The sheer, brazen injustice of it clawed at Lu Fengxiao’s throat, a familiar, burning knot tightening in his gut. His chest pulsed with a dull, searing ache, the Heavenly Brand on his sternum flaring with angry crimson light. It felt like molten iron, etching into his very core. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists so tight his knuckles cracked. The heat intensified, not just from the brand, but from a memory, sharp and sudden, tearing through his composure. He was standing on the precipice of a world, a maelstrom of raw aether tearing at the sky. Below, the Azure Canopy Realm trembled under a deluge, a celestial flood threatening to drown countless mortal lives. The Heavenly Dao, cold and unyielding, had deemed their demise a necessary culling, a balancing act. His own power, then limitless, had surged. He had not hesitated. With a roar that shook the very fabric of existence, he had cleaved the heavens themselves, diverting the cataclysm, saving a world at the cost of his own freedom. “*Insolent mortal! You dare defy the Mandate? You shatter the celestial order? Your power shall be sealed, your very essence bound! A hundred days, and then annihilation!*” The cosmic voice had thundered, an agony unlike any other erupting in his chest as the glowing brand, a mark of his defiance and impending doom, had seared itself onto his flesh. The memory faded, leaving behind the acrid taste of ash and the persistent, agonizing throb of his brand. “Master, your chest is glowing like a furnace,” Xue-Zhi chittered, tugging at Lu’s sleeve with a tiny, concerned claw. “Are you going to… explode *before* Zhiruo’s match? That would be terribly inconvenient for my fur.” Lu took a ragged breath, forcing his eyes open. The crimson glow on his chest slowly receded, leaving behind a dull throb. He focused on the jade arena, where Zhiruo now stood, a solitary figure against three hulking disciples from the Crimson Peak Faction, each wielding a gleaming, enchanted blade. Their leader, a broad-shouldered youth named Gorok, sneered, his two companions, the wiry twins Ren and Joran, flanking him with predatory grins. “Master, they look like very large, very aggressive squirrels,” Xue-Zhi observed, hopping onto Lu’s head. “Should I distract them with a flurry of acorn-based insults?” “No, Xue-Zhi,” Lu muttered, his voice low and tight. “We’re doing this differently. They think they’re fighting cultivators. They’re not. They’re fighting a woodcutter. A very, very angry woodcutter.” He leaned down, his face close to the squirrel’s twitching nose. “Listen carefully. I need you to be my voice. Project it loud. Sarcasm is optional, but clarity is essential.” Xue-Zhi’s whiskers twitched. “A voice? For *what*? My usual pronouncements of impending doom or my superior nut-gathering skills?” “Lumberjack advice,” Lu clarified, his gaze fixed on Zhiruo. “Precise, specific, and loud enough to cut through their arrogance.” Elder Mo’s booming voice announced the start of the illegal match, a cruel smile gracing his lips. Gorok and the twins lunged, their three blades flashing, aiming for Zhiruo’s limbs. Zhiruo, still clutching her rusted woodsman's axe, hesitated for an instant, teeth set hard. “Zhiruo! Remember the posture, girl!” Lu boomed, but his voice was swallowed by the crowd’s jeers. “Xue-Zhi! Now!” Xue-Zhi inflated his tiny chest, a surprisingly deep, resonant voice erupting from his small form, amplified by some internal, squirrely magic. “*Ahem!* Your esteemed master, Lu Fengxiao, who is definitely not a retired sovereign with a soul-annihilation timer, advises: *Root yourself, fledgling! Like an ancient Oak weathering a storm! Sink your weight, feel the earth pull you down, then let it push you up!*” Zhiruo’s eyes, wide with surprise at the disembodied, chittering voice, darted towards the spectator stands. She saw Lu, standing tall, his stance wide and grounded, exactly as he had demonstrated a hundred times in the muddy yard. Her trepidation vanished, replaced by a fierce focus. She remembered his lesson: *“A tree does not bend to the wind; it stands, and when it falls, it takes the wind with it.”* As Gorok’s sword arced towards her head, Zhiruo dropped low, her feet spreading wide, mimicking Lu’s unyielding posture. She became a rooted stump, immovable. Her hands instinctively tightened on the iron-wrapped handle of her axe, the weathered wood humming with a strange, latent power. “*And now, disciple! The Timber-Splitting Stance!*” Xue-Zhi shrieked, his voice echoing eerily across the arena. “*Imagine the stubborn grain, the heartwood refusing to yield! Find the weakness! Strike with the force of a falling mountain, not a prancing rabbit!*” Zhiruo didn’t think; she *felt*. She felt the solid ground beneath her feet, the balance of the iron head, the flow of her own uncultivated, raw strength. As the three cultivators closed in, their blades a blur of green and silver, she unleashed a devastating upward chop. It wasn’t Qi, wasn’t magic, wasn’t even a particularly fast strike. It was pure, unadulterated physical force, born from months of cleaving spirit-logs, channeling the earth’s immutable strength through her body. A concussive shockwave, invisible but terrifyingly potent, erupted from her axe head. It wasn’t an explosion of spiritual energy, but a concussion of displaced air, a raw *thump* that rattled the very bones of the arena. Gorok, Ren, and Joran, caught mid-lunge, their cultivation shields barely registering, were not just pushed back; they were *launched*. The impact hit them like an unseen battering ram. Their eyes bulged, their enchanted blades clattered to the jade floor, and they flew backward, over the edge of the arena, tumbling into the stunned crowd below, landing in an undignified heap. Silence descended upon the Cloud-Piercing arena, thick and absolute. Not a drop of blood had been shed, not a spell cast. Three elite disciples, defeated by one physical strike from a crippled girl with a rusty axe. Elder Mo’s face, moments ago sneering, was now a mask of incredulous fury. Zhiruo stood in the center of the ring, breathing heavily, her heart pounding. She looked down at her axe, then at the spot where Gorok had been. And then, she saw it. Beneath the spot where her shockwave had struck, a hairline fracture spiderwebbed across the pristine jade floor of the arena. And within that crack, for a fleeting, terrifying moment, a sickly, purple-black energy pulsed, like a corrupted vein beneath the earth, before the jade resealed itself, leaving only the faintest trace of damage. Lu Fengxiao’s eyes narrowed. The Siphoning Array. Exposed.

Echoes of the Sky-Cleaver