The stench of the black sludge clinging to Han Feng's skin was unbearable—the physical manifestation of eighteen years of "trash" talent being expelled. He didn't head straight to the arena. To show up looking like he'd crawled out of a sewer would draw the wrong kind of attention.
Instead, he slipped into the freezing waters of the Black Crane Pond behind the servant quarters. As the water scrubbed away the impurities, Han Feng felt a terrifying sense of clarity. His senses were hyper-tuned; he could hear the wings of a dragonfly a hundred yards away and the rhythmic thrumming of Qi from the inner disciples practicing in the distance.
"The Chaos Record," he thought, closing his eyes.
Immediately, the golden interface shimmered in his mind.
[Status Update]
* Physique: Primordial Chaos Physique (Incipient Stage - 1%)
* * Cultivation: 1st Level of Body Refining (Solidified)
* Note: Your foundations are 10x denser than a standard cultivator. To the world, you appear to have no cultivation.
Han Feng gripped his fist underwater. A standard 1st Level practitioner could crack a brick. He felt as though he could punch through a fortress wall. This was the "Chaos" difference.
The Tournament Grounds
The Han Clan's Central Plaza was draped in crimson banners. Hundreds of disciples gathered, their eyes fixed on the raised stone platform. In the VIP seating, the Clan Elders sat like statues, sipping spirit tea while evaluating the "crops" of the younger generation.
"Next Match: Han Jun vs. Han Ling!" the referee shouted.
Han Feng arrived just as Han Jun stepped onto the stage, looking smug. Han Jun's opponent, a timid girl from a branch family, lasted exactly three moves before Han Jun sent her flying with a cruel kick to the ribs.
"Pathetic," Han Jun spat, basking in the light applause. He turned to the crowd, his eyes searching for more sport. That was when he spotted a familiar figure standing at the edge of the plaza.
Han Feng.
His clothes were damp, his hair messy, but there was something different about his posture. The usual slouch was gone. He stood like a spear planted in the earth.
"Hey, Trash!" Han Jun yelled from the stage, pointing a finger. "I thought I told you to clean the archives! Did you lose your way to the broom closet?"
The crowd erupted in laughter. Even some of the Elders offered thin, mocking smiles.
Han Feng walked forward, the crowd parting—not out of respect, but out of a desire to see the "clown" perform. He stopped at the edge of the stone platform.
"The rules state that any disciple of age can challenge the winner of a preliminary round to move up the rankings," Han Feng said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange resonance that silenced the nearby jeers.
The Referee, a stern man named Elder Mo, frowned. "Han Feng, you have no cultivation. This is a martial stage, not a playground. Leave."
"Elder Mo, let him up!" Han Jun interrupted, a predatory glint in his eyes. "The 'Broken Vessel' wants to show us his 'Empty Pot' technique. I promise I won't kill him... much."
Elder Mo sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. "Fine. If you wish for a hospital bed, step up."
The Stone Stage
Han Feng climbed the steps. The air on the stage was thick with Han Jun's released Qi—a shallow, turbulent 3rd Level of Body Refining.
"I'm going to break both your legs today,"
Han Jun whispered as they faced off. "Then I'm going to make you crawl back to the Archive and eat those ruined scrolls."
"Less talking," Han Feng said, settling into a stance so basic it looked amateurish. It was the Basic Fist Technique—the very first thing every child learned.
"Die!"
Han Jun lunged. His fist glowed with a faint bronze light—the Iron Rock Strike. It was a heavy, slow move designed to crush bones.
To the audience, Han Jun was a blur. To Han Feng, Han Jun was moving through molasses. The [Perfect Insight] ability of the Chaos Record flared.
[Target: Han Jun]
* Flaw detected: Weight shifted too far forward.
* Flaw detected: Left ribs exposed.
* Counter-calculation: 100% success rate.
Han Feng didn't retreat. He stepped into the strike.
He didn't use a flashy move. He simply twisted his waist and threw a straight punch.
[Heaven-Shattering Collapsing Fist: First Vibration]
The impact didn't sound like a punch. It sounded like a thunderclap.
Han Jun's bronze glow shattered like cheap glass. The "Basic" punch bypassed his arm entirely and buried itself into his chest. A shockwave of pure, chaotic Qi rippled through Han Jun's body, systematically deactivating his meridians.
CRACK.
Han Jun's sternum gave way. He didn't fly back; he was folded in half where he stood, the air leaving his lungs in a bloody spray. He collapsed into a heap, his eyes rolling back into his head.
The silence that followed was deafening.
The laughter died. The Elders stood up, their tea forgotten. Han Feng stood over the fallen "genius," his fist still held out, his expression as calm as a deep lake.
"I'm finished cleaning," Han Feng said, looking directly at the VIP booth where the Clan Leader sat. "Who's next?"