The next morning, Li Yan headed to the sect's Core Hall to exchange the beast corpses. As soon as the disciples heard the number he'd brought in, murmurs rippled through the hall. His kill count rose day after day, yet almost no one ever saw him hunt.
Whispers followed him. Li Yan moved as if they didn't exist.
He was just about to step through the main exit when a voice called from behind.
"Junior Brother Li!"
The tone was calm, steady—yet carried weight. Familiar.
Li Yan halted and turned.
Behind one of the counters, a middle-aged man in black robes lifted a hand in greeting, a rare, polite smile on his face.
Dan Jian.
One of the few black-rank disciples entrusted with important internal duties. Known for his strictness—never softening his tone—even with purple ranks.
"Junior Brother Li, come here for a moment," Dan Jian called.
Li Yan nodded and walked over.
Heads turned at once. Surprise flickered across the faces of yellow-, azure-, and brown-robed disciples queued nearby.
Dan Jian had never addressed any of them with such warmth.
Li Yan ignored the stares.
"Yes, Senior Dan?"
Dan Jian's smile remained. "Junior Brother Li, you haven't collected your reward for the monthly leaderboard. I assumed you forgot, so I thought to remind you."
Whispers stirred again.
Li Yan blinked, faintly amused. "Is that so? Thank you, Senior Dan. But I don't need the reward. I've earned more than enough from hunting."
Several disciples behind him audibly sucked in a breath.
"But," Li Yan continued, voice steady, "if possible, I'd like to transfer the reward to the new disciples who joined recently. They need it more than I do."
Silence washed through the hall.
Dan Jian's brows rose. "You want to give your leaderboard reward… to the new white-rank disciples?"
Li Yan nodded once. "Just a small gesture. Thank you for arranging it, Senior Dan."
He offered a light bow and turned toward the grand archway, steps neither hurried nor slow.
Behind him, the whispers ignited.
A yellow-robed disciple leaned forward urgently. "Senior, who was that?"
An azure-robed disciple added, "And what rank was he in the White Leaderboard to speak like that?"
Dan Jian gave them a measured look.
"His name is Li Yan Tian. He ranked first in the White Rank Leaderboard last month."
Gasps erupted.
"What?! But he's only Qi Gathering Realm (Stage-8)!"
Dan Jian gave a faint smile. "Correct. And he achieved first place with less than two weeks of hunting."
The shock deepened. "Two weeks?!"
One of them stammered, "Senior Dan—how do you know that?"
Dan Jian folded his arms, leaning lightly against the counter. "He joined the sect two weeks before the leaderboard reset, with the new batch, the same batch he wishes to help."
"And in that short time, he reached the top of the White Leaderboard with nearly double the hunts of the second place."
Silence hit the hall like a stone dropped into still water.
Someone finally whispered, horror and awe tangled in their voice, "We… we just saw a monster in human skin."
No one disagreed.
And by then, the white-robed figure of Li Yan had already vanished through the exit—leaving only stunned disciples behind and a trail of growing rumors.
____
After leaving the Core Hall, Li Yan spent the remainder of the day in the library, studying until the afternoon light waned. When he returned to his residence, he did not linger.
He sat cross-legged at the center of the room and closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed.
His aura settled.
Deep within his spiritual sea, faint traces of killing aura drifted—residual echoes from days of relentless slaughter. To ordinary cultivators, such residue was dangerous, corrosive—something to suppress or purge.
Li Yan did neither.
He guided it.
He refined it.
Killing aura was not madness. It was pressure. Presence. A silent warning etched into instinct. When controlled, it became a deterrent sharper than steel.
Only once the turbulence faded into a calm, disciplined edge did he rise.
He ate a simple dinner.
Then he slept.
The night passed without disturbance.
____
By the time dawn broke again, Li Yan was already moving.
Nine days remained before the competition. Li Yan decided to go hunting and headed toward the sect's teleportation area.
Along the way, Li Yan sensed a few glances from his right side. When he looked to the right, he saw three white-ranked disciples, who had tried to rob Li Yan but had been beaten in return a few days ago.
Li Yan simply shook his head and kept walking toward his destination without a mocking smile or saying anything.
Shortly, Li Yan entered the Tier-1 Hunting Ground once more, disappearing into its depths without so much as a glance at the leaderboard. He did not need to check it.
His goal remained unchanged.
One hundred and fifty beast cores.
This time, he pushed deeper. The beasts were more coordinated, more aggressive. Some moved in reinforced packs, others adapted mid-fight. But Li Yan had evolved faster than they had.
This was no longer raw slaughter.
It was execution.
His knowledge of beast behavior, elemental interactions, and structural weaknesses made every encounter a calculated risk. Many fell before they could even launch a proper attack, their movements predicted and countered with ruthless efficiency.
By the evening of the fifth day, the last beast collapsed.
Li Yan stood still as dusk washed the valley in fading gold. He extracted the final core, stored the body, and turned back toward the sect.
No celebration. No pause.
With this, he had gathered 573 out of 1,000 Tier-1 beast cores.
More than halfway through Yao Fuhuo's task.
But numbers no longer mattered.
Each battle had refined him.
Each kill had tempered him.
And he was close now.
As he exited the valley, his gaze flicked briefly toward the leaderboard.
[1st – Li Yan Tian – Qi Gathering Realm (Stage-8) – 2,746 Hunts]
The gap had become absolute.
____
With four days remaining before the competition, Li Yan chose not to return to the Hunting Ground.
On the first day, after exchanging beast corpses, he went straight to the Shadows Knowledge Pavilion.
This time, his focus expanded outward.
He studied the wider world—imperial histories, dominant families, ancient clans, fractured alliances, and forgotten wars. He read not as a disciple, but as someone preparing to step beyond the sect's walls.
That night, he rested.
At dawn, he returned.
For the next two days and nights, he remained within the pavilion—this time devoted entirely to a single subject:
Alchemy.
Time blurred.
Refinement principles. Flame control. Structural stability. Impurity extraction. Reaction timing. Failure analysis.
He did not chase recipes.
He chased understanding.
He dissected every theory he could access within the pavilion's first level, cross-referencing methods, identifying contradictions, and reconstructing processes in his own mental framework.
When he finally left, he had not refined a single pill.
Yet in theory—
He understood the foundation of alchemy more thoroughly.
Only experience remained.
On the final day before the competition, Li Yan did nothing.
No cultivation. No study. No preparation.
He rested.
And when night fell, his breathing was even, his mind unclouded, his intent honed to a single edge.
Ready.
____
The sun stood high above the Shadow Haven Sect, its light casting long, sharp shadows across the vast assembly square. Heat shimmered over the stone tiles—yet not a single disciple shifted from their place.
Today was no ordinary day.
Today marked the opening of the Grand Disciples' Competition—the sect's most anticipated annual trial, a crucible where talents from the White, Yellow, Azure, and Brown ranks would be tested.
The air was heavy with tension.
Over a thousand disciples filled the square, forming a sea of color. White robes gathered at the left—newcomers and rising seeds. Yellow stood beside them, steadier, more confident.
Then Azure radiated restrained power, while brown-robed disciples waited like drawn blades, already one step from the superior ranks.
Every robe bore the sect's emblem, faintly gleaming beneath the sun.
Among them stood Li Yan.
Clad in white, the robe stirred gently in the mountain wind. Though his rank was the lowest, his presence was not. His gaze was calm—focused, sharp, dangerous.
Around him, disciples stretched their limbs, checked weapons, or murmured. Some wore confidence like armor. Others masked their unease behind forced smiles.
Familiar faces dotted the crowd.
Not far away, Mu Fan exchanged knowing smirks with another top white-rank disciple, both eager for confrontation. Then Mu Fan's gaze lingered on Li Yan for a moment longer than necessary.
Nearby stood several disciples Li Yan had encountered in the Hunting Ground.
Higher along with their ranks, clad in azure and brown, were Ji Xin and Ji Hao—grandchildren of the Sect Leader—observing the square with composed detachment. Ji Xin's eyes met Li Yan's for a brief instant before drifting away again.
Above them, along the marble terraces, purple-rank and black-rank disciples had gathered, their presence forming an invisible weight pressing down upon the square.
Ancient mountains loomed behind the sect grounds. Old trees whispered at the edges. Even the land itself seemed attentive.
At the center of the square rose a wide platform, flanked by four obsidian pillars etched with ancient runes. Seated atop it were the elders, each radiating an aura sharp enough to silence even the boldest disciple.
At the forefront stood the Sect Leader—
Ji Hong.
Clad in crimson robes, which flowed lightly in the wind. He said nothing—yet commanded absolute attention.
Li Yan narrowed his eyes.
This was not merely a competition.
It was a stage.
A crucible.
He had entered not for Shadow Points, nor recognition—but to measure himself, to establish his footing within the sect, and to earn access to the Ancient Techniques Hall.
Ji Hong stepped forward.
The square fell silent instantly.
He raised a single hand. Qi gathered around his fingers, subtle yet overwhelming. When he spoke, his voice—reinforced by Qi—rolled across the mountains like a tolling bell.
"Disciples of the Shadow Haven Sect (Yǐng Xū Zōng), welcome to this year's Grand Disciples Competition."
Cheers erupted, thunderous and unrestrained. The sound echoed against the surrounding peaks.
Ji Hong lifted his hand again. Silence returned.
"Today and tomorrow," he continued, voice sharp and unwavering, "disciples of the White, Yellow, Azure, and Brown ranks will compete through pagoda trial, elimination rounds, semi-finals, and finals."
"This is not merely a contest of victory," he said, tone deepening. "It is a measure of your cultivation, your potential, and your resolve."
"Shadow Points, Resources, and Rare Treasures await the strongest. But remember—true cultivation is not defined by triumph alone."
"Every battle is a step forward. Every defeat is a lesson."
The air shifted.
Determination replaced excitement. Hunger replaced noise.
Li Yan's hands tightened at his sides. His expression remained unchanged—but the fire in his chest burned brighter.
Ji Hong's hands moved.
Seals formed—fast, precise, layered beyond mortal comprehension.
A pulse of dark Qi surged outward, sinking into the ground beneath the platform. The stone vibrated. A deep hum rolled through the square.
Then—
A blinding flash erupted.
A towering pillar of gray light tore into the sky, its surface rippling with violent spatial distortion.
Gasps broke out across the square. Some disciples stumbled back, stunned—even those who had seen it before.
The spatial teleportation array had been activated.
A formation reserved only for the sect's most significant events.
The Grand Competition had begun.
Ji Hong turned back to the assembly, his voice carrying clear, final authority.
"After the elders, the disciples will teleport to the arena," he announced. "Enter the formation in order—Black Rank first, followed by Purple, Brown, Azure, Yellow, and finally, White."
With that, he stepped into the towering pillar of light and vanished.
The green-robed elders moved first.
Their strides were unhurried, confident. They did not look around. One by one, they disappeared into the radiant column, followed by the black-robed elite disciples, then the purple.
Each group vanished in turn, the crowd thinning with every pulse of light.
Soon, only the lower ranks remained.
The yellow-robed disciples stepped forward after the azure-rank. Their movements were slower, measured—some swallowing their nerves, others steadying their breathing.
And then—
The white robes.
Li Yan exhaled quietly.
Now.
The noise around him dulled, fading into irrelevance. He stepped forward with the others, his mind empty of distraction.
At the edge of the light, he paused for the briefest moment, casting one last glance behind him.
Then he stepped through.
Space folded.
His body became weightless, drifting through a warm current that tingled across flesh and soul alike. The sensation was neither violent nor gentle—simply absolute.
And then—
White swallowed everything.