Yun Han slowly climbed to his feet, his chest heaving, blood staining the edge of his lips. His legs trembled slightly as he stood, the aftershock of that single blow still reverberating through his bones. His mind whirled in disbelief. His saber energy had been fully engaged—an attack that could have cleaved through steel—yet he'd been forced back.
By whom?
His eyes narrowed on the boy now standing calmly across from him.
That gentle smile. That relaxed gait. That face—handsome and clear-cut like jade—and yet, strangely... serene. The boy radiated an aura not of raw power, but of bottomless stillness.
Yun Han's breath hitched.
No cultivation... there's no cultivation?!
He blinked again. Still nothing. Not a trace. The boy before him looked like a mortal. And yet, his presence—it felt like a blade sheathed in silk, hidden yet impossibly sharp.
Around the platform, murmurs grew louder.
"Who is he?""Wait... isn't that... Li Yang?""The trash young master? Didn't he disappear into the valley years ago?""Why does he feel... dangerous?"
The whispers crawled through the crowd like wildfire.
"Li Yang. The bastard son. The disgrace of the Li family," someone said mockingly—but their voice lacked conviction now.
Yun Han's face darkened. He clenched his fists.
How dare they compare me to this trash?
The rage boiled over. His pride—carved from years of being hailed a genius—was now fractured. That single blow had cracked the illusion he held about himself.
"You dare sneak up on me, you good-for-nothing bastard?" he bellowed, saber glowing with saber energy. "I'll slice your head off and offer it to your clan as a gift!"
He charged.
The crowd tensed.
Yun Han's killing intent surged like a tide, his saber slashing forward with a howl that tore through the air.
Li Yang merely glanced at him. Calm. Collected.
Too slow.
He stepped forward and gently rested his fingers on the hilt of the blue sword stuck into the ground.
The moment his fingertips touched the hilt—
Boom.
A subtle shift.
No sound. No flash. Just... inevitability.
Yun Han's saber was a breath away. He grinned in triumph.
"Die, you—!"
And missed.
By a hair.
Li Yang had simply tilted his body—no footwork, no flash—just a whisper of a movement. The saber passed harmlessly by. Yun Han's momentum crashed into a wall of nothingness. Before he could adjust, something pressed against his abdomen.
He looked down.
The hilt of the blue sword was gently nudged against his dantian.
His eyes widened in horror.
Then came the pain.
A shriek echoed across the arena as Yun Han flew backward like a broken kite, blood spraying in an arc behind him before he crashed outside the platform.
The crowd rose to its feet.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
Silence.
Then chaos.
"That was... Li Yang?""How did that trash defeat Yun Han with one move?""Did he even draw his sword?!"
On the elder platform, the Grand Elder of the Li family slowly stood. His lips parted, words refusing to form. A bittersweet smile finally touched his aged face.
Two years...
He remembered.
Two Years Ago – Li Family Compound
Thunder roared across the night sky. Rain lashed against the tiled roofs, cascading in sheets. The elder of the Li family stood under the flickering torchlight, staring at the stranger before him—a tall man clad in black, his eyes unfathomably deep.
At the man's feet lay a boy, no older than fourteen, drenched in blood, clutching a blue sword so tightly his knuckles were white. The killing intent radiating from that small frame was suffocating. Even with the cultivation of the Grand Elder, he could barely breathe near him.
The stranger's voice was low and emotionless. "I need nothing from you except a place for him to recover. Two years. Keep him hidden. Let him rest. No special treatment. Call him a bastard son. Let the world forget him."
The Grand Elder, though baffled, dared not question. The pressure the man exuded was otherworldly—an emperor among mortals. The only thing that lingered on the elder's mind was the boy's face... and the sword that refused to be separated from him, as if forged from his very soul.
From that night, the Li family grew stronger. The old man vanished. And the boy entered the valley—never to be seen, until now.
Present
On the elder platform, the Grand Elder whispered beneath his breath. "The sleeping dragon... has awakened."
Across the arena, Li Yang stood with the same gentle smile, yet something had changed. That smile no longer felt harmless.
It felt dangerous.
Elsewhere
A gentle breeze stirred the silken veils of a distant pavilion. Grandma Yu's eyes shot open.
Her aged hands trembled. She looked toward the platform, tears welling unbidden in her eyes.
Lo Rou, startled, rushed to her. "Grandma! What's wrong?"
But Grandma Yu's expression was a strange blend of joy, sorrow, and reverence.
She whispered through the lump in her throat. "He's returned... the young master has returned."
Her eyes found the faint glimmer of blue on the horizon. "The blue sword cries... it's been waiting. I've been waiting. For him."
Lo Rou stared in confusion. "Young master...? Who is she talking about?"
She looked back at the platform. At the boy standing in black, sword still sheathed, hair swaying in the wind like a drifting shadow.
Lu Yan
From her place near the edge of the audience, Lu Yan stared with wide eyes. For a long time, she had only known Li Yang in white—a quiet, gentle youth, always smiling, seemingly content with mediocrity.
But now... now he wore black.
And he stood not as a mortal, but as a storm.
The wind swirled around him. The sword vibrated faintly in its sheath, as if longing to be drawn.
"Will he unsheathe it?" she wondered.
The question echoed in her heart.
Why did this sword—still untouched—feel more dangerous than any weapon she had ever seen?
And why, when she first met him, did his eyes—cold, lonely, and infinitely deep—feel like they had already seen through her?
The tournament was far from over.
But the tides had already begun to shift.
A storm had arrived in the quiet valley.
And his name was Li Yang.