The dueling platform shimmered in the noon sun, its ancient stones pitted with decades of failed ambitions and fading blood. Around the sunken arena, red-robed disciples leaned forward, their cheers turning into a rhythmic chant.
"Ling-er! Ling-er!"
Su Ling stepped onto the platform with quiet grace, her crimson robes fluttering behind her like banners of war. Her long black hair was pulled into a tight battle-knot, exposing a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Eyes like cold obsidian fixed on her opponent—Jian Long.
He yawned dramatically.
"You sure you want to do this?" he asked, adjusting his oversized outer disciple robes with a scratch behind his neck. "I mean, the fabric's already itchy. Blood might ruin it."
Su Ling's hand went to her sword. "Shut up and draw."
[System Analysis:
Opponent: Su Ling (Tier 4 Outer Disciple)
Estimated Aggression: 93%
Warning: She wants to remove your kidneys without medical license.]
"I was hoping for a love letter," Jian Long murmured. "Guess I'll take a sword through the ribs instead."
As the silver bell chimed once, the duel began.
She lunged.
Fast.
Jian Long barely ducked, the wind from her blade hissing past his ear like an angry whisper. He rolled to the side and rose in one fluid motion, flicking his wrist as if dusting off annoyance.
"Your footwork's sloppy. Right knee's strained, isn't it? Let me guess—overtraining after Elder Lian demoted you to thirteenth?"
Su Ling's blade trembled. A hairline crack in her calm. He saw it.
She slashed again—five moves in a breath, each swing echoing with shrill kshhhh! and the hiss of displaced air. Jian Long twisted, spun, and danced just inches from death. The crowd gasped as his robe split open across the shoulder—first blood.
[System Alert: Superficial wound.
Tissue damage: 3%.
Dignity loss: 0%. Style points: +2.]
Jian Long licked the blood off his finger. "Tastes like disappointment."
The crowd howled.
Su Ling's expression darkened. Her eyes shimmered with qi, hair crackling with faint energy as she channeled her blade technique—Falling Star Cascade. She soared upward, robes billowing like a phoenix mid-dive.
He waited.
Right before her sword descended, Jian Long whispered: "You're holding back."
Boom.
Their blades clashed in a burst of sparks, the platform trembling. Jian Long slid back, boots dragging stone, but his grin widened. "There it is," he muttered. "The killer intent."
Su Ling's sword trembled midair, her breathing ragged. Sweat beaded her brow. "Who are you?"
Before he could answer, the system chimed again:
[System Suggestion: Tell her you're her long-lost common sense.
Also: Dodge left in 3… 2… now.]
He dropped, rolled, and swept her legs from under her.
Cheers erupted from half the audience.
Booing echoed from the rest.
As Su Ling hit the ground, Jian Long stood over her, panting lightly. "You know what your problem is?" he asked, eyes gleaming. "You think cultivation is about power. But it's not. It's about angles, timing… and knowing exactly what pisses people off."
She tried to rise, but his blade hovered at her throat.
The bell chimed again.
Victory.
The crowd exploded. Some cheered his name—most cursed it. Su Ling glared up at him with a mix of fury, shame… and something disturbingly close to curiosity.
[Target Emotion Updated:
Humiliation: 85%
Attraction: 6%
Desire to stab repeatedly: 107%]
Jian Long stepped back, offering his hand. "Need help up?"
She slapped it away and stood without him.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself, cousin."