Chương 60: 1.60 What do you mean I am the stepping stone for the protagonist?

In the competition, Ning was in a strong position. So far, he had not lost a single match. His record stood at four wins and zero losses. Naturally, that meant he would now be paired against opponents with similar standings. After breaking through to the Sixth Stage, Ning had reached the peak of the strength he could currently exert. There were only a few participants he truly feared. In fact, there were two he was particularly wary of. The first was, obviously, Xiao Fan.

For Ning, Xiao Fan might be the most dangerous opponent, not purely because of skill, but because of unpredictability. He was the kind of person who might suddenly power up mid-fight or produce some outrageous trump card at the last second. After all, he had already revealed an Earth-grade technique out of nowhere, a treasure most outer sect disciples never had a chance to acquire. Ning would not put anything past him. The second was Qiu Han. For a much simpler reason.

He was clearly the strongest participant Ning had seen so far. His combat fundamentals were solid and his martial arts equally formidable. There were no obvious weaknesses to exploit. Especially since the information he gathered from various brokers had been sparse. The main thing he learned was that Qiu Han mostly relied on basic techniques to defeat his opponents. He also had a habit of allowing them to unleash their strongest moves first, only to crush those attacks head-on and prove his superiority.

Even from the reports alone, the man sounded like a piece of work. As long as he avoided these two, Ning felt confident he could put up a good fight against anyone else. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, man proposes, Heaven disposes. For his fifth match, he was paired against Qiu Han. Ning had known this was inevitable to be paired with these guys eventually, but that did not mean he had to like it. The formation barrier rose, pale light folding over the platform like a closing eyelid.

Across the arena, Qiu Han stood with his hands loosely at his sides. As in his previous matches, he was empty-handed. Or rather, like Xiao Fan, he simply preferred fighting without a weapon. Even at a brief glance, Ning could tell the man wasn't nervous in the slightest. His posture was relaxed and his breathing steady. He carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to standing above others. Qiu Han was the first to break the silence.

"I remember you," he said, his tone calm and measured.

"You finished your preliminary match faster than everyone else." A faint smile touched his lips.

"Besides me, of course." Ning blinked.

"... Okay?" To be honest, he was genuinely puzzled. Why did everyone insist on exchanging a few dramatic lines before a fight? It seemed to be an unwritten rule among cultivators. Qiu Han paid no attention to Ning's reaction.

"I want to see whether that performance was genuine," he said.

"Or merely good fortune." Ning offered no reply. There was nothing worth saying. Qiu Han stood at the top of the rankings, while Ning was the challenger. If he wanted an answer, the arena would provide it soon enough. The elder lowered his sleeve.

"Begin." Ning moved the instant the signal was given. His fingers flowed through a series of hand seals as cold spiritual qi burst outward like ink spreading through clear water. [Hidden Ice Mist] Frost-white mist erupted across the arena in a single breath, swallowing the stone platform beneath a dense veil of cold. Before the fog had even finished expanding, Ning had already shifted into Turtle Breathing, suppressing every trace of his presence while drawing his bow in one smooth motion. Thwip.

The first arrow vanished into the haze. Ordinarily, that opening shot was the deadliest. Most opponents spent the first heartbeat struggling to orient themselves after suddenly losing their vision. Qiu Han didn't. He simply walked. His pace remained slow and unhurried, as though the mist had never existed. Ning's eyes narrowed. Another arrow flew. Then another. Each shot came from a different angle as Shadow Steps carried him silently through the fog.

Every arrow was designed to force a reaction, a flinch, a dodge, even the slightest disturbance that would reveal his opponent's position. Nothing. Qiu Han neither rushed nor searched. He simply continued walking. Ning had encountered plenty of ways to counter the Hidden Ice Mist before. Some cultivators used wind techniques to disperse it, others relied on beast-like senses or specialized perception arts. Qiu Han used none of them. Then, without warning, he accelerated. Ning immediately changed position.

Qiu Han adjusted just as quickly. It was as though he had known where Ning would move before he moved. A sharp crack echoed through the mist. The arrow shattered in midair. Not deflected, but broken. Only then did Ning understand. The problem wasn't his arrows or the mists. It was Qiu Han himself. His hand instinctively brushed across the compartments of his quiver. Standard arrows. Poison Lily-coated arrows. A handful tipped with Serpent Flower extract.

Under the tournament rules, poison had to be delivered through direct contact; anything capable of lingering in the environment had been prohibited. Which meant... If he couldn't land a hit, poison might as well not exist. Ning immediately abandoned the idea of sniping. Instead, he drew and released in rapid succession, filling the fog with a barrage of arrows. Rather than aiming for a decisive strike, he sought to compress Qiu Han's movement, forcing him to reveal the method behind his defense.

At the same time, Pure Eyes quietly circulated. Although the technique couldn't see through the mist itself, it could still perceive the subtle disturbances hidden within it. The answer became obvious almost immediately. Every arrow was being avoided with effortless precision. Not because Qiu Han could see, but because he didn't need to. Even while strolling through the mist as though taking an afternoon walk, Qiu Han still found time for a one-liner.

"Mist obscures sight," he said calmly.

"Not certainty." Ning ignored the second half of the sentence. He had already reached his own conclusion.

"Have you..." he asked quietly, loosing another arrow as he spoke, "... broken through to the Seventh Stage?" Qiu Han just tilted his head, letting the arrow fly past him.

"It seems your perception is quite good." He neither denied it nor made any attempt to conceal it.

"Yes. I have reached the seventh stage of qi condensation." The moment he admitted it, the crowd erupted.

"What?! Seventh Stage already?"

"No wonder he's so calm; he's awakened spiritual sense!"

"It's decided. Once spiritual sense is unlocked, concealment techniques lose their edge!"

"The winner is decided. He's too strong!" The reaction was understandable. The Seventh Stage was a true threshold, the only genuine bottleneck within Qi Condensation that every cultivator had to face. Although Ning's cultivation appeared comparable to that of someone with a high-grade spiritual root, the truth was different. Ning had only reached the Sixth Stage, while those with high-grade roots were already at the peak of the sixth stage. The gap between them was measured in years.

For Ning to reach the peak would take more than a year, perhaps even two. And now, with Qiu Han having stepped into the Seventh Stage, an even more difficult realm, the disparity in cultivation was undeniable. Spiritual sense was the dividing line. Once awakened, techniques that relied on obscuring vision lost much of their effectiveness. Of course, that was precisely why reaching the Seventh Stage was so difficult. There was a solution, but it was rare.

Many young masters studied Earth-grade martial arts not merely for power, but to comprehend the intent within them. By grasping that intent, they increased their chances of awakening spiritual sense and breaking through the bottleneck. That explained Qiu Han's leisurely movements as if walking. His newly awakened spiritual sense likely could not yet cover the entire arena, but within two or three meters, it was more than sufficient. Any arrow entering that range would be detected instantly.

So all he had to do was move slowly, and he would eventually come across Ning. This is troublesome, Ning thought. Qiu Han continued advancing without hurry.

"I've seen your previous match," he said evenly. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Another arrow snapped in the fog with a clean, contemptuous crack.

"But as long as you cannot touch me, which you won't, it won't matter." Ning didn't respond. He already knew: revealing poison in public only made future opponents cautious, and the elders' restrictions had boxed him in. Poison was decisive, but only if he could deliver it. Qiu Han took another step forward. Then he disappeared. It wasn't speed that first registered in Ning's mind, but the strange sensation that the distance between them had simply ceased to exist.

One moment Qiu Han stood several paces away; the next, he was already within striking range. Ning abandoned the bow without hesitation. He smoothly brought the spear tied to his back and slid it into his grip just as Qiu Han's palm descended. Clang! The spear shaft collided with flesh, yet the impact rang like steel striking iron. Ning immediately redirected the force through Four-Sided Stability, rooting his feet and aligning his spine so the shock flowed into the stone beneath him instead of shattering his arms.

Even so, the numbness raced from his palms to his shoulders. Qiu Han gave him no time to recover. A palm flowed into an elbow, the elbow into a knee. Every strike was compact and aimed at the body's weakest points. Ning managed to block the first attack and redirect the second, but the third slipped through his defense and crashed into his ribs. Pain exploded through his side as he skidded backward across the frost-covered arena.

Qiu Han advanced at the same unhurried pace as before, as though Ning's retreat merely meant the fight had moved a few steps farther away.

"You've tempered your body well," he observed calmly.

"Otherwise that exchange would've ended the match." Ning wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth without replying. His hands were already moving. [Small Cloud Rain Technique] Dark clouds condensed overhead, and a heavy downpour crashed into the arena. Guided by Ning's control, the cold qi lingering within the Hidden Ice Mist seeped into every droplet, freezing them into countless needle-like shards of ice before they reached the ground.

It wasn't meant to wound; it only needed to create space for him to breathe. Qiu Han was too dominating with his speed and spiritual sense. The rain filled the area around Qiu Han with countless tiny impacts, turning every falling droplet into another disturbance that would interfere with spiritual sense. For a brief instant, it seemed to work. Then Qiu Han sighed almost imperceptibly.

"You aren't the only one who casts spells quickly." His fingers blurred. [Quick] The seals that should have required several breaths were completed in one. [Blazing Surge] A controlled wave of fire burst outward. The frozen rain instantly melted into steam, and the carefully maintained balance of Ning's battlefield collapsed under the sudden change in temperature. White mist swelled through the arena, obscuring everything for the briefest moment. When Ning's vision cleared- Qiu Han was already in front of him.

Another palm slammed into the spear before Ning could fully raise it, the impact throwing him sideways. He rolled across the stone, barely regaining his footing before the next attack arrived. Ning stamped lightly against the ground. [Soil Refining Technique] The stone beneath Qiu Han's next step softened just enough to steal his footing. For most cultivators, that tiny imbalance would have been enough to disorient. Not for Qiu Han.

His foot sank only a fraction before he effortlessly converted the lost footing into a pivot, using the additional momentum to drive a knee directly into Ning's abdomen. The air burst from Ning's lungs. As rain continued to fall and the last traces of steam dispersed, Ning finally understood the true problem. Against someone whose spiritual sense covered everything within two or three meters, concealment had already lost its greatest advantage. If he wanted to win, he would have to fight within that range.

Pure Eyes circulated once more. The world changed in his eyes as his senses further sharpened. Qiu Han attacked again. This time, Ning wasn't blindsided by the speed. He was slowly and surely getting used to the fast-paced attacks. Pure Eyes caught the subtle shift in Qiu Han's shoulders before he moved, allowing Ning's spear to thrust not toward the man himself, but toward the space he was about to occupy. The spearhead skimmed across Qiu Han's sleeve, tearing the fabric with a faint hiss.

For the first time, Qiu Han glanced down at the cut before looking back at Ning. A faint smile crossed his face.

"So you can keep up." He didn't even mean it as mockery. For him, this was simply something worthy of praise.

"But seeing isn't enough." He stepped forward again. Ning answered that with another attack. [Scorching Purge] Crimson flame burst from the spearhead, lancing toward Qiu Han's forearm just as qi gathered there for another strike. A metallic sheen immediately spread across his skin, meeting the flame head-on. The fire scattered, leaving behind nothing more than a scorched sleeve. That tiny distraction was all Ning needed.

[Golden Finger] A compressed beam of qi shot toward Qiu Han's wrist, timed to interrupt the flow of spiritual energy through the meridian. Qiu Han merely turned his hand slightly as the attack grazed past. Not enough. He continued advancing as though nothing had happened. Ning immediately retreated, Shadow Steps carrying him backward in two silent flashes.

"Quick." The single word fell calmly from Qiu Han's lips. His figure blurred. Every movement had been stripped of everything unnecessary until only the fastest, most direct path remained. Even with Pure Eyes pushed to its limit, Ning found himself half a beat behind. A palm slipped around the spear and struck his shoulder. Before the pain had time to spread, an elbow crashed toward his ribs. Ning twisted, lessening the impact, only for a knee to drive into his abdomen an instant later. His breathing faltered.

He staggered back, barely managing to keep his footing. Qiu Han never rushed after him. He simply walked forward, each measured step forcing Ning farther onto the defensive.

"You've built yourself well," he said, almost conversationally.

"Your body is sturdy. Your fundamentals are solid. You've clearly spent countless hours studying your techniques." Another exchange. Ning barely redirected a palm strike with the spear shaft before retreating again.

"But all of it serves the same purpose." Qiu Han's next strike forced Ning to cross his spear in defense. The impact sent a dull shudder through his arms.

"You're compensating." Ning's eyes narrowed. Golden Finger flashed toward Qiu Han's chest, forcing him to alter the angle of his next attack by the slightest margin. It wasn't enough to stop him. Only enough to buy a single breath. Qiu Han lowered his hand and regarded Ning with the same composed expression he had worn since the match began.

"Many cultivators believe strength can be pieced together," he said.

"A stronger body, another technique, a new spell, one clever trick after another. There's nothing wrong with any of those things, but they're all additions. They come after the foundation has already been laid." Spiritual qi flowed effortlessly through his body, and a faint metallic sheen spread across his arm once more.

"True strength begins much earlier than that. It begins with talent, comprehension, bloodline, constitution-the things you're born with. Those determine how high your foundation can reach before cultivation ever enters the picture." His gaze never left Ning, who was trying to gather his strength once more. Qiu Han advanced another step.

"You've built yourself well," he admitted.

"Every technique, every spell, every trick flows together naturally." He looked directly into Ning's eyes.

"But they're all compensation." A metallic sheen spread across his arm.

"Others would praise your versatility, but I see it as necessity." Finally, Qiu Han waited for one moment, as he finally made his point.

"Real strength isn't assembled. It's innate... then forged." Ning forced himself upright as Qiu Han continued his monologue. His ribs screamed; his meridians burned; Pure Eyes flickered weakly. Across from him, Qiu Han regarded him with calm disdain.

"I'm already tired of this farce," he said evenly.

"Use your strongest move."

"... Okay." Ning let out a slow breath. He already knew the match was unwinnable. His spiritual energy was nearly exhausted, his body ached from head to toe, and he had long since run out of meaningful options. Still... Looking at Qiu Han's composed expression, one stubborn thought refused to disappear. At the very least... I'd like to land one clean hit. Ning's eyes narrowed. If I change the goal to just that... I should be able to manage it. After all, he'd spent the entire match getting beaten around the arena.

If an opportunity presented itself, he fully intended to return the favor. Shadow Steps activated. His figure shot forward in a blur, spear held low as he committed everything to one final charge. Then, loud enough for the entire arena to hear, he shouted, " Magical Spear!" It was the first time he'd announced the name of a technique during the entire tournament. The remaining qi in his body surged toward the spearhead, causing its tip to glow brilliantly.

It looked every bit like the desperate, all-or-nothing attack of someone gambling everything on one final strike. Qiu Han's spiritual sense immediately swept over the spear. So that's where he gathered his qi. He didn't retreat, or rather, the thought of retreat never even crossed his mind. So, he stepped forward to meet it head-on. He would crush Ning's final hope with overwhelming superiority. The spear thrust toward him. At the very last moment, Qiu Han activated Quick once more.

His body shifted half a step sideways with perfect precision. The spear sliced harmlessly past him. Just as I calculated. Then- Thud! A fist crashed into Qiu Han's ribs. The impact forced him back three full steps. It wasn't powerful enough to seriously injure him, but it drove the air from his lungs and left a dull ache spreading across his side. For the first time, genuine surprise appeared on his face. He stared blankly at Ning.

"... Why are you punching me after shouting Magical Spear?" His composure finally cracked. Everything had pointed toward a spear technique. The gathered qi. The committed thrust. The shouted name. Every sign had been there. Yet the actual attack had been... a punch. Ning remained standing only through sheer stubbornness. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth before looking at Qiu Han through the slowly dispersing mist.

"That's what makes it magical." For a heartbeat, the entire arena fell silent. Qiu Han's expression stiffened before darkening considerably.

"You..." His voice had finally lost its earlier composure.

"Even at the very end, you resort to tricks." A crimson aura slowly rose around him as spiritual qi gathered once more.

"Quick-""I surrender." Ning immediately raised his hand. The declaration echoed clearly across the arena.

"... Hm?" Qiu Han stopped mid-step. Even the presiding elder froze for a second, as though he'd been waiting for an earth-shattering final exchange.

"... Ah." He coughed awkwardly.

"Ji Ning concedes. Winner... Qiu Han." Qiu Han stood there for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.

"... You truly are infuriating." He looked at Ning with obvious dissatisfaction.

"I was about to use my strongest move to teach you a proper lesson, yet you chose to run away." Despite the blood staining his lips, Ning managed a faint grin.

"And spend the next month lying in bed? Not a chance." He wasn't exaggerating. He was already running on fumes, while Qiu Han had clearly been preparing the strongest technique in his arsenal. If Ning could revive like in a game after watching an ad, he might have taken the chance, but in real life, that was just courting death. A faint twitch crossed Qiu Han's expression, then he turned to leave. After two steps, he paused. Just long enough for the silence to stretch.

"People romanticize struggle," he said quietly, his voice carrying across the arena without effort. His gaze swept over the watching disciples.

"They believe iron can become gold if it suffers long enough." His eyes returned to Ning.

"But iron remains iron."

"And gold remains gold. And you, despite your amusing performance, still surrendered. So remember my words: true strength is innate." As he spoke those final words, Qiu Han's gaze shifted past Ning, fixing on someone in the distance. Ning followed his line of sight and saw Xiao Fan. Hearing Qiu Han's words, Xiao Fan's fists slowly clenched, as his eyes seemed to spit fire. Seeing this, Ning's eyes narrowed as well....

"Ouch, that hurts," Ning hissed through his teeth as he lay on the lacquered wooden couch of Moon Dew Pavilion.

"It's supposed to," Si Sihua replied calmly, not even glancing up as she pressed the cool, silver-blue paste into the bruised flesh along his ribs.

"If I used the mild formula, you'd still be limping during your next match. This one works faster." She pushed harder. Ning sucked in a sharp breath.

"…And it's more expensive, isn't it?" Si Sihua's lips curved faintly.

"Guess." Ning closed his eyes in quiet despair. He already knew the answer. Still, compared to mortals, cultivators were blessed. What would have taken months to heal on Earth would close in days here. Bones mended. Meridians stabilized. Bruises dissolved beneath spiritual medicine. Provided, of course, one could afford the good stuff. Si Sihua finished applying the moonlight gel, her movements practiced and efficient.

"I heard about your match," she said casually while sealing the ointment jar.

"You did well." Ning gave a small snort.

"I practiced for years. It would be embarrassing if I didn't at least manage that much."

"That's true." She straightened.

"Rest. The medicine needs time to circulate. I have to return to the counter."

"Mm." When she left, silence settled over the room. Ning lay back against the soft cushions, staring at the wooden beams overhead. Every muscle in his body ached after the tournament, yet despite his exhaustion, his mind remained completely awake. It seems... I've become a stepping stone. Being matched against Qiu Han hadn't been unusual. With four consecutive victories under his belt, facing the strongest remaining contender had been inevitable.

What bothered Ning wasn't the pairing itself, but everything surrounding it. Qiu Han's philosophy, the timing of his speech, and, most importantly, the way his gaze had drifted past Ning before delivering those final words. Iron remains iron. Gold remains gold. At first, it had sounded as though Qiu Han was speaking to him. Looking back now, those words had never truly been meant for Ning. They had been meant for Xiao Fan. Ning let out a slow breath.

If this really were the kind of novel he suspected it was- and he had consumed more than enough of those in his previous life- then the structure was almost painfully familiar. The protagonist's friend enters the tournament. He performs beyond everyone's expectations, displaying talent, cleverness, and determination. For a while, the audience even begins to wonder whether he might challenge the strongest competitor. Then comes the inevitable match against the arc's mini-boss.

He fights valiantly, reveals every trick he has, and even manages to surprise the stronger opponent once or twice. Then he loses. Had Ning lacked the common sense to surrender when he did, he would've undoubtedly been beaten half to death. That would've only served to further demonstrate Qiu Han's overwhelming strength while giving the audience a clear measure of just how terrifying the final obstacle truly was. It was the perfect buildup.

Especially when the real protagonist was standing right there, watching everything unfold. Ning blinked at the ceiling. If someone simply replaced the words the protagonist's friend with Ji Ning, the pattern fit disturbingly well. He had exposed Qiu Han's Spiritual Sense. He had demonstrated the enormous gap between the Sixth and Seventh Stages of Qi Condensation. He had given Qiu Han the perfect stage to proclaim his philosophy that strength was determined at birth.

And, by sheer coincidence-or perhaps not-Xiao Fan had heard every single word. Similarly, if Ning had stubbornly refused to concede and ended up gravely injured, it would've become the perfect source of motivation for the protagonist before the final battle. Viewed from that perspective... He had played the role of the stepping stone almost flawlessly. Ordinarily, Ning would've dismissed the entire thought as his imagination running wild.

But after hearing Qiu Han's philosophy, the pattern became much harder to ignore. If Qiu Han represented those who were born as gold, while Xiao Fan embodied iron tempered through hardship into steel, then their inevitable clash wouldn't simply determine who won the tournament. It would be a clash of Dao Hearts. A battle of two completely different beliefs. Ning rolled onto his side and let out a chuckle. The finale is going to be interesting. That left him with only one question.

Despite the overwhelming difference in cultivation, should he bet on Xiao Fan?... Thanks for reading