The ground beneath Lu Mao trembled with the pulse of unleashed qi.
A faint golden shimmer rippled across the cracked flagstones, twisting in strange rhythms as the five of them stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons drawn, hearts pounding as if to the rhythm of a war drum.
The air was thick with heat and tension — the scent of dust, blood, and anticipation blending into something sharp enough to taste.
The senior disciple before them — that pale, untouchable beauty — stood calm amidst the storm. Her white robes fluttered like soft clouds caught in the wind. Every faint movement of her wrist, every shift in her breathing, radiated a terrifying grace. She wasn't simply standing there; she belonged to the air, the ground, the silence between heartbeats.
Even the faint glow of her qi — silver and pure — seemed to hum to an otherworldly rhythm.
And for a fleeting second, Lu Mao forgot what fear meant.
Then he remembered.
He raised his dagger slightly, the faint glint catching a stray reflection from the crimson orb hovering lazily beside the woman — spinning, humming like it had a heartbeat of its own. That orb was their goal. Their prize. The key to surviving the first trial.
And it was guarded by a demon in human skin.
Lu Mao tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Now," he murmured.
The others moved.
⸻
Qi flared.
Marco's blade erupted in silver light, cutting through the dust as though he wielded a slice of heaven. Chen Yuan's sword followed, whispering out of its sheath with a hiss that split the air.
Yan Mei's whip-blade unfurled like lightning, flashing out from her waist in a storm of silver arcs.
Bao Fu grinned, both hands holding metal spheres etched with orange runes pulsing faintly — his grin feral, half-crazed, as if this chaos was exactly where he belonged.
And Lu Mao —
Lu Mao's world turned quiet.
His eyes followed the shimmer of her robe, the flick of her wrist, the slight curve of her foot pressing into the earth as if she were one with it.
Everything else faded.
Only the dagger in his palm — light, curved, familiar — and the sound of his breath.
He dashed forward.
The team became a blur — five streaks of light against the fading sunlight.
They reached her almost instantly.
And she vanished.
No sound, no step. Only a faint ripple of light where she had been, as if she had melted into the air.
Lu Mao's strike carved through nothing but wind.
Before he could adjust, a blinding force slammed into him — not a blow, not a punch, but a wave, invisible yet bone-breaking.
Her palm thrust forward, and the air screamed.
The world twisted, and Lu Mao felt himself lifted — body floating for a breath of a second before crashing back onto the stone courtyard. He rolled, his dagger digging a shallow groove in the ground, stopping him just before he hit the broken wall behind.
Dust rose in choking clouds.
Pain lanced through his ribs, dull and deep. He coughed once and spat dirt, already on his feet before the others even landed.
Marco groaned. Chen Yuan steadied his sword. Yan Mei's whip hissed back into her hand. Bao Fu —
Bao Fu had already hurled one of his rune spheres.
It whirled through the air like a tiny comet, glowing hotter and hotter until it detonated with a blinding pulse.
BOOM—
The runic blast howled — not fire, not light, but sound.
A piercing vibration filled the space, making the very air shimmer.
Lu Mao winced, covering his ear for a fraction of a second, his qi surging to muffle the noise.
The other team — five cultivators who had charged in moments after them — weren't as lucky. The sonic wave tore through their defenses, staggering them mid-step. For a few seconds, they were suspended, faces contorted in agony, weapons trembling in their hands before they fell hard onto the ground.
"You bastards!" one of them — a bald, broad-shouldered brute — roared, bloodshot eyes glaring at Lu Mao's team. "Don't interfere with our hunt!"
Lu Mao straightened, dagger glinting.
"Then hunt faster," he said flatly.
The bald one's aura flared, a pulse of scarlet qi splitting cracks beneath his feet.
He was furious — and it didn't matter.
Because at that very moment, the elegant senior disciple moved again.
The pale woman — their opponent — had danced away from Bao Fu's blast like mist avoiding the sun.
And now, she descended.
The other team charged her in synchronized fury — five shadows attacking from every angle.
The one with green, spiked hair swung a curved scythe that shimmered with dark qi.
It sliced through the air with a scream, cutting toward her waist.
She caught it with her bare hand.
Caught it.
The metal screeched and bent.
Then her palm twisted. The boy's wrist snapped, and her fist followed — a clean, brutal strike to the jaw that sent him flying through the air like a discarded spear. He slammed into a wall far to the left, embedding into the cracked stone before sliding down, unconscious or worse.
The bald brute attacked next, his fists wreathed in blazing crimson qi, every punch strong enough to leave a crater.
She stepped aside, body weaving between his blows with unnatural grace — almost lazy. Then she pivoted, her foot flashing up, striking him in the ribs. He coughed blood and dropped to his knees.
Another sword came flashing down — she blocked it with two fingers.
Two fingers.
Lu Mao's breath hitched. He could barely see her movements anymore; they blurred into streaks of silver and white, her robe flowing like starlight around her.
She wasn't fighting them.
She was toying with them.
Even her expression never changed — calm, emotionless, as though she were scolding misbehaving children.
Yan Mei had frozen beside him, eyes narrowed, her whip still coiled loosely in her hand.
"Don't attack again," she said sharply.
Chen Yuan turned, blood on his lip. "What? We can still—"
"Look," Yan Mei cut him off.
And Lu Mao looked.
The other team — each of them at least mid to high Qi Foundation stage — were being flung around like straw dolls. One's shoulder cracked under her palm, another's leg twisted at a wrong angle.
She was untouchable. Effortless.
Lu Mao tightened his grip on the dagger, his mind beginning to tick.
That orb still hovered beside her — spinning lazily, bound to her like a moon to its planet. The way it moved… not random. Controlled by her qi. Always within her reach, yet not touching.
"How…" he muttered.
Yan Mei's gaze sharpened. "That's what I'm thinking too," she whispered. "This doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?" Bao Fu grunted, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at the woman. "She's from the weakest faction, right? You said so yourself!"
Yan Mei exhaled, voice low but taut. "Yes. The Black Dragon Faction — the weakest in the entire Golden Sparrow Guild. But look at her. That level of control, the way she channels qi… she's not supposed to be like this."
Her eyes gleamed with something between confusion and admiration. "She's fighting like one of the prodigies from the inner sects."
Bao Fu groaned. "Then what, she's secretly a goddess pretending to be a weakling? Great. We picked the worst target."
"Not the worst," Chen Yuan said grimly, eyes still tracking her movement. "Just the wrong one."
Marco nodded, still panting slightly. "If we back off now, we won't have time to find another senior. The others will take the easier targets first."
Yan Mei's gaze flickered between her team and the battlefield.
"Exactly. We're running out of time. Every second we waste, more teams arrive. Once the crowd builds, no one's getting close to that orb."
"So we fight her?" Bao Fu said incredulously. "Did you see what she did to that bald idiot? He coughed up his liver."
"We don't have a choice," Yan Mei replied, her voice steady but low. "But not like before. Head-on, she'll destroy us. We need a plan. A distraction. Something unexpected."
Chen Yuan frowned. "And how do you expect to surprise that?"
Yan Mei didn't answer. Her eyes had turned toward Lu Mao — who hadn't moved since they were pushed back.
He stood a few steps apart, dagger still loose in his hand, eyes fixed on the woman.
He wasn't blinking. Wasn't speaking.
Just watching.
Every flick of her wrist. Every step. Every shift in her stance.
The way the orb responded to her qi, spinning faster whenever she struck, slowing when she evaded.
He watched as if trying to map the rhythm of her existence.
After a long moment, he spoke quietly.
"She's fast," Lu Mao murmured. "But she moves with pattern. Every time she evades, she turns her left foot first — it anchors her stance. Her attacks follow her breathing — not random, not chaotic. The orb moves with her qi flow. That means when she strikes, there's a brief delay before the orb reacts."
The others stared at him.
Bao Fu blinked. "Are you saying you can read her movements?"
Lu Mao didn't answer immediately. His gaze was still locked on the red orb, now circling the senior disciple's shoulder. The light reflected in his eyes like fire caught in glass.
Finally, he spoke. "No," he said softly. "But I think I can steal them."
Yan Mei tilted her head. "Steal… what?"
Lu Mao's lips curved slightly, just enough to show intent — not a smile, not confidence, but the quiet thrill of a thief who has seen a door no one else can.
"Her rhythm," he said. "And that orb."
Silence.
The courtyard roared in the distance — crashing qi, screaming cultivators, the hiss of energy burning through the air. But among them, there was only stillness.
Bao Fu let out a breathless laugh. "You're insane."
"Probably," Lu Mao said.
He finally tore his gaze from the red orb and looked at his team. Dust streaked their faces, qi shimmered faintly around them, and blood ran in thin rivulets from small wounds — but their eyes burned.
They were tired, but not broken.
Marco cracked his neck and grinned. "Then let's hear it, thief. What's the plan?"
Lu Mao's eyes drifted once more toward the moon-like woman in white, her form glowing softly under the dimming sky.
"Maybe…" he said quietly, "I have a plan."