Chapter 328

Chapter 328: Are You Still Afraid of Death?

Just as Wen Ze expected, Wen Qing never used Wondrous Origin Nine Changes again.

No matter what Jing Hong said, Wen Qing only cycled through techniques he already knew. And disturbingly, he improved as he did—his movements sharpening, his timing adjusting, as if he really were learning from the beating.

Jing Hong scowled. “Why won’t you use that movement technique?”

“Aren’t you teaching me?” Wen Qing said evenly. “Then teach me all the way. I’m willing to learn.”

“You don’t want to beat me?” Jing Hong tilted his head. “That movement technique might actually let you win.”

Wen Qing didn’t answer. He kept attacking, eyes cold and steady.

Jing Hong’s expression darkened. Wen Qing struck with White Dew, Southern Sky.

Jing Hong answered with the same palm—White Dew, Southern Sky.

The palms collided.

Wen Qing lost.

The match left most spectators baffled. There was no grand clash, no overwhelming spectacle, nothing that looked like a battle between enlightenment tea recipients. It felt less like a duel and more like Wen Qing choosing to lose.

Jing Hong’s victory was equally plain, almost casual.

At the Jia Yi Sect, Wen Qing opened his eyes and stared ahead.

He had lost.

No one felt it more sharply than he did—the suffocating sensation of being read from start to finish. Wondrous Origin Nine Changes was his brother’s signature art, the move Wen Qing believed could carry him to the crown. Yet he knew, deep down, that even with it, he couldn’t beat Jing Hong.

If he couldn’t win, there was no point revealing it.

The red packet… Wen Qing touched the place he’d tucked it away.

It was still there.

Still strange.

Wen Qing’s defeat broke a pattern: until now, the enlightenment tea recipients had always entered the top twenty.

But the fight was so muted it didn’t ignite much outrage. Some even speculated the Jia Yi Sect had deliberately let Wen Qing lose to undermine the Star Vault Vista’s authority.

No one outside could prove the truth.

When the last arena match ended, the top twenty were set.

Or rather—nineteen.

The finals bracket began.

Wang Jie thought the fighting would continue immediately.

Instead, his body vanished from the arena. When his eyes opened, he stood amid rolling mountains—back in Lockforce Interspace.

He could rest.

He let out a breath. A rule settled into his mind: each round would grant a full day of rest before the next fight.

Behind him, Hong Jian and the others rushed forward. “Old Boss, how are you?”

Wang Jie straightened. “I’m fine.”

“You have no idea how crazy it was outside,” Old Five said, half-laughing. “Before the tournament, Yuan Mu had a mountain of supporters. People cursed you nonstop, saying you got enlightenment tea through connections.”

“Now you beat Yuan Mu? Old Boss, you’re famous across the four great bridge-pillars.”

Someone’s voice turned serious. “Just… don’t run into Jing Hong.”

“Yeah,” another muttered. “That guy’s a freak. He pushed the orb destruction score to three million.”

Wang Jie stared. “Three million?”

Old Five slapped his forehead. “Right—your match was inside, so you didn’t see. Jing Hong’s nine teammates were useless, but he alone forced the orb destruction score to three million. Nobody understands how.”

Hong Jian’s face was grim. “Even a team with three enlightenment tea recipients only reached 2.3 million. Jing Hong surpassed everyone by himself.”

Wang Jie already knew Jing Hong was abnormal, far beyond what a Full-Star Realm cultivator should be.

He just hadn’t expected the numbers to be that obscene.

Three million.

How?

“And Wu Ming,” Old Five added quickly. “Old Boss, be careful of him. That bald guy is ruthless. In the Balance Battle, he wiped out the entire enemy team alone. Han Lin was in that group.”

“Gui Xiao Die too,” someone said. “Her fight with Xiao Mu was terrifying…”

As more people returned from the tournament, information flooded in from every direction. Wang Jie watched the light screen replays, his expression tightening.

They were all monsters. All of them.

Reaching the end was going to be brutal.

Especially Jing Hong.

Across the four great bridge-pillars, everyone was digging into his origins—and no one had found anything.

Wang Jie spoke with his people for a while, then sent them away. He needed to conserve energy.

When they left, Wang Jie straightened and bowed. “Greetings, Sect Master.”

A figure appeared before him.

Sect Master Zhi Yu studied him with open praise. “Enough formalities. Very good. You look strong, and you’re in high spirits. Excellent.” He laughed. “You brought honor to Black-White Heaven.”

Wang Jie smiled. “This disciple will do all he can.”

Zhi Yu walked to the cliff’s edge, hands clasped behind his back. “Not ‘all you can.’ Risk your life.” He didn’t look back. “And not for Black-White Heaven.”

“For yourself.”

“And for your master.”

Wang Jie understood. The moment enlightenment tea had been placed in his hands, he’d lost the luxury of retreat. He didn’t know what kind of trouble his cheap master was facing, but he knew this much: the only safety left was to climb. To climb until the entire universe had to look at him.

“Sect Master,” Wang Jie asked quietly, “what trouble does my master have?”

“He still hasn’t told you?” Zhi Yu sounded almost tired.

“He only said he has a powerful enemy.”

Zhi Yu gave a bitter smile. “Powerful isn’t enough to describe it.”

Wang Jie’s chest tightened.

“Before the tournament,” Zhi Yu continued, “that enemy sent Black-White Heaven a message. Only one sentence.”

He finally turned, eyes heavy. “Black-White Heaven can disappear.”

Wang Jie’s pupils shrank. “S-Sect Master… is that even possible?”

“It isn’t about possibility,” Zhi Yu said softly. “If they want it, then it becomes inevitable.”

“And my master?”

“I’m telling you this because you need to understand your position,” Zhi Yu said. “Not because you can solve it now. You can’t.”

“You have only one thing you can do: climb. Climb as high as you can. Climb to the top of this martial tournament and stand in front of every eye in the four great bridge-pillars. Only then will you have a chance to protect yourself.”

“Otherwise,” he said, voice turning colder, “no one can protect you. Not even your master. He can barely protect himself.”

Zhi Yu paused. “Black-White Heaven is the same.”

Then he left.

Wang Jie stood at the empty cliff a long time, staring into nothing.

The next day came fast.

Wang Jie opened his eyes to a sunrise in the distance. Behind him stood the people of Blue Star.

He closed his eyes.

And vanished.

The arenas had expanded. Only ten platforms remained.

One platform held only a single figure—Wu Ming, granted a bye.

Everyone else had an opponent.

Wang Jie’s opponent was a woman.

Gu Shang.

The Star Vault Vista had reported her. She came from the Beidou bridge-pillar’s second star cloud, the Phantom World Sect. Rumor said she had cultivated inside Gu Xun Yi’s calligraphy, never fighting, never showing her strength—so no one truly knew what she could do. Without the pre-tournament report, no one outside the Phantom World Sect would have even known where she trained.

Wang Jie studied her, and Gu Xun Yi’s calligraphy surfaced in his mind. He found himself wondering—absurdly—how he might convince Gu Xun Yi to write him another illusion character.

Across from him, Gu Shang’s gaze flicked over him, strange and faintly familiar.

Wang Jie’s mind jumped to the deadland—to that time Gu Xun Yi had taken him inside the calligraphy. He’d seen a shadowy figure then.

Was that her?

“You’ve seen me before?” Wang Jie asked.

Gu Shang nodded.

“You’ve been inside Senior Gu Xun Yi’s calligraphy?”

She nodded again.

“So the figure I saw back then was you?”

Gu Shang finally spoke, voice calm. “Are you still afraid of death?”

Wang Jie stared at her, then sighed. “Yes.”

“And you were willing to be a traitor?”

“Don’t say nonsense.” Wang Jie’s mouth twitched. “I earned merits. Massive merits.”

Gu Shang didn’t reply. She turned her head, eyes drifting toward the other arenas.

Wang Jie’s match against Gu Shang was a highlight, and two platforms away, Zhou Ye versus Shao Gu Chen was another. Zhou Ye was strong enough to suppress Imperial Kun and defeat Blood Vine. Most people believed he could force Shao Gu Chen to reveal something.

Beyond that, most matchups felt decided before they began. Nineteen remained. Nearly half were already famous across the universe. The rest—those who had arrived through luck or favorable brackets—were nearing their limit.

Cheng Feng, for instance.

His opponent was Gui Xiao Die.

When Cheng Feng’s barrier dropped, he attacked instantly, throwing out Sword Spine. He knew that against someone like Gui Xiao Die, he might only get one strike.

He was right.

He struck once—and then he was done.

Gui Xiao Die didn’t even look at him. She merely lifted her chin, provocative, and stared toward Hou Qing Ge. She was interested in that final, decisive sword strike.

Then Jing Hong fought.

He offered his red packet. His opponent refused. Jing Hong slapped them dead with a single palm—White Dew, Southern Sky.

The Jia Yi Sect’s faces twitched.

Match after match ended.

At last, it was Wang Jie’s turn.

The barrier dropped.

Gu Shang didn’t look at him. She took out a brush and flicked her wrist. Starforce became ink, scattered into the air, and the ink snapped into lines—needle-thin, lethal—shooting for Wang Jie from all directions.

Wang Jie lifted a brow. He tested with a finger—Myriad-Stars Finger.

The finger shadows were pierced straight through.

Wang Jie’s breath caught. That much power?

You couldn’t even see it.

The ink lines were like condensed death, all force compressed into a thread.

At Black-White Heaven, Zhi Nan Xing stood behind Zhi Xing Xue, staring at the screen with a hollow expression. He’d participated too, but he hadn’t even made the top hundred. Bad luck—Wu Ming had wiped out his entire group in one go. Zhi Nan Xing had thought Han Lin was ruthless enough; he’d never expected Han Lin would be the one destroyed, along with everyone else.

Little Lan spoke, voice tight. “The Phantom World Sect’s battle arts are easy to read… but the power is the hardest to sense.”

“Thousand Inks,” she continued. “Their killing move. Starforce becomes ink, guided through their Ten-Thousand Scrolls Method—a kind of chen art. Each ink line can kill an opponent of equal strength. If Wang Jie underestimates her, he’ll pay.”

Zhi Xing Xue sipped her tea. “He won’t be careless. People who walk out of Slaughterstone learn one thing well—they never underestimate anyone.”

Zhi Nan Xing hesitated, then asked, “Old Ancestor… how far can Wang Jie go?”

Zhi Xing Xue didn’t answer immediately.

She didn’t know.

It depended on who came next.

But she did know this much: Gu Shang wouldn’t stop him.

On the arena, Wang Jie moved.

Rain fell.

Swords floated up in the downpour—six of them in an instant.

Six-sword Rain Sword Art.

Sword qi filled the air and carved toward Gu Shang.

Gu Shang’s body was pierced through—only for it to smear into an ink trail.

Wang Jie’s expression sharpened. Impossible.

He had Qi Sight active. And yet Gu Shang’s substitute had fooled it.

Behind him, a pillar dropped from the air and slammed into the arena.

Wang Jie flung sword qi into it. The pillar wasn’t a chen artifact—none could be brought into the arena. It was pure starforce, condensed into form.

And it blocked his sword qi completely.

Ink lines fell again, stabbing toward him.

Wang Jie threw out Thunder Pattern. The ink lines pierced through it, but Thunder Pattern still slowed them enough for him to avoid taking a direct hit.

Solid.

That was the word that came to Wang Jie’s mind as he watched Gu Shang work.

Simple attacks. Brutal power. Tricks that even Qi Sight couldn’t pierce.

Solid.