Fast. Polished. Much more polished than the speed Dejiu witnessed from the Choros’ Veil of Spite — or in other terms, the daimon’s iteration of his child self in all its shadowy, brutish, and violent glory. That was what Dejiu thought as Xue Fan dashed to him. His footwork was astonishing, despite how much Dejiu hated him.

  With a grunt, Dejiu threw a heavy palm at where Xue Fan was, only for it to miss and be countered with an open hand across his face.

  Dejiu staggered and Xue Fan didn’t relent. He silently changed levels and swept Dejiu off his feet. CRASH!

  “Argh!” Dejiu gasped as his body slammed against the stone platform.

  Xue Fan glared down. His smile widened, but his eyes held no warmth. “Come now, Junior Brother, surely the Seventh Hell hardened you more than this? You move like a mountain ape tangled in its own tail.”

  Dejiu gritted his teeth and got up. His prana thrashed and cycled. Wilted Stem was in full display now. He had about five or so minutes. “It did, but I didn’t think sparring with Senior Brother meant aiming to maim.”

  He summoned his Seekers Accord.

  [Prana: 88/101]

  Disappointedly, his prana was running out much faster than he had anticipated. Damn soul injuries…

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to,” Xue Fan replied, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “I guess I got carried away. Forgive me.”

  Xue Fan pressed forward.

  As Dejiu shifted to counter, he caught a glimpse of the monks who had followed them. Xue Li, Xue Song, Xue Zhi, Xue Yao Zhong—all standing at the edge of the training hall, their expressions smug and expectant. They weren’t just watching. They were waiting. As for what, Dejiu didn’t know. To jump him once his beaten bloody? Probably. From seven years ago til now, Xue Fan alone was enough to overwhelm the much younger and untrained Dejiu. They were overkill.

  Dejiu growled with teeth bared. He feinted an attack to begin reading Xue Fan. Sure enough, as Teacher Jiansu said, he was horrid when fighting humans. So he tried to anticipate Xue Fan’s moves.

  Left? He eyed how Xue Fan’s shoulders shifted and blocked.

  Wrong. Somehow Xue Fan anticipated that and went for his right instead.

  “Gah!” He spluttered through the flurry of belittling attacks.

  Xue Fan slapped him stiffly and knocked him away.

  He’s going for my liver. He studied Xue Fan’s footing to dodge before throwing a front kick to counter.

  A mistake. Xue Fan caught his leg. It lingered too long before he pulled it back. With a snort, Xue Fan ruthlessly pulled, threatening to tear some tendons or ligaments as Dejiu was sent skidding behind.

  Dejiu scrambled his measly balance together before Xue Fan approached again. But he was too late.

  His stomach sank.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  And then it hit him—a strike to his ribs that sent him stumbling back much further than before. Xue Fan laughed, the sound ringing hollow in the empty hall. “Careful, Junior Brother. You wouldn’t want to fall too hard now, would you? I haven’t even used any of our temple’s techniques!”

  Dejiu groaned and clawed at his torso. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. The flow of prana was disrupted too. He wheezed and summoned his Seeker’s Accord.

  [Prana: 65/101]

  The fuck!? How! He thought through gasps of breath. I didn’t even use any Withering Palm or remnants!

  “The soul injury is more apparent, hm? It was harder to tell in a friendly test against Jiansu, but now you know how detrimental it is to have your soul wounded. Ah, and while a life-and-death battle is many times more insightful than training, this monk is quite the prospect.” Bing Xin whispered. “Brace yourself, fool.”

  “Kruek!” He spat out as Xue Fan pressed his foot against Dejiu’s chest.

  “I want you to leave the temple. Make it easier on yourself. Your teacher too. Stay any longer and you’re bound to cost us dearly, more than you already have.”

  Dejiu struggled under the weight of Xue Fan's foot, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His ribs ached, and the disruption in his prana flow left him sluggish, like a broken toy sputtering to function.

  Xue Fan leaned in, his voice laced with disdain. “You’re like a rock in the current, slowing the flow. No one will say it outright, but everyone sees it. Even your teacher, with all his misplaced loyalty, knows it deep down. You don’t belong here.”

  Dejiu’s jaw clenched, his fingers scraping against the smooth floor as he tried to push Xue Fan’s foot away. He channeled his remaining prana into his arms, enough to shift the weight slightly and free himself for a gasp of air.

  [Prana: 53/101]

  The numbers taunted him.

  “Enough of this.” Dejiu spat blood onto the floor and glared up at Xue Fan. Ah, he’s still immature. He can’t help it anymore. Seven years' worth of defiance simmered in his eyes. “If you think you’re so righteous, why don’t you just finish me here? What’s stopping you, Senior Brother? Any reason you want to hear it from my lips?”

  Xue Fan sneered, stepping back with exaggerated grace as if he wanted to show how little effort it took to keep Dejiu pinned below his foot. "Why would I dirty my hands further? You’re already beneath me. I want you to acknowledge it through that thick stubborn skull of yours."

  Stepping off me? Fucking idiot. Dejiu cursed.

  He pulled himself upright, his movements labored. But his misfit mind churned. “Wow! The monk years younger, smaller, untrained, is beneath you? Or are you somehow angry that a young monk managed to reach the Advanced Stage like you?” He mocked Xue Fan back.

  Xue Fan scoffed. “Like I said. Even a stray dog can learn the Dao with luck. You can’t even learn the simplest of cultivation methods. Those resources you happened on were wasted on a scoundrel like you. You can’t even begin to learn things like this—”

  Glimmering specks of ice lined Xue Fan’s breath when he exhaled. One breath. Two breaths. Three. Then he raised a hand, prana condensing into a translucent, frosty sheen around his fingers. The air turned sharper, biting at Dejiu’s exposed skin as Xue Fan's aura shifted. Glimmering specks of ice lined Xue Fan’s breath when he exhaled. A faint crackling sound echoed as frost began to creep up Xue Fan’s arms, encasing his skin in a crystalline layer of ice. Probably his entire body if Dejiu could see through Xue Fan’s robes.

  “This is First Winter.” Xue Fan announced, his voice carrying an edge as cold as the frost forming around him. His movements slowed deliberately, but his presence grew heavier. The temperature in the hall plummeted further, and Dejiu could feel his muscles stiffen against the cold. “A reinforcement technique designed to endure anything you throw at me while making me stronger. A staple technique for us Junior Monks.”

  Dejiu frowned through his bruised face and steadied his stance. He ignored the ache in his ribs and the biting cold crawling up his legs. He planted his feet on a patch of frost-free floor and brought his hand and stump together.

  “A little ice?” Dejiu returned a sneer. Who cares at this point? He committed inside his head — he’s gonna do it. Withering Palms are coming for Xue Fan. If Xue Fan wants him to leave the temple, what better way than giving it back to Xue Fan and getting expelled in the process?