Chapter 7: The Rival Emerges

Chapter 7: The Rival Emerges

The afternoon sun cast a muted glow over the Mistveil Sect's sparring arena, its light diffused by the ever-present mist that clung to the valley. Ming You stood among the outer disciples, his gray robe slightly wrinkled from a morning spent tending the herb gardens, the scroll of the Ninefold Mist Barrier tucked securely into his sleeve. At twenty-one years of age, he carried the 2nd stage of Qi Condensation within him, its dual strands a steady hum he had refined over the past days under Elder Zhang's guidance. The courtyard buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of sweat and crushed earth.

Elder Liu oversaw the day's training, his scarred face impassive as he barked orders to the gathered disciples. "Pair up," he commanded, his voice rough. "Spar with control—no injuries, no foolishness. Inner disciples will join to test your progress." His single eye swept over the group, lingering briefly on Ming You, a flicker of recognition from the wolf incident still evident.

Chen Hao shifted beside Ming You, his enthusiasm bubbling despite the labor of the morning. "This will be fun," he said, his grin wide. "I have been practicing my punches—nothing fancy, but I think I can hold my own. What about you?" His patched tunic peeked out from beneath his robe, a reminder of his humble roots.

Ming You adjusted his stance, his expression calm. "I will manage," he replied, his voice low. He had spent his nights studying the Ninefold Mist Barrier, weaving its misty veil in the privacy of the outer disciples' hall after others slept. The formation was crude in his hands, a single layer of haze, but it offered possibilities—defense, deception, a shield for his schemes. Today would test its worth.

The inner disciples emerged from the main hall, their darker robes trimmed with silver marking their status. They moved with confidence, their steps sure, their Qi palpable even from a distance. One stood out—a young man of perhaps twenty-two, tall and broad-shouldered, his black hair tied back with a leather cord. His eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned the outer disciples with a mix of disdain and challenge. Whispers rippled through the group, identifying him as Lin Xuefeng, a prodigy among the inner ranks, already at the 5th stage of Qi Condensation.

Elder Liu gestured toward him. "Lin Xuefeng will spar with the wolf-fighter," he said, nodding at Ming You. "Let us see if your wits match your reputation." The other disciples stepped back, forming a loose circle around the arena, their murmurs growing louder.

Lin Xuefeng approached, his gaze locking onto Ming You with an intensity that bordered on contempt. "So, you are the scholar who faced a beast," he said, his voice carrying a faint sneer. "I hear you threw a rock and ran. Hardly the stuff of legends." He stopped a few paces away, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture radiating assurance.

Ming You met his stare, his face a mask of indifference. "Legends are for bards," he replied. "I prefer results." He sensed the Qi within Lin Xuefeng—stronger, denser than his own, a force honed by years of training. This was no wolf, but a cultivator who could crush him with raw power. Yet Ming You had his own strengths, and he would use them.

Elder Liu raised a hand. "Begin," he said, stepping back to observe.

Lin Xuefeng moved first, his speed a blur as he closed the distance. His fist lashed out, Qi coiling around it, the air crackling with faint energy. Ming You reacted, drawing his own Qi to his hands, the dual strands surging as he summoned the Ninefold Mist Barrier. A thin veil of mist erupted before him, shimmering faintly, its edges wavering under his still-imperfect control.

The punch struck the barrier, the impact sending ripples through the haze. Ming You staggered back, his arms trembling from the force, but the mist held, blunting the blow. Lin Xuefeng's eyes narrowed, surprise flickering across his features. "A formation?" he muttered, stepping back. "Clever, but weak."

Ming You steadied himself, his mind racing. The barrier had absorbed the strike, but it would not withstand much more—not against an opponent three stages above him. He adjusted his stance, weaving the mist tighter, guiding it with his Qi to curl around him like a shroud. The disciples murmured, their voices a distant hum, as Chen Hao cheered from the sidelines.

Lin Xuefeng attacked again, this time with a sweeping kick, his Qi sharpening the motion into a blade of force. Ming You shifted the mist, angling it to obscure his form, and sidestepped, the kick slicing through the haze inches from his chest. He felt the strain—his Qi depleting, his focus fraying—but he pressed on, using the mist to mask his movements.

"You hide like a coward," Lin Xuefeng taunted, his voice sharp. He lunged, fists raining down in a flurry of strikes, each one laced with Qi. Ming You danced back, the Ninefold Mist Barrier swirling around him, deflecting glancing blows but buckling under direct hits. Pain flared in his shoulder as one punch broke through, the impact jarring his bones.

He gritted his teeth, his breath ragged, and seized an opening. As Lin Xuefeng drew back for another strike, Ming You channeled his remaining Qi into the mist, thickening it into a dense cloud that enveloped them both. The inner disciple hesitated, his vision clouded, and Ming You darted forward, aiming a weak but precise palm strike at his chest.

The blow landed, a dull thud against Lin Xuefeng's robe, barely enough to stagger him. But it was enough. Elder Liu's voice cut through the mist. "Enough," he called. "The match ends."

The mist dissipated as Ming You stepped back, his Qi nearly spent, his body aching. Lin Xuefeng emerged, his expression a mix of frustration and grudging respect. "You rely on tricks," he said, his tone cold. "Next time, I will crush you." He turned away, brushing dirt from his robe, his pride intact but dented.

Elder Liu approached, his scarred face unreadable. "A draw," he declared. "The scholar holds his own. Return to your duties." The disciples dispersed, their whispers following Ming You—some admiring, others skeptical. Chen Hao rushed over, his grin wide. "That was incredible!" he exclaimed. "You stood up to an inner disciple!"

Ming You nodded, his breath steadying. "He is strong," he said, his voice quiet. "But predictable." He flexed his hands, feeling the ache of exertion, the thrill of survival. The Ninefold Mist Barrier had saved him, its potential clearer now—a tool not just for defense, but for outmaneuvering foes.

Lin Xuefeng's parting glare lingered in his mind, a promise of future conflict. Ming You welcomed it. A rival sharpened his edge, tested his limits. He would study this encounter, refine his formation, and grow stronger. The sect was a battlefield of wits, and he would not lose. The mist settled around him, a silent ally, as he walked back to the hall, his resolve burning brighter than ever.