Journey of the Immortal’s Cultivation

03. Zhou Chen’s Fury

The announcement of the match pairings rippled through the great hall of Windcloud Sect like a sudden gust of wind. Names were called, destinies sealed, and the crowd of young aspirants buzzed with anticipation. Some faces lit with relief, others tightened with dread. Among those who smiled was Zhou Chen, his expression brimming with arrogance and satisfaction.  

“Hahaha! Fortune truly favors me today!” Zhou Chen exclaimed, his voice loud enough to draw attention from those nearby. He turned toward Wei Xiuying, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Look, Xiuying—see who my first opponent is!”  

He jabbed a finger at the parchment listing the matchups.  

Wu Tian.  

Xiuying’s brows knitted in concern. “Wu Tian? You mean Wang Jun—the farmer’s son? Zhou Chen, promise me you won’t be cruel to him.” Her voice carried genuine worry, recalling how Zhou Chen had already injured the boy earlier with a reckless strike.  

Zhou Chen smirked, brushing off her plea. “I’ll teach him a lesson, but don’t fret. I won’t cripple him… not too badly. I only want him to understand that beggars have no place here, no right to stand among cultivators.”  

Xiuying’s gaze softened with compassion. “Show mercy, Zhou Chen. Wang Jun is not like us. You can see he lacks proper training. Defeat him, yes—but don’t destroy him.”  

Her words, meant to temper Zhou Chen’s cruelty, had the opposite effect. A spark of jealousy ignited within him, fanned by the fact that Xiuying defended Wu Tian at all.  

“Tch!” Zhou Chen clenched his fists, his thoughts venomous. So, you dare draw Xiuying’s sympathy, Wang Jun? I’ll make sure you regret ever standing in her sight. I’ll break you so thoroughly you’ll never again steal her attention.  

What had begun as a desire to humiliate Wu Tian now twisted into something darker. Zhou Chen no longer sought mere victory—he wanted permanent ruin for his opponent.  

“Please, Zhou Chen,” Xiuying urged once more, unaware of the storm brewing in his heart. “Don’t destroy his future.”  

But her plea only deepened Zhou Chen’s resentment.  

---  

Match after match unfolded across the arena, blades clashing, qi flaring, the crowd roaring with each decisive strike. The pace was relentless, and soon the moment arrived: Wu Tian versus Zhou Chen.  

The arena floor gleamed beneath the lantern light, its surface scarred from countless battles. The air was thick with tension, every eye fixed on the two figures stepping forward.  

Zhou Chen sneered as he faced Wu Tian. “How dare you claim the Wu name, a lineage revered across Hu Nan? You must be punished for your insolence.”  

Wu Tian’s heart sank. He had hoped for a gentler opponent, someone less skilled, someone he might endure against. Instead, fate had placed him before Zhou Chen—the very embodiment of his worst fears.  

I cannot surrender, Wu Tian told himself, though doubt gnawed at him. I should never have registered under the name Wu Tian…  

Zhou Chen’s voice rang out, dripping with contempt. “Listen, Wang Jun. Kneel before me, admit defeat, and worship at my feet. Do that, and I might forgive your audacity toward Xiuying.”  

Wu Tian blinked, his curiosity genuine despite the hostility. “Is Xiuying your beloved, then?”  

The question, innocent in tone, sent ripples of laughter through the crowd. Spectators chuckled at Wu Tian’s naivety, while Zhou Chen’s face darkened with rage. Humiliation burned in his chest.  

I’ll break his arm, Zhou Chen vowed silently. Let him learn never to mock me again.  

The overseer’s voice thundered across the arena. “The match between Wu Tian and Zhou Chen begins!”  

Zhou Chen’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Your chance is gone, Wang Jun. Now, I will show no mercy!”  

He lunged forward, his blade flashing with the refined techniques of the Zhou family. Wu Tian, though lacking qi, managed to dodge, his instincts sharpened by desperation.  

“Now taste the sword of Zhou!” Zhou Chen declared, his movements fluid, his strikes relentless. His blade danced with elegance, each arc infused with cultivated energy. He pressed forward, giving Wu Tian no space to counter.  

Wu Tian’s arms trembled as steel met steel. Each clash sent jolts of numbness through his hands, his grip faltering. Zhou Chen’s qi-enhanced strikes were overwhelming, far beyond the crude lessons Wu Tian had received from his uncle.  

“Hahaha! I thought you might have some skill, but you’re nothing more than a street brawler. You lack true martial artistry!” Zhou Chen taunted, his confidence swelling.  

Wu Tian’s mind reeled. His uncle’s warnings echoed now with painful clarity. The techniques he had learned were enough against ordinary men, but against a scion of a great family wielding qi, they were utterly useless.  

I must endure, Wu Tian thought desperately. I cannot fall here.  

Steel rang out again and again.  

Traang!  

Traang!  

Traang!  

The sound of clashing blades reverberated through the hall. Then, with a powerful strike, Zhou Chen’s sword sent Wu Tian’s weapon flying from his grasp. The force hurled Wu Tian backward, his body crashing against the arena floor.  

Without qi, Wu Tian was hopelessly outmatched.  

Buuk!  

Zhou Chen’s kick slammed into Wu Tian’s chest, the impact brutal. Blood sprayed from Wu Tian’s lips as pain tore through him. Zhou Chen had poured his qi into the strike, intent on crippling him.  

“You pathetic coward!” Wu Tian gasped, his voice strained but defiant. “You only dare bully the weak!”  

The words struck Zhou Chen like a blade to his pride. Fury consumed him. “You dare insult me? You’ve grown tired of life, haven’t you?”  

He raised his sword again, eyes blazing.  

Wu Tian lay broken, his body refusing to rise. The tip of Zhou Chen’s blade hovered inches from his chest, gleaming with lethal intent.  

“Die!” Zhou Chen roared, his mind clouded with rage.  

The rules of Windcloud Sect’s selection were merciless. Death was no crime here. The sect believed the path of cultivation was forged in blood, that only the strong deserved survival. Killing an opponent was not punished—it was expected.  

Wu Tian closed his eyes, surrendering to despair. His body was paralyzed, his strength gone. Uncle… forgive me, he whispered in his heart.  

The blade descended.  

“Stop!!!”  

The shout tore through the arena, halting the moment in a single breath.