Chapter 4: The First Step on a New Path

Jin Tian walked away from the tournament grounds with measured steps, his outer robes billowing slightly in the afternoon breeze. Behind him, the murmurs of disciples and elders blended into a dull roar, but he paid them no mind. His focus had narrowed to a single point—the three hours before his match against Liu Feng.

He needed a plan.

In his past life, he had fought Liu Feng dozens of times. He knew the man's patterns, his strengths, his tells. But knowing and defeating were two different things, especially when his cultivation base was still at the fourth stage of Qi Condensation while Liu Feng operated at the seventh. The gap in raw power was significant—three whole stages that normally would take years to bridge.

But Jin Tian had centuries of experience that Liu Feng didn't.

He found a secluded training ground behind the outer disciple dormitories, a small clearing surrounded by bamboo groves where the morning dew still clung to the leaves. The ground was packed earth, scarred by years of practice swords and countless footfalls. It would do.

He drew his practice sword—a simple iron blade, unadorned and unremarkable. In his past life, he would have scoffed at such a weapon. Now, he treated it with the respect it deserved. A sword was a sword, regardless of its make. The difference lay in the hand that held it.

Jin Tian closed his eyes and breathed.

Three hours. He needed to push his cultivation to the fifth stage of Qi Condensation before the match. It was an aggressive timeline—normally, breaking through a stage required weeks of careful meditation and qi gathering. But Jin Tian had done this before, and he knew shortcuts that others didn't.

He began to move, his sword tracing lazy arcs through the air. The movements were slow, almost meditative, but each one carried precise intent. He wasn't practicing forms—he was building pathways. His qi followed the sword's edge, carving channels through his meridians that had long since atrophied from disuse.

*Pain flared through his arms.* His body was young, but it had never been pushed this hard. The meridians protested, strained by the sudden influx of qi they weren't designed to handle. Jin Tian gritted his teeth and continued.

*"The body is a vessel," his master had taught him in his first life. "And like any vessel, it can be expanded. But expansion comes at a cost."*

The cost was pain. Agony that lanced through his limbs and settled in his dantian like a burning coal. Jin Tian welcomed it. Pain meant progress. Pain meant growth.

By the time the sun had shifted noticeably in the sky, he had broken through.

The fifth stage of Qi Condensation settled over him like a second skin, his meridians humming with newfound energy. He flexed his fingers, testing the flow of qi through his arms. It was rough, unrefined—a far cry from the mastery he had once commanded. But it would have to do.

He had two hours left.

Jin Tian sat cross-legged on the packed earth, placing his practice sword across his knees. His breathing slowed, deepened, as he entered a state of half-meditation. His mind drifted back to his past life, to the countless battles he had fought, the techniques he had mastered, the enemies he had slain.

Liu Feng's fighting style came into sharp focus.

The inner disciple favored fire-aspected techniques—explosive, aggressive, overwhelming. He would open with a burst of flame to disorient his opponent, then follow with a series of rapid strikes designed to break through their defenses. His weakness was endurance. Liu Feng burned bright, but he burned fast. After thirty exchanges, his qi reserves would begin to flag, his attacks losing their edge.

In a normal match, Jin Tian could simply weather the storm and counterattack when Liu Feng's energy waned. But Jin Tian wasn't playing the long game. He needed information. He needed to understand *why* Liu Feng had killed him in his past life.

That meant he couldn't just win. He had to make Liu Feng talk.

A shadow fell over him.

Jin Tian's eyes snapped open. Standing at the edge of the training ground was a figure he recognized immediately—Chen Wei, flanked by two other outer disciples. The boy's face had regained its composure, but his eyes still burned with suppressed fury.

"Impressive," Chen Wei said, his voice carrying a false lightness. "Breaking through to the fifth stage in just a few hours. I underestimated you, Jin Tian."

Jin Tian rose slowly, his practice sword still in hand. "Is there something you need, Chen Wei?"

"I came to offer my congratulations." Chen Wei stepped closer, his companions following like obedient shadows. "And perhaps a word of advice. Liu Feng is not like the opponents you've faced in the outer division. He's killed before. In the arena, during suppression missions. He doesn't hold back."

"I'm aware."

"Are you?" Chen Wei's smile turned sharp. "I've seen Liu Feng fight. He's brutal. Efficient. When he wins, he doesn't just defeat his opponent—he *breaks* them. Crippling injuries are common. Permanent damage is expected. The arena overseers look the other way because Liu Feng is valuable."

Jin Tian met Chen Wei's gaze evenly. "Is there a point to this warning, or are you simply trying to frighten me?"

Chen Wei laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm trying to give you an out. Withdraw from the match. Let me take your place. I'll handle Liu Feng, and you can go back to being the unnoticed outer disciple you've always been."

*Ah.* There it was. Chen Wei wasn't worried about Jin Tian's safety—he was worried about his own opportunities. The inner division tournament was a path to advancement, to resources, to power. Chen Wei had been willing to let Jin Tian take the slot earlier because he'd assumed Jin Tian would lose. But now, seeing Jin Tian's rapid progress, he was having second thoughts.

"I appreciate the concern," Jin Tian said, his voice flat. "But I'll be keeping my slot."

Chen Wei's expression hardened. "You're making a mistake."

"Perhaps." Jin Tian turned his back on them, a deliberate show of contempt. "But it's my mistake to make."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Jin Tian could feel Chen Wei's gaze boring into his back, could sense the tension in the air as the other disciples waited for a command. But no command came.

"Very well," Chen Wei said finally, his voice cold. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The sound of retreating footsteps faded into the bamboo grove. Jin Tian let out a slow breath, releasing the tension that had coiled in his shoulders. Chen Wei was a problem for another day. Right now, he needed to focus on Liu Feng.

He checked the position of the sun. One hour remained.

Jin Tian spent the next sixty minutes drilling a single technique—*Flowing Water Stance*, a basic qi-manipulation method that allowed the user to redirect incoming force. It wasn't flashy, and it wouldn't win him any points for elegance. But against Liu Feng's explosive attacks, it would be invaluable.

By the time the arena overseer's voice echoed across the compound, summoning him to the main stage, Jin Tian was ready.

The arena was packed. Word of the match had spread quickly, and disciples from all three divisions had gathered to watch. Inner disciples stood in elevated viewing platforms, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly interested. Outer disciples crowded the ground level, craning their necks for a better view.

Liu Feng was already on the stage.

He was older than Jin Tian remembered—nineteen, with a lean, athletic build and close-cropped black hair. His robes were the deep crimson of the inner division, and at his waist hung a sword that radiated heat, its blade shimmering with barely contained fire qi. His face was impassive, his eyes flat and calculating.

Jin Tian stepped onto the stage, his simple practice sword feeling woefully inadequate. A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd at the sight of his weapon.

"Is that all he brought to a match against Liu Feng?"

"The outer disciples really are desperate."

"He won't last three exchanges."

Jin Tian ignored them. His focus was entirely on Liu Feng, on the subtle shifts in the man's stance, the way his fingers rested lightly on his sword's hilt. In his past life, he had seen Liu Feng make that same gesture thousands of times. It meant he was about to strike.

The overseer raised his hand. "The match will begin on my signal. Both disciples, prepare yourselves."

Liu Feng drew his sword, and the air around them grew thick with heat. The blade burned with crimson light, flames licking along its edge.

Jin Tian raised his practice sword, assuming the *Flowing Water Stance*.

"You're bold," Liu Feng said, his voice low enough that only Jin Tian could hear. "Coming here with an iron toy. Do you have a death wish?"

"I have questions," Jin Tian replied, equally quiet. "And you're going to answer them."

Liu Feng's eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

The overseer's hand dropped.

Liu Feng exploded forward, his sword trailing fire like a comet's tail. The crowd roared as he closed the distance in a heartbeat, his blade arcing toward Jin Tian's neck.

Jin Tian didn't block.

He *redirected*.

His practice sword met Liu Feng's blade at an angle, shimmering with qi as he guided the strike past his shoulder instead of meeting it head-on. The flames licked at his robes but didn't catch. Liu Feng's momentum carried him forward, past Jin Tian's guard, and for a single, perfect moment, his back was exposed.

Jin Tian struck.

His blade connected with Liu Feng's ribs—not hard enough to wound, but enough to send a message. The crowd's roar faltered, replaced by gasps of disbelief. Liu Feng stumbled, catching himself before he fell, and turned to face Jin Tian with eyes that burned with fury.

"You—"

"I told you," Jin Tian said, settling back into his stance. "I have questions."

Liu Feng's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles went white. The flames along his blade grew brighter, hotter, until the air around them shimmered with heat distortion.

"Then ask," Liu Feng snarled. "Because after I crush you, you won't have the breath to speak."