Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Targeting and Exposing

Lin Zhao’s toes touched down on the martial platform. The moment her feet met the stone, pressure rolled across the arena in layered waves—spiritual auras colliding, restraining, flaring. A quick sweep of her senses told her what she needed to know: most disciples had chosen to band together.

Ten large teams had formed. The core figures in every one of them sat at peak Foundation Establishment.

Lin Zhao let out a quiet, helpless laugh.

Under the Grand Melee rules, cooperation was an advantage. The first round wasn’t just about strength—it was also a test of who could gather people to their side. Most disciples had no hope of taking first, but the Lin Family had dangled clearance rewards and rich prizes for the top ten to keep everyone hungry.

This was the Lin Family’s biggest clan tournament in a hundred years. If she embarrassed herself today, it wouldn’t just be her reputation that suffered. It would stain her father’s standing in the clan.

Lin Zhao lifted her gaze to the Lin Family disciples tightening the circle around her and raised a brow. “So you’re really planning to gang up on me?”

The youth at the front flicked a glance toward Lin Yuan in the distance. Whatever reassurance he found there straightened his spine. He shook his head, eyes sharp with malice, and sneered. “Third Miss, blame no one but yourself. You were born with everything. You have no idea what it takes for people like us to fight for one scrap of resources.”

Lin Zhao tilted her head, thoughtful. “So someone paid you.”

The youth’s jaw tightened. He refused to answer. “All of you—go!”

They surged in from all directions, intent on leaving her no breathing room, no chance to regroup.

Lin Zhao’s eyes flicked over them once.

Three late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators. The rest were below that. They still thought she was stuck at her old level from before the trial.

The only person with motive and the means to buy a pack of fools like this was Lin Yuan.

Lin Zhao shook her head and murmured, almost to herself, “Looks like my return made someone feel threatened.”

Attacks closed in. Lin Zhao’s lips curved. “All together? Don’t make me laugh. Even if I were still late-stage Foundation Establishment, what could trash like you do to me?”

Emerald flames shot skyward.

In the blink of an eye, a giant hand of green fire formed above the platform. It swept down, closed around more than a dozen disciples, and flung them off the stage like broken dolls.

Lin Zhao never even drew her sword.

She stepped forward, calm as if strolling through her own courtyard. Her palm cut the air before she arrived—palm wind first, body second. One late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator felt the heat and pain rush at him and tasted metal in his mouth. The pressure behind that strike wasn’t just oppressive. It was lethal.

Before the blow even landed, he broke.

In full view of everyone, he fled to another section of the arena like smoke, abandoning the siege without a shred of dignity.

A second late-stage cultivator reacted too slowly. Lin Zhao was already in front of him. He barely managed to widen his eyes before her hand snapped out and slapped him clean past the boundary line.

The leader watched his team collapse in less than ten breaths. Even an idiot would understand now: the woman in front of him wasn’t someone he could touch.

Fear curdled into spite. He bared his teeth, face twisted. “Lin Zhao! So what if you beat us? Compared to the Lin Family’s Three Elites, you’re still trash! I’ll be waiting below the stage to watch you—Lin Family’s former number-one genius—get eliminated!”

Lin Zhao’s expression didn’t change as she seized him by the front of his robe and lifted him off the ground. “Done talking?”

His face drained of color.

Lin Zhao drove her fist into his lower abdomen. The sound was dull, brutal. Then she slammed him down hard enough that the platform trembled.

He lay there like a heap of mud, coughing blood, eyes rolling back, breathing thin.

A cold silence fell over the arena. Then someone offstage inhaled sharply, and the sound spread—one gasp becoming many.

The disciples who had mocked Lin Zhao earlier alongside Lin Yi wore expressions so vivid it would have been funny, if the scene weren’t so ugly. They finally understood: the Young Lord who seemed mild in the clan was not a soft, spineless ornament. They simply hadn’t pushed her far enough.

Once she moved, she was more ruthless—and more decisive—than anyone her age.

The rescue staff rushed in. After a quick inspection, their faces turned strange.

The youth’s organs were intact. But his skin, flesh, tendons, and bones had been wrecked by internal force. Without six months—maybe a full year—he wouldn’t be leaving his bed.

The Young Lord who did this was fiercer than some hardened old hands.

And the message landed exactly as Lin Zhao intended. No one on the platform dared provoke that demon star again. They weren’t any stronger than the dozen she’d tossed aside like waste.

Besides, more than 200 people could advance. There was no reason to sacrifice your own chance just to test Lin Zhao.

After a brief thought, Lin Zhao decided not to go after Lin Yuan in the first round. Not because she feared him—but because dealing with him now would force her to reveal trump cards.

If she showed her hand too early, and later ran into Lin Long or Lin Ya, she’d be the one at a disadvantage.

So she watched.

To her disappointment, Lin Long, Lin Ya, and Lin Yuan barely fought at all. Their team members cleared opponents for them while the three stood at ease, like spectators waiting for a show to begin.

Lin Zhao sighed, rubbing her brow. “Comparing people really is infuriating.”

Soon the referee’s voice rang out across the arena, crisp and amplified by spiritual energy.

“Remaining count: 235!”

Lin Zhao’s gaze swept the survivors. It was about what she expected—mostly late-stage Foundation Establishment, a handful of mid-stage, and those ten peak cultivators anchoring their groups.

“The results of the first round are out,” the referee announced. “The following disciples advance to the second round. Lin Long, Lin Ya, Lin Yuan, Lin…”

Name after name rolled on. Lin Zhao heard her own in the middle and finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

“The second round will be a points match with five groups. Forty-seven people per group. One-on-one matches within each group. Each person will fight ten matches. Opponents will be randomly assigned within the group. Each match lasts one incense stick. Winner gets two points, loser gets none. If no winner is decided by the time the incense burns out, both receive one point. Ties in points will be resolved with an additional match. The top two in each group advance to the final round, forming this tournament’s top ten.”

Lin Zhao’s expression tightened slightly.

If several peak Foundation Establishment cultivators were thrown into the same group, wouldn’t that tilt the field?

Judging by the murmurs in the crowd, she wasn’t the only one thinking it.

The referee lifted a hand, as if already seeing through them. “To ensure the third round proceeds normally, each group will have at least two peak Foundation Establishment cultivators.”

Lin Zhao’s eyes narrowed in thought.

“Advancing disciples,” the referee called, “come on stage to draw lots.”

Lin Zhao stepped forward with the others.

The disciple hosting the draw lowered his eyes, hands moving toward the draw slips. Lin Yuan, standing not far away, exchanged a quick look with him.

The host’s fingers twitched—

—and a hand slammed down on his wrist.

A disciple beside him, wearing the Senior Elder’s crest, pinned him in place. “Senior Elder! He tampered with the Timing Incense earlier and tried to start the tournament early!”

The arena rippled with shock.

The Senior Elder strode in, expression calm but cold. Elders followed in his wake, and Lin Mang arrived last, his face already darkening. “What’s going on?”

The Senior Elder’s gaze swept over the trembling host. “This brat added something to the Timing Incense. He nearly made Third Miss miss the tournament.”

Lin Mang’s eyes flicked to Seventh Elder. Storm clouds gathered on his face.

The Senior Elder continued, voice steady. “And just now, he was about to tamper with the draw.”

His disciple presented a rigged draw slip they’d found on the host.

The culprit’s last shred of luck snapped.

He dropped to his knees. “Family Head—spare me! Family Head—please!”

Lin Mang’s sneer cut like a blade as he turned his gaze toward Seventh Elder. “You dare interfere with the Young Lord’s affairs? Who’s ordering you around?”

Seventh Elder’s eyes flicked to Lin Yuan. Lin Yuan’s face had already gone stiff, the change too sharp to hide.

Seventh Elder cursed under his breath, then signaled a steward at his side.

That steward swallowed hard and stepped forward, forcing himself to speak.

“Family Head… please forgive me. This old servant was confused. For my unworthy grandson who’s participating in the tournament, I let evil thoughts take hold.”