"Well," Ji’an muttered to herself, staring at the glowing bracket as the gong sounded to signal the end of the block. "The Protagonists have officially flexed. The bar is set."

The holographic screen above the arenas shimmered, updating the bracket.

[Next Match: Ring One. Candidate #459: Lin Ji’an VS. Candidate #88: Yan Lie]

Ji’an stood up from her bench, dusting the melon seed shells off her grey robes. She picked up her Black Iron Spatula, the metal feeling incredibly heavy in her hand.

She looked across the plaza. Standing at the base of Ring One, leaning casually against his massive, blood-red halberd, was the Blood Sovereign.

Yan Lie’s glowing red eyes were fixed on her, and his feral, terrifying grin promised absolute, unadulterated chaos.

Ji’an took a deep breath.

"Alright," she whispered to herself. "Time to go discipline the Demon Lord."

While Xie Wangchen was busy traumatising the entire Celestial Sword Sect with his apocalyptic display of possessive winter, the atmosphere in the highest echelons of the floating VIP pavilion was undergoing a massive, silent crisis.

Sitting at the centre of a carved mahogany table, surrounded by the Sect Leader and the other exalted Peak Masters, was Elder Qin Changxu.

The ancient master of the Heartless Dao held a celadon teacup halfway to his lips. He was perfectly still. To the untrained eye, he looked like a statue of profound, enlightened serenity.

But inside, Elder Qin was screaming.

He had watched his prized disciple, the boy who was supposed to sever all mortal ties and ascend as an unfeeling god of ice, step into the ring.

He had watched Mo Wuchen, the opponent, offer a standard, if slightly dramatic, pre-match greeting.

And then he had watched his disciple detonate a localised Ice Age because the opponent had smiled at a cook from Class 9.

Crack!

A hairline fracture appeared on the pristine surface of Elder Qin’s teacup.

"My word," the Sect Leader, a jovial man with a long white beard, murmured, leaning forward to peer down at the frozen block of solid ice that currently contained Mo Wuchen. "Elder Qin, your disciple’s cultivation has certainly... blossomed. Such overwhelming power. Though his application of the Heartless Dao seems rather... passionate today, wouldn’t you say?"

The Head of the Alchemy Peak, a sharp-eyed woman, chuckled dryly. "Passionate? He looked like a dragon guarding a hoard of gold. I’ve never seen the boy display an ounce of emotion, yet he just launched a Class 6 disciple through a reinforced stone wall for existing in the same airspace as that grey-robed youngster. Are you sure you taught him the Heartless Dao, Changxu, and not the Possessive Wife-Protecting Dao?!"

Elder Qin’s eyebrow twitched. A single, minuscule twitch that betrayed centuries of emotional suppression.

Crack!

The fracture on the teacup lengthened.

"Wangchen is merely... eliminating distractions to his cultivation," Elder Qin said, his voice as smooth and cold as a frozen lake. He desperately refused to look at the plaza below, where his "heartless" disciple was currently standing next to the cook, looking like a devoted, expectant puppy waiting for a pat on the head. "The Dao of Ice requires absolute focus. He is simply enforcing a sterile environment. It is... highly efficient."

"Ah, yes. Very efficient," the Sect Leader nodded wisely, clearly not believing a single word. "Nothing says ’sterile environment’ like freezing an entire arena because someone looked at your friend. You must be very proud."

Elder Qin slowly set the teacup down on the mahogany table. The moment the porcelain touched the wood, the cup disintegrated into fine, powdery dust, destroyed by the sheer, leaking pressure of Elder Qin’s internal embarrassment.

’He is ruined, My Disciple!’ Elder Qin thought miserably, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. ’My legacy is ruined! The supreme Flawless Ice Root is going to spend the rest of his immortal life carrying groceries for a chef. I should have never let them share those meatballs!’

Down in the plaza, the shock of Wangchen’s match eventually subsided, replaced by the thrumming, electric anticipation of the next block.

The glowing holographic bracket shifted, wiping the previous names and illuminating the next set of contenders.

"The second block of Phase Two shall commence!" the Head Elder’s voice boomed, dragging the crowd’s attention back to the rings. "Ring Two: Second Prince Xiao Yichen versus Senior Brother Kuang!"

The female disciples in the stands instantly erupted into a deafening chorus of shrieks.

From the southern stairs, Xiao Yichen ascended.

If Gu Zhiwei was the blinding sun and Xie Wangchen was the frozen abyss, Xiao Yichen was a gentle, meandering river on a spring afternoon.

He wore the royal blue and silver silk robes of the Imperial Family, tailored to perfection to highlight his tall, elegant frame.

His dark hair was half-tied with a silver ribbon, and in his right hand, he held a beautiful, intricately painted folding fan.

He stepped into the ring with a smile that was so utterly gentle, so disarmingly polite, that it made the audience collectively sigh in adoration.

His opponent, however, was not charmed.

Senior Brother Kuang was a behemoth from the Body Forging Peak. He was eight feet tall, entirely shirtless, with muscles that looked like they had been chiselled from granite. He wielded two massive spiked iron gauntlets and glared down at the smiling Prince.

"Royal blood means nothing in the ring, Your Highness," Kuang bellowed, slamming his gauntlets together to create a shockwave that rattled the runic barrier. "I will not hold back just because you’re pretty!"

"I would be deeply offended if you did, Senior Brother," Xiao Yichen replied softly. His voice was a melodious, comforting baritone. He offered a graceful, sweeping bow. "Please, enlighten this humble scholar."

"Match begins!"

Kuang didn’t waste a second. He charged like a runaway siege engine, the black stone of the arena cracking beneath his heavy boots.

He threw a devastating right hook aimed directly at Yichen’s perfect, smiling face, intending to end the match in a single, brutal strike.