Descension (BL Xianxia Fantasy Romance)

Jiang Wuying frowned, clearly unimpressed. "Your disciple?" He sneered. "A second-level cultivator? Do you take me for a fool?"

Ruan Yanjun shrugged. "Fighting me is a privilege, one you'll need to earn. If you're too proud to face him, then I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself further."

The tension in the air thickened. Jiang Wuying's face darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might turn and leave. Instead, he clenched his fists and barked, "Fine. I'll humor you. But if your disciple fails to entertain me, don't think you can hide behind him."

The crowd that had started to gather murmured in excitement, eager to witness the spectacle. My heart sank further.

I turned to Ruan Yanjun, keeping my voice low. "Lord Ruan, this isn't a fight I can win. Jiang Wuying is leagues above me in skill and strength."

Ruan Yanjun's eyes flicked to mine, his expression unreadable. "A-Fan," he said quietly, "level means nothing when your mind is sharp. You've faced greater odds before. Trust your instincts."

Before I could argue further, he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, "Win, and I'll give you two days free of training. Lose, and I'll kiss you right here, in front of everyone."

My face flushed with indignation as I pulled away, his infuriating smirk only growing. He wasn't bluffing—Ruan Yanjun never bluffed.

I released my rising anger with a deep breath, stepping forward to face Jiang Wuying.

"Remember what I've taught you," Ruan Yanjun called lazily. "And try not to embarrass me."

Jiang Wuying stood in the center of the courtyard, his stance loose but ready, his smirk radiating confidence. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't hit too hard."

The crowd tittered at his remark, their anticipation growing as the match began. Jiang Wuying was the first to move, a flurry of precise strikes and swift kicks that forced me onto the defensive.

Sweat began to bead on my brow as I blocked and dodged, my mind racing. I couldn't match his speed or strength, but perhaps…

Ruan Yanjun's words during one of our training sessions echoed in my mind.

'When you're not sure what to do, defend and observe. The more you know about your opponent, the better decision you can make.'

So I kept my defense and studied Jiang Wuyin's movements.

His overconfidence made him predictable. His strikes, while powerful, lacked the finesse of someone truly focused. I noticed small openings in his movements, gaps I could exploit.

I bided my time, enduring his onslaught as best as I could. When he overreached on a sweeping kick, I saw my chance. Summoning every ounce of precision I had, I struck at a vulnerable meridian in his side—a technique Ruan Yanjun had drilled into me endlessly.

Jiang Wuying staggered, his eyes widening in surprise. The crowd gasped, and the murmurs grew louder. I took a step back, panting and aching but steady on my feet.

Jiang Wuying straightened, clutching his side. His face was a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Not bad," he muttered, begrudgingly nodding.

The match ended in a draw, the tension in the courtyard dissipating as the crowd erupted into applause. Jiang Wuying stormed off, his pride bruised but his reputation intact.

Ruan Yanjun approached me, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Next time, don't let him land so many hits."

I glared at him, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

He laughed. "My A-Fan hates me. But it doesn't matter. You won the match."

"It's a draw," I argued.

"Against a level four, you are the winner."

With my body aching and my mind spinning after the fight, I did not bother to argue with him any further.

As the crowd began to disperse, I allowed myself a brief moment to catch my breath. My muscles were sore, my knuckles bruised, and the exhaustion from holding my ground against Jiang Wuying weighed heavily on me. Yet, there was also a faint glimmer of satisfaction. Despite everything, I had managed to avoid a public humiliation orchestrated by Ruan Yanjun.

Just as I was preparing to slip away from the courtyard and its lingering onlookers, a middle-aged man approached me. His appearance was unassuming—more akin to a scholar than a cultivator—with sharp, intelligent eyes and an air of quiet authority.

"Priest Luo Fan," he greeted, his voice steady and polite.

I straightened and cupped my hands in greeting. "Yes, that's me."

"My name is Jin Tian," he continued, a faint smile on his lips. "I am the successor of the great scholar Zeng Lei."

The name caught me off guard, and I blinked in surprise. Zeng Lei was a legend, a scholar renowned across the five empires for his meticulous records of cultivation techniques. His books were a treasure trove of knowledge, detailing the mechanics of skills practiced by cultivators of all levels. Even Frost Mountain Sect had several volumes of his works.

I quickly bowed deeper, my respect genuine. "It's an honor to meet you, Senior Jin. The writings of the great Zeng Lei have been invaluable to my cultivation journey. His insights have guided me many times."

Jin Tian's smile deepened, and he inclined his head. "I am pleased to hear that. Zeng Lei's legacy was one of dedication to understanding cultivation in all its forms."

Then his expression shifted slightly, curiosity shining in his eyes. "I must ask, Priest Luo Fan—what is the name of the technique you just used during the fight? I've never seen anything like it before."

Before I could respond, Ruan Yanjun's smooth, arrogant voice cut in. "It's called Intimate Contact."