’s gaze drifted towards the towering spires of the Grand Lore Hall, beyond them, to the distant, shimmering veil of the higher celestial layers, to a throne he intended to reclaim.