Limitless Cultivation System: From Trash to Immortal

The Master of Ceremonies climbed onto the polished stone, parchment in hand, and the murmur of the third ring began folding inward toward the center of the Arena.

"Principal Bracket. Second combat of the first round. Young Mistress Su Qingyue of Frostmoon Ridge, against Young Master Tao Bingfeng of Iron Cloud Pavilion."

Lin Xuan was already seated.

Three cushions to the left of Madam Mei in the patriarchal tribune, with two empty cushions between them and the far end of the row where Lin Zhen had taken his place earlier. He had chosen the seat for a reason. His father registered the choice from the corner of his attention and turned back to the floor without a word.

Madam Mei was holding a small porcelain cup near her chin when Lin Xuan walked up the stairs. The cup had not moved during his approach. It had not moved when he sat either.

She was good. He gave her that.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Below, Su Qingyue stepped onto the platform in Frostmoon blue, the cracked-ice clasp in her hair catching the morning light as the crowd shifted around her name.

Madam Mei lowered her cup by a careful inch.

"Congratulations are in order, Young Master."

Lin Xuan turned his head a fraction toward her cushion, his voice low enough to remain inside the polite cover of the tribune.

"Thank you, Madam."

"Your victory yesterday was impressive. Thunder Lotus will be discussing it for some time."

"I hope not too long. I would hate to become their favorite topic."

"A young man who defeats Lei Yan in the first round should expect some attention."

"Then I will endure it bravely."

The cup descended another inch. Her face remained directed toward the fighting floor, her posture exactly as it should have been. Anyone looking from below would have seen a stepmother offering courtesy to her husband’s son.

"Did you rest well after the match?"

"Well enough."

"I heard the residence was somewhat restless last night."

"Was it?"

"So the servants say." Madam Mei’s voice remained soft, almost idle. "You were not in your room for part of the evening, I believe."

Lin Xuan let the corner of his mouth move.

"Ah. That. I went out for a little while."

"At night?"

"It seemed like the appropriate hour for celebration."

"Celebration?"

"I won my first principal match, Madam. Surely even I am allowed to be pleased with myself once in a while."

A small pause followed. The cup hovered halfway between her chin and the tray.

"Where did you go?"

"A tea house."

"Alone?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"The city is full of people after sundown. One is rarely alone in Yuncheng unless one tries very hard."

The Master of Ceremonies continued speaking below them, his voice rising over the Arena as Tao Bingfeng stepped onto the platform opposite Su Qingyue. The crowd answered with a wave of sound, giving their conversation a softer wall to hide behind.

Madam Mei lowered the cup the rest of the way.

"Was it a good tea house?"

"Very recommended."

"By whom?"

"A local."

"How fortunate."

"I thought so too. Small place. Modest. Nothing a person of your standing would bother with, I imagine. But the tea was better than expected."

The ceramic touched the wooden tray beside her cushion without a sound.

For the first time since he had sat down, Madam Mei’s expression changed by a fraction. It was not fear. She was too disciplined for that. But something tightened at the base of her composure, like a thread pulled once from inside a sleeve.

Lin Xuan noticed.

He also noticed that she noticed him noticing.

"Madam?"

"Young Master?"

"Are you well?"

"Quite."

"You seem a little pale. If the heat is bothering you, I can escort you back to the residence before the match begins properly."

Her head turned toward him by the smallest degree. Not enough to break decorum. Enough for him to see the answer she would not let her face give.

"That will not be necessary."

"Of course."

He returned his attention to the platform.

Su Qingyue climbed the northern stair to the fighting floor.

The first step she took on the polished stone released Qi. Frost climbed up through the soles of her boots and along the edge of her sword in a thin pale line, and a six-petal flower of fine ice crystals bloomed under her feet, spreading two paces around her position. The temperature inside the first circle of seats dropped three degrees. Wei Tianming, in the principal sector across the Arena, pulled the collar of his new Skyedge robe closed against his throat without registering that he had done it.

Lin Xuan felt the cold touch his cheek from the tribune.

Beside him, Madam Mei spoke without turning her head, voice pitched low.

"Frostmoon Ridge has never bothered to disguise its opening. Three centuries of announcing themselves with the same frost."

"Some would call that a signature, Madam. Others might call it the comfort of a sect that has not been pushed in a while."

"...An interesting distinction, Young Master."

"A useful one, in tournament combat."

Tao Bingfeng came up the southern stair and brought his curved Iron Cloud blade across in a defensive opener. Stage Six. Su Qingyue was Stage Five. The realm gap was real. The realm gap was about to be irrelevant.

She drew Crystal Edge along the spine of her sword before he had finished his entry stance. The blade brightened along its length with a pale extension of ice, two fingers past the steel, and when she circled once to read his guard, the trail of the cut left a thin line of ice powder hanging in the air for half a heartbeat before it fell.

Tao Bingfeng entered to parry.

The two blades crossed. Su Qingyue triggered Frostbind at the contact point. A spider web of frost climbed the curve of the Iron Cloud blade in the half second of contact, and when Tao Bingfeng pulled back to free his weapon, a third of the curve had gone white with fine cracks of ice he could not shake off without losing tempo.

She did not give him the breath to recover.

Frostmoon Lance.

The blade fired forward in a long thrust. As it traveled, ice gathered around the point in the shape of a translucent spear that doubled the reach of the steel, and crystals fanned out ahead of the tip in a cone of pale blue light. The spear ended a finger from the side of Tao Bingfeng’s neck without touching the skin.

The vapor in the air around the lance froze on contact.

Tao Bingfeng’s exhale came out white in the noon sun, and small flakes of frozen breath drifted down onto the polished stone.

"Yield."

"...I yield."

The Master of Ceremonies stepped onto the platform and raised his hand.

"Victory. Young Mistress Su Qingyue of Frostmoon Ridge."

The Arena gave the applause that the technique deserved. Steady, respectful, recognizing an elegant performance without rising to the noise of the day before.

Su Qingyue inclined her head once toward Tao Bingfeng. The frost flower under her feet evaporated behind her in a small white smoke that caught the noon sun for a breath before vanishing.

Before she crossed to the stair, she lifted her face toward the patriarchal tribune in the east.

Her eyes found Lin Xuan.

Then her lips moved.

No sound. Only the vocalization of the words on her lips, given only to him.

’Mira, what is she saying?’

[ Already on it. (◠‿◠) ]

[ She says: I have kept my end of the promise too. I will see you in the Arena in a few days. ]

’...’

[ Oh. She is a curious woman. ]