A short intermission followed the conclusion of the first round. The midday sun beat down on the training ground, but the initial festive excitement had been replaced by a sharper, more focused tension. Nearly half the participants had been eliminated, their dreams crushed in swift, often brutal, duels. Those remaining eyed each other with increased wariness.
Disciples tended to their minor wounds, replenished their Qi with meditation or precious low-grade pills if they had them, and discussed the surprising outcomes of the first round. Mo Liangye heard his own name whispered a few times – "the one who beat Gao Fan so quickly," "that silent disciple," – but he ignored it, finding a quiet spot to sit and regulate his breathing, conserving every bit of Qi.
Soon, the deacons called the remaining participants forward for the second-round draw. The process was quicker this time, the crowd smaller. Mo Liangye stepped up when his previous number was called, drawing a new token. Number 42.
He scanned the updated pairing board. Number 42 vs. Number 15. His eyes found Number 15's name: Ma Hong.
A cold, almost imperceptible smile touched Mo Liangye's lips before vanishing instantly. Ma Hong. Zhao Feng's primary lackey. The one who had slapped him. The one who had sneered at him just yesterday. "Convenient," Mo Liangye thought, his gaze impassive. "The heavens – or perhaps just the random draw – provides an opportunity to collect the first installment of a debt."
Across the way, Ma Hong saw the pairing too. A wide, malicious grin spread across his face. He looked towards Zhao Feng, who gave him a slight, approving nod. Ma Hong then turned his gaze back to Mo Liangye, making a throat-slitting gesture with his thumb before laughing crudely.
Mo Liangye simply turned away, finding his observation spot again. Wasting energy on acknowledging such pathetic provocations was beneath him. He needed to watch the other key matches.
Wang Hu was up again on Platform One. His opponent this time was craftier, using agile footwork to avoid Wang Hu's initial devastating charges. The crowd watched intently, wondering if the brute could be outmaneuvered. For several exchanges, it seemed possible, as Wang Hu's heavy sword swings missed their mark.
But Wang Hu simply planted his feet, let out a roar, and unleashed a barrage of powerful, straightforward strikes, forcing his opponent into a corner through sheer pressure and Qi expenditure. The agile disciple tried a desperate counter, but Wang Hu ignored the glancing blow to his shoulder and smashed his opponent's defense with a single, overwhelming blow, sending him off the platform. "Improved slightly," Mo Liangye analyzed. "He's learning not to just rely on the first charge. Still vulnerable if his Qi runs low, but his stamina seems immense."
Li Mei's match on Platform Four was another display of blinding speed. Her opponent, perhaps having watched her first fight, tried using wide, sweeping attacks to create a zone of denial. It didn't work. Li Mei moved like a phantom, appearing inside his guard, her wooden sword tapping his wrist, then his knee, then his throat in rapid succession before he could even react properly. He yielded, bewildered. "Her control is precise. Not just fast, but accurate. Difficult to predict her angle of attack."
Mo Liangye absorbed these details, filing them away. These two were the real obstacles to the Top 5. Zhao Feng was a nuisance, a target for revenge, but likely wouldn't pose a true threat in a direct confrontation if Mo Liangye revealed slightly more strength. Ma Hong? He was merely the appetizer.
"Round Two, Match 8! Platform Two! Disciple Number 42, Mo Liangye, versus Disciple Number 15, Ma Hong!"
The call came. Mo Liangye walked towards Platform Two, his steps measured. Ma Hong swaggered onto the platform from the other side, cracking his knuckles, a vicious sneer plastered on his face.
"Ready to pay for disrespecting Senior Brother Zhao, trash?" Ma Hong spat as they faced each other. "I'm going to enjoy breaking your bones!"
Mo Liangye didn't reply. He simply picked up a wooden sword, his eyes cold and empty, regarding Ma Hong as if he were already dead.
"Begin!"
Ma Hong roared and charged immediately, foregoing any finesse. He swung his wooden sword wildly, aiming a heavy downward chop at Mo Liangye's head, clearly intending to intimidate and overwhelm with sheer aggression.
Mo Liangye moved. Not backwards, but slightly to the side, using the minimal footwork required from 'Cloud Step'. The heavy sword sliced through empty air beside him. He let Ma Hong's momentum carry him past.
"Crude. Predictable. All force, no control," Mo Liangye thought dismissively.
Ma Hong, angered by the easy dodge, spun around and charged again, launching a flurry of furious but uncoordinated strikes. Mo Liangye flowed around him like water around a rock, easily evading each blow, his expression unchanging. He made no attempt to attack yet, simply letting Ma Hong expend his energy and reveal his sloppy technique.
The crowd watched, some murmuring at Mo Liangye's evasiveness, others enjoying Ma Hong's aggressive display. Zhao Feng watched from the sidelines, a confident smirk on his face, clearly expecting his lackey to finish Mo Liangye quickly.
After nearly a minute of fruitless chasing and swinging, Ma Hong was breathing heavily, his face flushed with anger and exertion. He overextended on a wide horizontal slash, leaving his right side momentarily open.
Mo Liangye saw the opening instantly. This time, he didn't just dodge. He flowed inside Ma Hong's guard. As the wooden sword swept past, Mo Liangye didn't bother blocking it. Instead, his left hand shot out, deflecting Ma Hong's sword arm slightly outwards with a precise tap on the wrist, disrupting the attack's trajectory. Simultaneously, his right elbow, reinforced by the subtle power of the Sprouted God Seed making his frame deceptively solid, slammed hard into Ma Hong's exposed ribs.
CRACK!
It wasn't just the sound of impact, but the sickening crunch of bone. Ma Hong gasped, a strangled cry escaping his lips as intense pain shot through his side. The air was driven from his lungs. He stumbled back, eyes wide with shock and agony, clutching his ribs. He hadn't expected such speed, such precision, such force from Mo Liangye's close-quarters counter.
Mo Liangye gave him no respite. Before Ma Hong could even attempt to recover or raise his sword, Mo Liangye closed the distance again. His wooden sword, held in a reverse grip now, became a vicious instrument of targeted pain.
Whack! The flat of the sword struck Ma Hong's knee joint, causing his leg to buckle. Thwack! A swift strike to the wrist forced Ma Hong to drop his own wooden sword. Smack! Another blow landed hard on his already injured ribs, eliciting another choked cry.
Mo Liangye moved with cold, brutal efficiency. Each strike was aimed at a joint, a nerve cluster, a place designed to inflict maximum pain and disablement without being immediately lethal. He wasn't just defeating Ma Hong; he was systematically dismantling him, repaying the earlier slap and countless other perceived slights with calculated cruelty.
Ma Hong, disarmed and crippled by pain, could only try to shield himself, stumbling backwards, terror replacing the arrogance in his eyes. "Stop! I yield! I yield!" he finally screamed, tears of pain and humiliation streaming down his face.
Mo Liangye paused, his wooden sword raised for another strike. He looked down at the pathetic figure cowering before him. He could easily break more bones, inflict more lasting damage. But ending it now, decisively, would send a clearer message to Zhao Feng.
With a final, contemptuous flick of his wrist, Mo Liangye brought the flat of his sword down hard on Ma Hong's head. Not enough to kill, but enough to ensure unconsciousness. Ma Hong collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Mo Liangye stood over the unconscious form for a moment, his chest rising and falling evenly. He then calmly straightened up, his wooden sword held loosely at his side. He turned towards the supervising deacon. "He is unable to continue."
A stunned silence hung over Platform Two and the surrounding crowd. They had seen quick victories, powerful victories, but this... this was different. This was cold, methodical, and utterly ruthless. The way Mo Liangye had disabled Ma Hong piece by piece before knocking him out spoke of a chilling precision.
The deacon, after a moment's hesitation, perhaps unnerved by the sheer brutality within the rules, declared, "Mo Liangye wins!"
Mo Liangye gave a perfunctory nod, dropped the wooden sword back onto the platform, and walked off without a backward glance at his fallen opponent.
His eyes, however, briefly met Zhao Feng's across the field. Zhao Feng's face was pale, his earlier confidence replaced by a mixture of disbelief, fury, and something else… a flicker of fear? He glared daggers at Mo Liangye, his fists clenched at his sides.
Mo Liangye held his gaze for a second, his own eyes empty of emotion, before turning away. "The first payment," he thought, a sliver of satisfaction cutting through his usual coldness. "Let him watch. Let him understand what awaits him."
He knew this display, while satisfying, would draw more attention. The elders on the high platform were observing him now, their expressions unreadable. Wang Hu and Li Mei also cast brief, analytical glances his way before focusing on their own upcoming matches.
"Attention is dangerous, but perhaps unavoidable," Mo Liangye mused as he found his solitary spot again. "Let them watch. Let them wonder. As long as the true secret remains hidden, their speculation means nothing."
The second round of the competition continued, the stakes higher, the fights fiercer. Mo Liangye had advanced, leaving a broken opponent and a clear message in his wake. The hunt was far from over.