Chapter 32

Chapter 32: One Move

The next day, the draw was held again.

Lin Zhao drew Group Three.

She looked at the names and nearly cursed her luck out loud.

In the Group Three area stood a tall figure—and beside her, another young man whose presence was no weaker.

Lin Ya.

And another peak Foundation Establishment cultivator.

With Lin Zhao included, Group Three had three peak cultivators. Which meant one would be eliminated no matter what.

The result made Lin Yuan, already simmering with resentment, unable to hide his satisfaction. He sneered from afar, lips twisting.

“Little slut. Let’s see how far your crooked-path, forced breakthrough can carry you against real peak Foundation Establishment.”

Lin Zhao didn’t spare him a glance.

Lin Ya studied the draw and looked mildly surprised, but her temperament was broad. Unlike Lin Yuan’s narrow obsession, she simply sighed at how quickly circumstances could change.

Then she cupped her hands, calm and polite, toward Lin Zhao and the other peak cultivator. “Looks like the three of us will have to fight. When the time comes, please teach me.”

The other peak cultivator hurriedly returned the salute. Lin Zhao smiled and returned it as well. “Please teach me too, Cousin—and Brother Lin Ye.”

Lin Ye blinked, clearly not expecting her to remember his name. He flushed and bowed quickly, a little stiff with shyness.

Once the draw results were announced, everyone’s ten-match lists were produced.

Lin Zhao’s eyes stopped on the ninth opponent.

Ninth opponent: Lin Ya.

If not for her father’s people supervising the draw, she would have suspected Lin Yuan had somehow schemed again.

But the process was clean.

To secure advancement, it was best to win all ten matches. No one cared how strong your opponents were. If your points weren’t enough, you were eliminated.

Rules were rules.

Lin Mang took one look at the list and wiped his brow, already sweating. “How is your luck this bad? What do we do?”

Lin Zhao rolled her eyes without the slightest reverence. “What do we do? Fight.”

Her first opponent was a ninth-layer Foundation Establishment disciple—Lin Xu. She recognized him immediately as one of Lin Yuan’s people.

Lin Zhao exhaled slowly, steadying her breathing.

Lin Xu spoke first, voice oily with false sincerity. “Young Lord, you may look like peak Foundation Establishment, but you probably just entered the tenth layer, right? You should use those sprout-pulling methods less. They’ll hinder your future.”

It sounded like advice. It was contempt disguised as concern—a neat way to tell everyone her rapid rise was suspicious and unstable.

A one-month leap of three layers was terrifying.

Her strength could no longer be denied, so this was the only explanation that made their jealousy easier to swallow.

Lin Zhao smiled. “Mediocrities stay mediocre because they assume the limits of their own talent apply to everyone.”

Lin Xu’s face darkened instantly.

Her words hit exactly where it hurt.

Birds of a feather flock together. He ran with Lin Yuan, and he shared Lin Yuan’s thinking. Lin Zhao—once the Lin Family’s number-one genius—had always been a thorn. How could they accept her rising again?

“Young Lord,” Lin Xu said coldly, “no matter what, you’ll lose this tournament. Since you’ve already fallen into the mud, don’t think you can climb back out. I’ll show everyone how pathetic your fake cultivation is compared to real, hard-earned strength.”

He drew a heavy saber. Blue light coiled around the blade.

A domineering saber, yet a water cultivator—an odd contrast that somehow made him look even more smug.

Lin Zhao summoned Bone Sword.

Saber and sword collided, sparks bursting bright.

They both poured spiritual power into their weapons at the same time—

Boom!

Green sword-flame smashed into blue mist. Lin Xu spat blood and stumbled back several dozen steps. He barely managed to steady himself before his knees buckled, nearly dropping him to one knee in front of Lin Zhao.

His saber trembled in his grip.

He had already lost the ability to fight.

The entire arena went silent.

People didn’t just suspect Lin Zhao was peak Foundation Establishment anymore.

They believed it.

Driving back a ninth-layer cultivator who’d been stuck there for three years—doing it with one clean move, stripping him of fighting power—was not something an ordinary peak cultivator could guarantee.

Even Lin Ya and Lin Ye wouldn’t dare claim they could do it so effortlessly.

“Good!” Lin Mang slammed the table first, laughter breaking free. “That’s my daughter!”

Seventh Elder’s face twisted as he watched.

One month.

Was Lin Zhao a monster?

At this pace, she might reach Spirit Transformation one day.

And if the Lin Family gained another Spirit Transformation cultivator, their status among the noble houses would be rock solid.

The shift was immediate. After Lin Zhao proved her peak completion was real—and stable—the elders’ council’s stance tilted toward Lin Mang’s branch without anyone needing to say it aloud.

Between an old elder and a Young Lord who might one day stand at Spirit Transformation, the Lin Family would rather discard an elder than abandon Lin Zhao.

Third Elder stared at Lin Zhao as she walked off the platform and murmured, voice low with awe, “As expected of the fated Phoenix Maiden. Even after her Phoenix Fortune was stolen… she’s still this outstanding. If her Phoenix Fortune were whole, then our Lin Family…”

His voice trailed off.

But the elders all heard him.

Their gazes met, heavy and dim.

If her Phoenix Fortune had been intact, Lin Zhao might have dragged the Lin Family back to its peak—maybe even made them contenders against the number-one noble house, the Ji Family.

“There’s no point saying more,” Lin Mang said, taking a slow sip of tea. “Zhao Zhao has her own plans. We just support her.”

Only then did the elders pull themselves out of it, and when they looked at Lin Mang again, there was more respect there than before.

If even they felt this way, how much sharper must the pain be for Lin Mang—the father who’d watched his daughter blaze and then be crippled by fate?

“These years, Family Head,” First Elder said softly, “you’ve worked hard.”

The others nodded.

Only Seventh Elder sighed.

He understood now: after today, Lin Mang’s position as Family Head was unshakable.

And Lin Yuan, watching from the side, nearly ground his molars to dust.

His gaze cut toward Lin Zhao on the platform—bright, steady, shining—and malice flashed like a blade.

“Hmph,” he muttered. “Enjoy it while you can. I want to see if you can still smile after you meet Lin Ya.”