The Competition Begins

Competition dawn arrived with unnatural tension. The morning mist seemed thicker, the air heavier, as if the atmosphere itself anticipated violence. Forty-three Liu family disciples gathered in the main arena, their usual pre-competition nerves amplified by twenty-seven hidden stones humming with malevolent purpose.

"Why do I feel so anxious?" Liu Yun whispered to her survival pact ally. "My hands won't stop shaking."

"Competition nerves," came the uncertain reply. "Everyone feels it."

Everyone did feel it. The emotional resonance arrays had been building pressure for days, turning normal anticipation into barely controlled dread. Several disciples showed physical symptoms—nervous tics, excessive sweating, dilated pupils. All attributed to natural causes.

Zǔ Zhòu stood among the Body Tempering competitors, projecting calculated nervousness while internally cataloguing the chaos. Liu Qiang's middle-rank alliance already showed fractures, members standing further apart than usual. One Qi Condensation disciple had vomited twice from "nerves."

"Welcome to the 437th Liu Family Youth Competition," Liu Tiansheng announced from the patriarch's platform. Core Formation elders flanked him, including Elder Feng who would judge technical merit. "As announced, divisions separate by major realm. We begin with forms demonstration."

Forms—the traditional opening that tested control, understanding, and technical precision. No combat, just movements performed under scrutiny. It should have been the calmest event.

"Body Tempering division, take position."

Twenty disciples spread across the arena, Zǔ Zhòu placing himself strategically middle-left. Not center stage like an attention seeker, not edges like the fearful. Optimal position for calculated mediocrity.

"Begin with First Form: Tiger Descends the Mountain."

The basic opening stance of the Liu family style. Children learned it at age six. Yet as twenty disciples moved in unison, the emotional arrays' influence became obvious. Liu Wei's cousin overcorrected his stance, nearly stumbling. Another disciple's breathing audibly hitched. Small errors that would never occur without environmental pressure.

Zǔ Zhòu performed at precisely 85% perfection. Each movement showed clear improvement from his wastrel days but included minor flaws—a degree off optimal angle here, slightly rushed transition there. Believable progress for someone who'd "discovered" cultivation talent three months ago.

"Second Form: Tiger Stalks Its Prey."

More complex, requiring spiritual energy circulation. The arrays' effect intensified as disciples channeled qi through stress-tightened meridians. One Body Tempering Second Stage actually lost control, his qi sputtering like a dying flame.

"Pathetic," someone muttered from the Qi Condensation section.

The comment, normally ignored, hit like a slap. The struggling disciple's face flushed crimson, emotional amplification turning minor embarrassment into crushing shame. His next movement completely failed.

"Continue!" Elder Feng commanded, making notes.

Form after form, the Body Tempering disciples degraded under invisible pressure. By the tenth sequence, half showed significant errors. Only a few maintained composure—those with either exceptional mental discipline or, like Zǔ Zhòu, intentional imperfection.

"Final Form: Tiger Returns to Den."

The closing sequence, meant to demonstrate control and spiritual stability. Three disciples failed entirely, their qi refusing to settle properly. Zǔ Zhòu completed it with artistic imperfection, adding a subtle tremor that suggested pushed limits rather than incompetence.

"Body Tempering division, conclude. Judges will deliberate rankings."

As they left the arena, Zǔ Zhòu heard the whispers:

"What happened to Liu Jin? He's performed that sequence perfectly for years."

"Competition pressure. Some crumble when it matters."

"But so many errors..."

Elder Feng announced preliminary rankings. "First position: Liu Shan." The only disciple who'd somehow maintained perfect form despite the arrays. Zǔ Zhòu mentally noted him—exceptional mental fortitude or natural resistance to emotional manipulation.

"Second position: Liu Dai. Third: Liu Rong. Fourth: Liu Ting. Fifth: Liu Wei."

Fifth of twenty. Exactly where he'd aimed. High enough to show improvement, low enough to avoid threat designation. Several disciples who should have placed higher glared at their rankings, emotional amplification converting disappointment to simmering rage.

After morning forms concluded, afternoon brought the combat rounds. The arena transformed—protective formations activated, medical cultivators on standby. Body Tempering matches would proceed simultaneously in four rings, advancing through elimination brackets.

"First round pairings posted!" an elder announced.

Zǔ Zhòu found his name matched against Liu Jin—the same disciple who'd failed spectacularly during forms. A Third Stage cultivator who should have been even match under normal circumstances. But the emotional arrays had pushed Liu Jin into a state of barely controlled fury.

"Ring Three: Liu Wei versus Liu Jin!"

They faced each other across the marked circle. Liu Jin's eyes held a wild quality, amplified shame from his morning failure converted to aggression. His hands trembled not with fear but rage.

"Rules are simple," the referee stated. "First to three touches or ring-out wins. Excessive force results in disqualification. Begin!"

Liu Jin exploded forward with none of his usual technique. Raw fury drove a haymaker punch that would have been easily dodged—except Zǔ Zhòu needed to sell his struggle. He "barely" evaded, letting the wind clip his robes.

"Aggressive opening!" someone commented from the stands.

Zǔ Zhòu responded with a degraded version of Temporal Echo Palm—a technique that should create after-images through time manipulation. At Body Tempering, it merely confused visual tracking slightly. His palm thrust forward, seeming to blur.

Liu Jin, already emotionally compromised, overreacted to the visual distortion. He threw up both arms in wild block, leaving his torso exposed. Zǔ Zhòu tapped his ribs gently.

"First touch, Liu Wei!"

"LUCKY!" Liu Jin snarled, the word torn from his throat. The arrays amplified his frustration into something darker.

He attacked again, this time with Liu family's Tiger Claw technique. But anger had replaced precision. What should have been five coordinated strikes became wild slashing. Zǔ Zhòu used another temporal insight—Paradox Step, which at his level just meant moving where opponents didn't expect.

He stepped into the attack rather than away, inside Liu Jin's guard. A finger touched the shoulder.

"Second touch, Liu Wei!"

The crowd murmured appreciation. The temporal manual techniques, even heavily degraded, looked unusual. Different. Innovative rather than powerful, which was exactly the reputation Zǔ Zhòu wanted.

Liu Jin's emotional state crumbled entirely. The arrays took his frustration and multiplied it into blind rage. "You TRASH! Three months ago you couldn't even—"

He lunged mid-sentence, abandoning all technique for raw violence. Zǔ Zhòu let him come, then applied a principle from the Temporal Demon manual—Borrowed Moment Strike. Not actually borrowing future force, but timing his counter to use the opponent's momentum perfectly.

Liu Jin's own charge carried him past as Zǔ Zhòu's palm touched his back.

"Third touch! Victory to Liu Wei!"

But Liu Jin didn't stop. The emotional overload combined with public defeat shattered his control. He spun with a scream, qi erupting in a genuine attack aimed at Zǔ Zhòu's head.

Elder Feng moved. One moment Liu Jin was attacking, the next he was unconscious on the ground, the elder's finger pressed to his temple.

"Disqualified for post-match assault," Elder Feng announced coldly. "Medical team, attend him. Clear signs of emotional deviation. The competition pressure has claimed its first victim."

As Liu Jin was carried away, Zǔ Zhòu bowed to the referee, projecting shaken gratitude. Inside, he catalogued the success—the arrays had turned a disciplined cultivator into a berserker in minutes.

His second match came an hour later against Liu Ting, who'd placed fourth in forms. She'd watched his first fight carefully, noting the strange techniques.

"Those movements," she said as they faced off. "They're from your temporal manual?"

"Degraded versions. My comprehension remains limited."

"Still innovative. I'll need to take you seriously."

The referee signaled start. Liu Ting opened with probing attacks—disciplined, careful, testing his responses. She had better emotional control than most, the arrays only sharpening her focus rather than destroying it.

Zǔ Zhòu played a longer game. Each exchange demonstrated a different temporal principle reduced to Body Tempering capability. Present Echo Fist created a slight delay between his punch's visual and its impact. Time-Drift Evasion made his dodges seem to start before her attacks. All tricks of perception rather than actual temporal manipulation.

"Fascinating," Liu Ting breathed during a brief separation. "You're not stronger or faster, but you're... elsewhere."

She adapted quickly, closing her eyes to fight by spiritual sense rather than vision. Smart. But the arrays had been working on her too, and prolonged combat amplified competitive desire into desperate need to win.

Her attacks grew sharper, more vicious. A palm strike aimed for his solar plexus would have caused serious injury if it connected. The referee almost intervened but Zǔ Zhòu twisted away, letting concern show on his face.

"Sister Ting, such force—"

"I need this win!" The words ripped from her, surprising them both. The arrays had found her hidden desperation—a younger daughter needing to prove worth in a family that valued sons.

She pressed harder, technique becoming brutal. Zǔ Zhòu gave ground, seeming overwhelmed. Then, when she overextended in pursuit of a finishing blow, he applied Causal Reversal Step—not actual causality manipulation, just moving opposite to logical expectations.

Instead of retreating from her strike, he stepped left into her follow-up position. She hadn't thrown the follow-up yet, but aggressive fighters always did. When she pivoted for the expected second strike, he was already there.

Touch. Touch. Touch.

Three rapid contacts as she struggled to adjust to someone fighting her future moves rather than her present ones.

"Victory to Liu Wei! Excellent adaptability!"

Liu Ting stood frozen, processing the defeat. "You... you weren't fighting me. You were fighting what I would do."

"The manual suggests time isn't linear in combat. Still learning to apply that concept."

She left the ring disturbed, both by the loss and by how viciously she'd fought to prevent it. Another competitor psychologically fractured by combination of innovative techniques and emotional manipulation.

Zǔ Zhòu's third match determined bracket advancement. His opponent: Liu Shan, who'd placed first in forms through exceptional mental discipline.

"Your techniques are interesting," Liu Shan said calmly. Alone among the competitors, he seemed unaffected by the emotional arrays. "But tricks won't overcome genuine superiority."

Indeed, Liu Shan was Sixth Stage to Zǔ Zhòu's "Fifth," with superior training and natural stability. Under normal conditions, victory would require revealing true power.

But Zǔ Zhòu had studied him. Exceptional mental discipline often came from rigid self-control. And rigid structures, when cracked, shattered completely.

The match began with Liu Shan demonstrating textbook perfection. Every attack precisely calculated, every defense optimal. He scored the first touch within thirty seconds, pure technical superiority.

"Predictable," he commented. "Your temporal tricks require opponent error. I make none."

True. So Zǔ Zhòu changed tactics. Instead of degraded temporal techniques, he began incorporating the emotional manipulation he'd used on Liu Hao. Not pressure points—too obvious. But micro-expressions, body language, subtle psychological warfare.

He started laughing.

Not loudly. Soft chuckles after each of Liu Shan's perfect moves. As if finding something amusing in the flawless technique.

"What's funny?" Liu Shan demanded after scoring his second touch.

"Nothing. Your form is perfect." Zǔ Zhòu smiled with genuine amusement. "Absolutely perfect. Like a statue. Beautiful and lifeless."

The arrays caught the tiny crack in Liu Shan's discipline. Just a flicker of anger at being called lifeless. But once the crack existed, the emotional resonance could work.

The next exchange, Liu Shan hit slightly harder than necessary. Still controlled, still technical, but with an edge of emotion. Zǔ Zhòu laughed again.

"Better! You almost seemed human that time."

"Shut up and fight!"

There. The arrays sank their hooks into that flash of genuine anger. Liu Shan's next attack came faster, harder, angrier. Still skilled but no longer perfectly controlled. Zǔ Zhòu flowed around it using Temporal Drift—looking like he moved through water while Liu Shan moved through air.

A finger touched Liu Shan's throat as he overextended.

"First touch, Liu Wei."

"Impossible!" The word exploded from the previously calm disciple. "Your cultivation is lower! Your techniques are tricks! I am PERFECT!"

The arrays fed on his shattered composure. Decades of rigid control crumbled in seconds. His next attack was wild, desperate to prove superiority. Zǔ Zhòu touched him twice more in rapid succession, each contact accompanied by that soft, maddening laugh.

"Victory to Liu Wei! Stunning upset!"

Liu Shan stood in the ring, trembling. Not from exertion but from the complete destruction of his self-image. The perfect disciple had lost to the deviation-touched former wastrel. The emotional amplification turned this into existential crisis.

"How?" he whispered.

"Perfection is brittle," Zǔ Zhòu offered with false sympathy. "Flaws make us flexible."

He left Liu Shan there, another psychological casualty of the competition. Around the arena, similar upsets played out. Favored disciples fell to emotional collapse. Underdogs advanced through amplified desperation. The careful political alliances shattered as members blamed each other for failures.

By day's end, the cultivation world's typical tournament structure lay in ruins. Rankings bore no resemblance to predictions. Several disciples had required medical attention for emotional breakdowns. Liu Feng maintained his position through sheer power, but even he showed signs of stress.

"Day One concludes," Liu Tiansheng announced, his concern now obvious. "These results... unprecedented. Rest well. Tomorrow brings group events. Remember—we are family. Competition divides, but blood unites."

Empty words when that blood boiled with artificially amplified emotions.

As disciples dispersed, Zǔ Zhòu compiled his victories. Three matches, three different psychological destructions. Liu Jin broken by rage. Liu Ting by desperation. Liu Shan by shattered perfection. Each victory advanced his position while demonstrating the power of innovative techniques combined with emotional manipulation.

"Status report?" his anchor servant inquired during private debrief.

"Advanced to final bracket. Reputation as innovative fighter using strange techniques established." He smiled coldly. "More importantly, I've shown that emotional instability affects everyone. They see competitors breaking down and think 'competition pressure' rather than environmental manipulation."

"The observers seemed particularly engaged during the Liu Shan fight."

"Destroying perfection through laughter? Peak entertainment." He addressed the watching void. "Tomorrow's group events will multiply the chaos. Forced cooperation between psychologically compromised individuals. The arrays will turn teamwork into mutual destruction."

Day One had established that this competition would be like no other. Tomorrow would push the envelope further. By finals, the Liu family's younger generation would be psychological wreckage, and Liu Wei would stand as the stable one—the deviation survivor who found strength in suffering while others found only madness.

The competition had begun, but the real game was psychological warfare disguised as martial arts.

And Zǔ Zhòu was winning on every level.