Chương 72: 71. Striking Down the Power of Love with an Inverted Triangle Frame

The fighters file onto the platform. Eight of them. Two immediately stand out—their robes bear the same emblem, a crane with its wings spread wide. The Purple Crane Sect. A medium-sized sect, by the standards of this tournament, but clearly an organization that has produced two competent disciples who reached this far. The crowd murmurs. I hear fragments of conversation.

"That is not fair. Two from the same sect in a free-for-all."

"The bracket should have separated them." The complaints are justified. Two cultivators who trust one another are more than the sum of their parts. A coordinated pair can control the flow of a group fight, isolate opponents, cover each other's weaknesses. I activate the Gaze. Purple Crane Sect (Inner Disciple) Name: Wei Jiang Age: 28 Spirit Root: Wind (C-grade) Constitution: Wide-Meridian Constitution (D-grade) - The spiritual pathways are naturally wider and more resilient than a normal person's.

Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Peak) - Stable Verdict: Secretly harbors a crush on Liu An, but believes it is unrequited. Has never spoken of it and probably never will. Plans on letting her advance to the next round at all costs. Purple Crane Sect (Inner Disciple) Name: Liu An Age: 27 Spirit Root: Wind (D-grade) Constitution: Asymmetric Meridian Network (C-grade) - A structural anomaly where the left side of the body's meridians processes Qi drastically faster or differently than the right side.

Makes them perfect for ambidextrous combat. Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Peak) - Stable Verdict: Secretly harbors a crush on Wei Jiang, but believes it is unrequited. Has never spoken of it. Plans on letting him advance to the next round at all costs. The crowd expects the Purple Crane pair to dominate, and the odds reflect that. Bao Gantian's odds are longer than they should be. Not as long as before, his previous matches have earned him some recognition, but still longer than the two. I look at Ling'er.

She is staring at Bao Gantian, her eyes intense, almost ignoring the Purple Crane disciples entirely.

'He will win.' I can say that confidently. He has been hiding his true strength longer than anyone in this tournament. The match begins. The pair move immediately. They separate, positioning themselves on opposite sides of the platform, creating two hemispheres of control. Any fighter who enters one hemisphere must contend with one Purple Crane. Any fighter who tries to cross the center must contend with both. It is effective. A spearman charges Wei Jiang. Liu An appears behind him, blades flashing.

The spearman falls in seconds. Another user of the spear, defeated and so callously thrown to the side. A woman with fire techniques tries to zone them from range. The pair close the distance together, their movements synchronized, and she is eliminated before she can launch a second attack. I watch them work and feel a familiar unease. Their coordination is intuitive; they do not need to signal, they simply know where the other will be.

'This is what teamwork looks like when it is done right.' I think of my own disciples. They have trained together. They have fought together. But they do not move like this. They do not trust each other like this. If the sect is ever attacked, they will need to fight as a unit. I make that a goal for when I return. Another item for the list. On the other side of the platform, Bao Gantian fights alone. He does not seek allies or try to coordinate.

He simply defends his position and punishes anyone who comes too close. A fighter tries to flank him. Bao pivots, his massive sword swinging in a wide arc. The fighter jumps back, barely avoiding the blade. Bao stays where he is, waiting. Another fighter, overconfident from an easy elimination, charges him head-on. Bao meets the charge. His sword crashes into the fighter's weapon, shattering it. The fighter stares at the broken pieces in his hands. Bao punches him in the chest.

The fighter flies across the platform, hits the barrier, and slides to the ground.

'Bao Gantian is picking his spots, conserving his energy, letting the Purple Crane disciples eliminate the weaker fighters while he preserves himself for the confrontation to come.' I am impressed. When it comes to tactical thinking against multiple opponents, Bao Gantian likely surpasses Mu Jianyu. Mu Jianyu was a duelist, excellent at analyzing a single opponent, less effective when surrounded. Bao is a brawler. He understands positioning, angles, and the geometry of the platform far better than he did.

But understanding does not mean easy. The other fighters have realized, slowly, that Bao is a bigger threat than he lets on. Multiple fighters try to keep their distance, pelting him with ranged techniques while the Purple Crane disciples close in on the stragglers. He takes hits: a fireball to the shoulder, a wind blade across his back. He grunts, but he refuses to fall, minimizing damage to vitals. The pair finish the last of the other fighters. The platform is empty except for them and Bao. Two against one.

The Purple Crane disciples do not hesitate; they attack together, from opposite sides, their blades flashing in the hard light. Their teamwork is seamless: Wei Jiang thrusts high, Liu An cuts low. Bao blocks the high thrust with his sword. He cannot block the low cut. It scores across his thigh and he stumbles. The two press their advantage, attacking in tandem, forcing him to defend on two fronts. His sword is massive, powerful, but slow compared to theirs. Cuts accumulate.

He is forced backward toward the barrier, and his eyes narrow in frustration. I lean forward in anticipation, wondering how he plans on getting out of this. With what he's shown so far, I know it won't be enough to deal with their teamwork.

'Show me! Show me what it means to have a B-grade constitution in this bracket!'

"Ha…" Bao Gantian exhales. Red mist appears. Just faint steam rising from his skin, curling off his shoulders like smoke from dying embers. His thick frame tightens. The softness around his jaw recedes. His breathing changes—a low, guttural hiss, like air escaping from a pressurized chamber. The veins along his forearms darken. His fingers tighten around the sword grip until the leather creaks.

'There! He's revealing it! His trump card!' The crowd stirs.

"What technique is that?"

"Blood art?"

"Demonic! A demonic cultivator in our midst!" Wei Jiang and Liu An sense the danger immediately. They attack together, hoping to end it quickly. Bao Gantian doesn't move, seemingly focused on his breathing as the red mist intensifies. Wei Jiang's thrust lands against Bao's guard and stops as if it has struck a wall. Liu An's slash cuts across his ribs, but the blade skids through red mist and only draws a shallow line.

"What?!" Bao backhands Wei Jiang. Wei Jiang raises his sword in time, but the impact still sends him skidding three steps across the platform, boots carving lines into the stone.

"Senior Brother!"

"I'm fine," Wei Jiang says, though his arm is trembling. The area Bao struck was dented inward. He is already changing tactics. I see it in his stance. His weight shifts forward, too far forward. His guard opens by half an inch. A deliberate flaw. I see it immediately. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

'He plans to draw Bao's attention, take the hit, and create an opening for Liu An to advance.' Stupid, but commendable. Then Liu An moves. Not to take the opening, but to create one of her own. She angles left, exposing her right side in a way no competent fighter would unless she wanted Bao to see it. Her blade dips, her footwork widens, and suddenly I understand. She is trying to do the exact same thing. I close my eyes for half a breath.

'Ah. These two idiots.' They shout at the same time.

"Junior Sister, go!"

"Senior Brother, go!" Both of them freeze. The synchronization that made them so effective moments ago becomes a trap. For half a heartbeat, neither attacks. Neither retreats. Their blades hang in the air, and the entire platform seems to pause around the shape of everything they have not said. Bao Gantian stands between them, red mist curling from his shoulders. It seems every breath he takes gives the Blood Furnace more time to burn, and he's content with letting them concede their tactical advantage.

Wei Jiang's sword lowers by a fraction.

"Junior Sister," Wei Jiang says, voice tight.

"You must advance." Liu An's eyes widen. Her voice cracks.

"I… wanted the same for you." I hear a sound beside me. Sniffling. I turn. Ling'er's eyes are shining. Her lips are pressed together. Her hands are clasped in her lap. Bao Gantian breaks the silence. The red mist continues to pour off him. His voice is flat. Practical. Sincere, in the way of someone who genuinely does not understand why anyone would pause a fight for this.

"... Are you finished?" The Purple Crane pair turn toward him. Embarrassment flashes across their faces, followed by fury. They attack. Their coordination becomes sharper now. No longer just fighting together, but fighting for each other. Every strike covers the other's weakness. Every retreat opens a path for the other's advance. The moment of confession didn't distract them. It made them even stronger. I watch and feel a strange admiration.

'Love, alongside teamwork apparently, is a combat multiplier.' But Bao is still Bao. Wei Jiang's sword comes down. Bao catches his wrist, holds him in place. Liu An's blade follows, aimed at his exposed side. He twists, using Wei Jiang's momentum as a pivot, and his sword blocks Liu An's slash. Their teamwork turned against them. They attempt a dual technique. Silver wind qi spirals around them, forming two crane silhouettes.

"Twin Cranes Crossing the Moon!" Silver wind qi blooms across the platform. Two crane-wing arcs fold around Bao from opposite sides, one high, one low, the timing perfect enough that even I cannot immediately see the gap. Bao finds it anyway. His sword catches Wei Jiang's slash. The impact drives him back a step, stone cracking beneath his heel. Liu An's blade comes from the other side, cutting toward his ribs. Bao turns his body sideways.

The second crane-wing passes behind him, close enough to tear the edge of his robe, revealing the palace of muscle underneath. Then his free hand closes around Wei Jiang's sash. He swings, and Wei Jiang becomes a projectile. For one glorious heartbeat, the Purple Crane Sect's inner disciple flies through the air with all the grace of a sack of rice. Liu An's eyes widen. She tries to adjust, but she is too close, too committed, too surprised. They collide.

The two of them hit the platform in a tangle of limbs, robes, blades, and what I assume are years of unresolved feelings. The crowd goes very quiet. Wei Jiang groans. Liu An is half beneath him, one hand still gripping her sword. For a moment, neither moves. Then Wei Jiang lifts his head.

"Liu An," he says, voice hoarse.

"I have loved you since our first day of training." Her eyes widen.

"I only wanted to make you proud." The arena is silent enough that I hear Ling'er inhale beside me. Liu An stares at him. Her mouth opens. Closes. Her face turns redder than Bao Gantian's mist.

"You fool," she whispers.

"I have loved you since the same day." I close my eyes.

'Of course.' Ling'er sniffles. I look at her.

"Are you crying?" She wipes her eyes with her sleeve.

"No. Some dust got in my eyes, Master." On the platform, Bao Gantian walks toward them. His body has changed. The round, heavy bulk is still there, but compressed now, sharpened. His waist has drawn inward. His shoulders look broader. His jaw is more defined, the softness burned away by the red mist curling from his skin. He looks like he has lost forty pounds in the span of minutes and replaced every pound with pure violence. Ling'er's expression shifts from emotional to offended.

"Master," she complains.

"He is interrupting them."

"It is a tournament."

"Still." Wei Jiang and Liu An scramble to their feet before Bao reaches them. There is no time for anything more. No embrace or tearful promise beneath moonlight. Only two battered cultivators standing side by side, finally looking at each other without misunderstanding. Their blades rise together. And for one exchange, they are better than they have been all match. No hidden sacrifice. No private plan to let the other advance. They move with one intent. Wei Jiang thrusts low. Liu An cuts high.

Their wind qi twines together, silver and sharp, forming the faint outline of twin cranes crossing in the moonlight once more. Instead of retreating, Bao snaps forward toward Liu An. Wei Jiang reacts instantly, stepping into the path of the blow. That is the mistake. The feint was never aimed at Liu An. Bao pivots. His foot hooks behind Wei Jiang's ankle and sweeps his legs out from under him. At the same time, his sword pommel strikes Liu An's shoulder, disrupting her cut and turning her body half a step too far.

Their perfect coordination breaks, because he understands them too. Wei Jiang hits the platform hard. Liu An stumbles. Bao catches her sash, spins her, and sends her sliding toward the edge. Wei Jiang surges up, blood at his lip, still trying to intercept as Bao's palm meets his chest. An oddly gentle maneuver from someone who's been nothing but violent the entire tournament. Despite his mercy, Wei Jiang flies backward. He crashes into Liu An just as she catches herself at the boundary line.

Together, they tumble off the platform. The match is over. For a heartbeat, no one speaks. Then the announcer's voice booms across the arena.

"Bao Gantian advances!" The crowd erupts. Bao Gantian stands alone on the platform. The red mist fades from his skin. His frame loosens, the sharpness in his eyes dulling back into that heavy scowl. But no one laughs this time. Beside me, Ling'er sniffles again.

"So beautiful," she whispers. I stare at Bao Gantian, who has just weaponized mutual affection to win a tournament match.

"Yes," I say.

"Deeply romantic." I sit in my seat, watching him rise. Mutual affection revealed too late is tragic. Being thrown into the person you love is apparently worse. Ling'er is still staring at the platform, her expression caught between indignation and awe. I stand up and gesture.

"Let's go." Behind us, Bao Gantian hefts his sword high, the blade catching the afternoon light. The crowd's reaction is split—boos from those who bet on the Purple Crane pair, cheers from those who saw something they did not expect. I hear them chanting a new nickname.

"Blood Asura! Blood Asura!" The Purple Crane pair are carried off together. Wei Jiang has his arm around Liu An's shoulder. She has her hand on his chest. They are whispering to each other, their faces flushed, their earlier teamwork replaced with intimacy.

'... I wish them a happy life.' The announcer declares the top eight. The crowd begins to disperse. I breathe a sigh of relief. I was right about Bao Gantian, even if I didn't anticipate the romance subplot. The line to Jade Hall is long and winding. My ears grow tired of the constant arguments about who'll win next, but I pay attention because there could always be useful information. Once I reach the front, I cash out carefully and return to the exit where Ling'er is waiting.

Total profit for the day from the Qi Condensation free-for-alls: around six hundred fifty low-grade. Even after accounting for intentional losses and Mu Jianyu's losing bet, the massive payout from Bao Gantian due to the crowd favoring either one of the Purple Crane disciples made this the highest paying day so far. This is good money. But I feel the danger more than the thrill. The same danger I felt when the beggar watched us. The same danger I feel every time I place a bet and win.

'The profit window is closing.' I find Shen Qiao near the Silver Hall exit. His ledger is tucked under his arm. His step is lighter than before, but his eyes are different. More focused and calculating than before. He earned nearly twenty low-grade worth in silver from betting and selling information to mortals. I give him his cut; a small fortune for a mortal. He takes it, counts it once, tucks it away, but his expression doesn't lighten. He does not look like a man becoming free.

He looks like a man calculating how far he still is from freedom. I watch him for a moment, then I ask.

"You are careful with money. Too careful to be where you are. So why are you still debt-bound? Is what we've earned not enough for you?" He stiffens. His hand moves to his ledger, then stops.

"That is not—""You don't have to answer." I keep my voice low.

"But I'd appreciate it if you didn't lie." He is silent for a long moment. His jaw works.

"I will tell you when I am ready, Senior Cultivator." he says finally.

"Not before." He does not meet my eyes. I nod and don't press. He leaves, his steps quick and purposeful. The flow of people in the concourse swallows him. Then Ling'er signals. Someone watching. I do not turn. I follow her gaze through peripheral vision. Mortals. Two of them. Drifting after Shen Qiao through the crowd. Just keeping him in sight. Their clothes are ordinary and their faces are forgettable. But their attention is fixed.

'Debt collectors? Broker thugs? Someone who noticed Shen's sudden cashflow?' My stomach tightens. We took too long in the line for Jade Hall, and the Foundation Establishment bracket is starting soon. The first matches will begin in minutes. Ling'er needs to watch. I need to place bets. The arena is calling. I look toward the arena. Then toward Shen Qiao's retreating figure. The choice is clear.