Chương 68: 67. A Frog at the Bottom of the Well Watching Dragons Fight

I sit in the chair near the door, my senses extended, my eyes occasionally drifting to the glass. No movement or lingering shadows, but I don't dare to rest my eyes. Ling'er writes. The brush scratches across paper, soft and relentless. There is a kind of fatigue that comes from physical labor. There is another kind that comes from mental effort. And then there is the fatigue that comes from knowing someone is watching you and not knowing why. At some point, I do not know when, the scratching stops, and I look up.

Ling'er is slumped over on the floor, her head resting on her folded arms, the brush still in her hand. The pages are scattered around her. I collect them. Eighteen manuals. Some from Qi Condensation to Foundation Establishment, for those she found avenues to build upon. I read through each one. Sword arts. Unarmed techniques. Elemental manipulations. Some are complete. Some are fragments, notes she intended to finish in the morning. But even the fragments are useful. I recognize the gaps immediately.

Mei Lin's hesitation. Wei Chen's unstable footing. Jun's lack of finishing power. The younger disciples still fumbling toward paths of their own. These manuals are answers to them. I stack the completed manuals out of reach before her arm can smear the ink. Then I pick her up carefully and place her on the bed. I stand by the window. The street is empty. The beggar has not returned. Morning arrives slowly, reluctantly, as if the night is loath to release its grip. I didn't end up sleeping at all.

Ling'er stirs at the desk. She lifts her head, blinking. Her eyes are heavy, but they clear quickly. She looks at the stacked pages, then at me.

"Morning, Master."

"Morning." She rubs her eyes.

"The beggar?"

"Gone." She nods, stretching like a cat. I look at the window. The light is pale, the shadows thin.

"I need to visit Wei Zheng," I say.

"Stay here. Finish the manuals. Do not go out alone." She nods again, and is already picking up the brush as I leave the inn. No one watches me as I walk toward the eastern wall, my steps unhurried but my mind anything but. The workshop door is ahead. I knock and Wei Zheng opens the door. His eyes are tired, more than before.

"You look worse," I say.

"You look the same." He steps aside and I enter. Frostbite lies on the workbench, unwrapped. But the air around it is colder.

"The progress is slow," Wei Zheng says. He does not sit. He stands beside the bench, his hand hovering over the sword without touching.

"Forcing it causes the sword to retreat deeper inward. It does not trust easily." He gestures to the frost crystals. The box is open. A few of the larger crystals are gone. I activate the Gaze. Frostbite - Grade: High (Damaged) Type: Nascent Soul-grade Sword Effect: Freezes anything it cuts. Can release ice techniques. Former owner's soul bond is broken, available for new master. Requirement: Core Formation or higher for full power. Foundation Establishment can wield at 10% capacity. Status: Blade intact.

Spirit damaged at 65% of original. Needs spiritual restoration. Verdict: Damaged during death tribulation. A Nascent Soul-grade weapon at half power is still worth more than most Core Formation disciples. Wei Zheng's careful approach is slowly peeling away at the weapon's self-imposed seal. Sixty-five percent. It was sixty percent when I first got it.

"You are making progress," I say. Wei Zheng's jaw tightens.

"I am not certain it will succeed."

"You are making progress," I repeat. I don't bother telling him the number. He would not believe me, and even if he did, he would not trust it. He is silent for a moment. Then he picks up a small file and begins working on something at the edge of the blade; a hairline groove near the hilt.

"The cold is unforgiving," I say.

"You are not young. Prolonged exposure to this level of cold will damage you. Please take care of yourself."

"I have been working on this sword for days. I will not take a break until I know whether I can help it or not." He picks up the file again.

"If that kills me, at least I will die doing work that mattered."

"But regardless, I don't want Frostbite fixed knowing it leads to a rapid worsening of your health. You are the most trustworthy man I could have found for this task. I'd rather you stay alive long enough to finish it." He does not respond. The file scratches against the groove. I take the chance to warn him.

"Be careful," I say.

"There are people watching. Not for you, for me. But if they trace me to your shop, they may watch you too." He sets the file down again. His eyes are flat.

"I'm not a fool. I know what cultivator weapons bring. I know what cultivators bring." He picks up a cloth and wipes his hands.

"I have avoided attention for years by not attracting it. I will continue to avoid it. I have my ways." He looks at Frostbite.

"I do not know why I accepted this job. Troublesome, expensive, d angerous." He clicks his teeth, but there's no longer any heat behind his words.

"And the customer hovers like a worried husband." I almost smile.

"I will check in again soon. Until then." I bow my head and leave, beginning the journey back to the inn. Scanning my surroundings, I breathe a sigh of relief and walk. The second day of the tournament begins soon. And with it, the first day of the Foundation Establishment bracket. There are bets to place, and fights to watch. I quicken my pace. Shen Qiao is already near the arena when I arrive, tucked against the same red banner from yesterday. His ledger is under his arm. His eyes scan the crowd.

I do not greet him. I simply stand beside him, facing the same direction, and speak low.

"We were watched last night." His hands tighten on the ledger.

"What do we do?"

"Stick to the plan. But be more vigilant than before." I keep my eyes on the crowd.

"When you leave tonight, watch for anyone following. Change your route. Double back. Make sure you are not compromised. They may be watching you too."

"... You expected this."

"I expected danger." I glance at him.

"It is not possible to win as much as we have without drawing attention. Someone was going to notice. Someone did."

"Then why are we still here?"

"Because the one watching us is a mortal; paid to watch, to remember and report." I turn to face the arena entrance.

"If we were a true threat, they would send cultivators. They would not need to watch; they would simply act. The auditors from the Crimson Dragon Alliance—if they had flagged us, we would not have made it out of the arena yesterday. They do not need evidence. They do not need justification. Who would stop them?" I shake my head.

"This is smaller. A minor information broker, maybe, keeping tabs on everyone who wins more than expected. But it doesn't mean we can be lax. A single spark can start a prairie fire, after all." He is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods.

"I will be careful."

"Good." We join the line and quickly make our way past the concourse, but the arena is different today. The sixteen platforms are gone. In their place, eight larger platforms rise from the floor, each one twice the size of the previous rings. The fighters file in beneath the roar of the crowd, and they're reintroduced one by one, their names echoing through the arena. The crowd cheers less indiscriminately now. They are picking favorites. I note who they cheer for. The ones with sect banners.

The ones with handsome faces. The ones with flashy techniques. I note who they ignore. Bao Gantian, shuffling onto his platform. Mu Jianyu, inspecting his sword. Fighters without patrons, without pageantry, without the right kind of followers. People are still coveting title and pedigree over what they have actually seen. Which means Bao Gantian and Mu Jianyu are undervalued. I leave Ling'er in the stands. Shen Qiao heads toward the Silver Hall. I walk toward the Jade Hall. Today, I do not blend in.

The Jade Hall is crowded. Cultivators cluster around the counters, arguing odds and trading information. I find a man near the center of the hall, his robes expensive, his voice loud. He is debating the merits of the remaining fighters with a small audience. Wandering Cultivator - Foundation Establishment (7th Stage) Name: Qiao Ren If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Age: 44 Spirit Root: Metal (C-grade) Constitution: None Cultivation: Foundation Establishment (Middle Stage) - Stable Verdict: Veteran tournament-goer. Strong believer in orthodox cultivation structures, sect backing, and practical combat experience. Distrusts unconventional fighters and artifact-reliant cultivators. Loud enough to attract agreement from weaker cultivators nearby. I step into his conversation.

"Formation tricks only carry you so far," the man is saying.

"Mu Jianyu will not last past the next round." I scoff loudly. He turns. His eyes narrow.

"You disagree?"

"I think people put too much weight on sect backing." I cross my arms.

"Mu Jianyu has advanced this far without a patron, without a famous master, without anything except his own work. That is proof." The man's companions exchange glances.

"Proof of what?" he asks.

"Proof that he is not being carried." The man laughs.

"Formation tricks. The moment he faces someone who has seen them before, he will fold." I meet his eyes.

"Then put stones on it." His eyebrows rise.

"I am putting one mid-grade on Mu Jianyu," I say.

"Right now." The man's companions murmur. One mid-grade is not nothing. The man studies me. Then he barks out a laugh.

"You are either very confident or very stupid."

"I am confident that he will reach the top eight."

"Fine." The man turns to the counter.

"One mid-grade on his opponent. We will see who is laughing when the top eight are announced." He places his bet with a flourish. I place mine with a shrug. The clerks record the wagers. The man's companions clap him on the shoulder. They do not look at me. I walk away. Internally, I thank him. He does not know it. He will never know it. But he helped me. His loud dismissal, his confident sneer, his easy laughter… they made me look like a fool chasing yesterday's fortune. Someone not worth investigating.

After placing bets on Bao and two other cultivators who I'm certain will lose, I return to my seat. Ling'er is watching the platforms. She doesn't even turn before speaking to me.

"You look tired, Master."

"I am performing." The second round begins. The matches are faster now. The fighters are better, forced to show their trump cards against the higher level of competition. Yan Ruohan dominates again: another victory lasting less than twenty exchanges, the crowd no longer gasping but nodding, as if they have already accepted her inevitability. Mu Jianyu wins more convincingly than yesterday. His opponent must've watched his first match. They know about the formations.

They try to pressure him early, to deny him time to read, to force mistakes, but he adapts anyway. Bao Gantian still does not reveal his constitution. He wins through what looks like brute force, but I watch his eyes and Ling'er watches his feet. Bao Gantian advances slowly, each step forcing his opponent toward the edge of the platform while shielding his vital points. The crowd mistakes it for brute force. Ling'er and I both know better. Every retreat has already been chosen for him.

The announcer's voice booms across the arena.

"Sixty-four fighters remain! Tomorrow, we cut to eight." The crowd roars as the final matches conclude. We leave with the rest of the bettors to cash out. Today: four hundred low-grade, minus what I lost on intentional close losses. Shen Qiao meets us near the red banner.

"Fifteen low-grade worth," he says.

"In silver. I negotiated higher prices for the winning information." I nod.

"Do not get greedy." He looks at me. His eyes are bright.

"I know." I do not believe him. Greed is a mortal flaw, and I'm not immune to it either. I feel the pull: the urge to bet several mid-grade on Mu Jianyu and Bao Gantian before the crowd realizes they are still hiding trump cards. The profits would be significant. But that goes against my prerogative. Like a snake trying to swallow an elephant, it will only lead me to ruin. I look across the concourse. The crowd is thinner now, but near the Jade Hall entrance, a man leans against a pillar. His robes are ordinary.

His aura is carefully concealed to Foundation Establishment. He is picking his nose. I activate the Gaze. Crimson Dragon Alliance Auditor - Core Formation (Fourth Stage) Name: Fengwei Ren Age: 118 Spirit Root: Earth (B-grade) Cultivation: Core Formation (Fourth Stage) - Stable Verdict: He does not care who wins. He cares who wins too often. I look away. Shen Qiao follows my gaze.

"Who is that?"

"No one we want to meet." He nods and doesn't ask more.

"Tomorrow," I say.

"Same time." He tucks his ledger away and disappears into the crowd, but Ling'er and I do not leave.

"The Foundation bracket is this afternoon," I say. She looks at the arena. The banners are being changed. The platforms are being reconfigured. Workers move across the floor, dismantling the Qi Condensation rings, assembling something larger.

"Will you bet?" she asks.

"Yes. But it will be a different game."

"Different how?"

"This bracket rewarded obvious advantages," I say.

"Better foundations, hidden physiques and weapons… You could still measure most of it." I watch the Foundation cultivators file into the arena.

"Foundation Establishment is different. By this stage, everyone has a trick. Everyone has experience. Everyone has survived long enough to become dangerous." Ling'er watches the arena silently.

"A Qi Condensation cultivator might hide strength," I continue.

"But a Foundation cultivator might hide an entire path."

"I need you to watch. The techniques here will be faster. More refined. More dangerous." I pause.

"This is where you will find things worth learning for yourself. You already know how different it is once you cross the threshold between realms." Her eyes sharpen. She understands. We wait at a tea house near the arena, watching the crowd change. The mortals leave. The Qi Condensation cultivators disperse. The audience that gathers for the Foundation bracket is different. Cultivators only. Core Formation elders escorted to private booths.

Foundation Establishment masters in fine robes with a retinue of servants following behind. As we re-enter, the arena had transformed in the space of a single evening. The eight platforms were gone. In their place, sixteen battlefields rise from the floor, each one encased in a dome of hard light. The domes shimmer, translucent, probably strong enough to contain techniques that would level buildings.

Each battlefield is several times larger than the platforms from earlier, with vertical space that allows for aerial maneuvering.

'Core Formation elders, working in sync. It is the only explanation.' The Foundation Establishment fighters file in. Two hundred fifty-six of them. They range in age from their thirties to their sixties, though cultivation makes most of them look younger than they are. Their robes bear the emblems of major sects. Their weapons are adorned with spirit stones, formation arrays, the marks of wealth and craftsmanship that make Mu Jianyu's sword look like a toy. I feel a great unease settle into my chest.

The top fighters in the Qi Condensation bracket were opponents I would have to take seriously, but ones I could still beat. But… these are people I cannot hold a candle to. Not in any meaningful capacity. Not even with Frostbite in my hand. I activate the Gaze on the nearest competitor.

Violet Sky Sect Inner Disciple - Foundation Establishment (Peak) Name: Yan Shuren Age: 52 Spirit Root: Metal (C-grade) Constitution: Sword Meridian Physique (C-grade) - Naturally circulates qi with greater speed through the arms and upper meridian branches. Allows for rapid sword execution and reduced recovery between techniques. Cultivation: Foundation Establishment (Peak) - Stable Verdict: A swordsman whose skill far exceeds the limits of his talent. Core Formation remains possible. Nascent Soul unlikely.

He is a monster. In any other context, he would be the fighter to watch. The favorite. The name on everyone's lips. Here, he is average. The line reveals a different breed of cultivator entirely; most at peak, all carrying artifacts that make Mu Jianyu's kit look like scrap. Their constitutions usually between C or B-grade, with some A-grade mixed in, some I have never seen before that make Bao Gantian's Blood Furnace seem ordinary. Their foundations make Yan Ruohan's delayed advancement seem like basic competence.

Then I see her. A woman in deep purple robes, her hood drawn low, her face pale as jade left too long in shadow. Her eyes are the color of ink spreading through water. Bracelets crowd her wrists, each one carved with characters I cannot read, and as she moves, they chime faintly. She reminds me of wisteria. The way it hangs, heavy and poisonous, beautiful from a distance but dangerous to touch.

Soul Reaping/Illusion Cultivator - Foundation Establishment (Peak) Name: Xu Wuyin Age: 31 Spirit Root: Yin Spirit Root (B-grade) Constitution: Ghostly Yin Body (A-grade) - Naturally suppresses spiritual presence and distorts perception. Her techniques bypass conventional defenses and target instinct, consciousness, and soul directly. Cultivation: Foundation Establishment (Peak) - Stable Verdict: The heir apparent of the Nether Veil Sect. The only daughter of Sect Leader Xu Huang.

Born with a constitution that makes her dangerous to everyone, including her allies. A constitution feared even within her own sect. I look away before her eyes find mine. Then I see the monk. He is tall but not imposing, his frame modest beneath the golden-trimmed robes of the Golden Lotus Monastery. One shoulder is bare, the fabric draped across his chest and tied at his waist. His head is shaved and his face is serene.

And around him, barely visible, a quiet golden glow clings to his skin like light through silk. Body Cultivator - Foundation Establishment (Peak) Name: Yan Gaoque Age: 35 Spirit Root: Earth-Water (B-grade) Constitution: Black Tortoise Physique (A-grade, Partially Awakened) - A diluted bloodline carrying traces of the ancient Black Tortoise. Develops through layered reinforcement rather than explosive growth; flesh, bone, organs, meridians, and dantian strengthen simultaneously over time.

Cultivation: Foundation Establishment (Peak) - Stable Verdict: Personally accepted as a direct inheritor of the monastery's core teachings after the partial awakening of his Black Tortoise bloodline. His partially awakened constitution allows combat power beyond his cultivation realm through overwhelming internal stability, impossible endurance, and qi compression approaching Core Formation standards. Barring catastrophic deviation or political assassination, entry into Nascent Soul is expected.

I stare at the assessment. Entry into Nascent Soul, expected. The odds are tighter. Everyone here is a cultivator. Some have divine senses that can pierce concealment, read qi fluctuations, detect hidden injuries. Few fighters are genuinely overlooked. And as powerful as the Gaze is, it cannot make the decision for me. I have to interpret. I have to choose. I stand at the edge of the hall, watching the odds boards shift, trying to find an edge that is not already priced in.

Yan Gaoque's odds are decent but not generous. The crowd knows the Golden Lotus Monastery's reputation. They know that their cultivators accumulate deeply and release thinly, that their arts do not fully mature until Core Formation. They are underestimating him, but not by much. Xu Wuyin's odds are even shorter. The Nether Veil Sect is feared, not loved. People hesitate to bet against fear. I run calculations, discard them, and run new ones. Then Ling'er signals to me. The matches have not yet begun.

She is watching the arena floor, her eyes gold-brown. Fighter B will lose. I look at the platform she is watching. Both peak, both well-regarded from major sects. The Gaze reads them as even. Their odds are nearly identical. No obvious weakness. But Ling'er sees something. The Sacred Cosmic Bone reading threads I cannot perceive, that even the Gaze cannot spell out for me. I do not question her. I leave the seat and walk to the Jade Hall. I place bets on several fighters.

Yan Gaoque, whose odds are not generous but will improve once he advances. A few others that could be a toss-up. And I place a bet against the fighter Ling'er identified; the one who looks strong but will lose. The odds are tight. The margins are thin. This is not like the Qi Condensation bracket, where I could bet with near certainty. But that is what the Foundation bracket is.

"Well, here goes nothing." I mutter to myself, looking at the slips in my hand before getting comfortable in my seat.