The Semi-Final Sacrifice

The final day arrived heavy with anticipation. Only eight competitors remained across all divisions—the elite who'd survived two days of physical combat and psychological warfare. The morning sun cast long shadows across the main arena where hundreds gathered to witness the climax.

Zǔ Zhòu stood among the Body Tempering finalists, projecting careful exhaustion. Two days of combat had provided perfect cover for his advancement, though he'd hidden it thus far. Today's reveal would seem like desperation-driven breakthrough rather than calculated progression.

"Finals format differs from preliminaries," Elder Feng announced. "Single elimination. No point system. Victory through submission, ring out, or incapacitation. Medical teams stand ready."

The crowd murmured excitedly. Full contact finals meant spectacular techniques and genuine danger. Several spectators placed discrete bets, odds heavily favoring established powers.

"First match: Liu Wei versus Liu Ming!"

A straightforward victory. Liu Ming, exhausted from yesterday's emotional breakdown, barely mounted defense. Zǔ Zhòu dispatched him efficiently but not cruelly—save energy for what mattered.

Other matches proceeded with expected results. The emotional arrays, now three days active, had created a fascinating hierarchy. Those with natural mental resilience had risen while technically superior but emotionally vulnerable disciples had fallen.

Then came the announcement everyone anticipated.

"Semi-final match: Liu Wei versus Liu Feng!"

The crowd erupted. The impossible had happened—the former wastrel would face the undisputed heir. David versus Goliath, if David had suspicious techniques and Goliath suspected treachery.

Liu Feng entered the ring with controlled confidence, Foundation Establishment Ninth Stage aura carefully restrained. He'd changed into combat robes, dark blue fabric that wouldn't show blood. His eyes held cold calculation.

"Third Brother," he said formally. "Your progress has been... remarkable."

"Eldest Brother honors me by taking this match seriously."

"I take all threats seriously." The words carried multiple meanings. "Shall we provide the family with memorable entertainment?"

They faced each other across fifteen meters of packed earth. Liu Feng stood in a deceptively casual stance—left foot forward, right foot back at forty-five degrees, weight centered. His hands hung loose at his sides, but Zǔ Zhòu could see the micro-tensions that promised explosive movement.

Zǔ Zhòu mirrored with his own ready position—the temporal combat stance from his manual. Feet parallel, shoulder-width apart, constantly shifting weight in tiny movements that made his center unpredictable. His hands stayed at middle height, fingers slightly curved.

The crowd fell silent, even breathing seemed suspended. Elder Feng raised his hand, then dropped it.

"Begin!"

Liu Feng didn't move immediately. Instead, he extended his spiritual sense like a tangible wave, the Foundation Establishment power creating visible distortions in the air. The pressure pushed against Zǔ Zhòu's skin, probing for hidden cultivation, secret techniques, any explanation for the impossible victories.

"Interesting," Liu Feng murmured. "No hidden realm. No demonic possession. Just... you. How curious."

His opening came without warning. One moment he stood motionless, the next he blurred into Tiger Descends the Mountain. But this wasn't the basic version—this was the technique perfected through generations.

His body dropped low, right leg sweeping in a crescent while his left hand struck upward. The combination created a spiral of force, qi manifesting as visible orange-gold energy that took the vague shape of a pouncing tiger. The beast-shaped qi roared silently, fangs of compressed air aimed at Zǔ Zhòu's throat.

Zǔ Zhòu responded with Temporal Echo Palm, his body seeming to stutter through three positions. To observers, it looked like he stood in multiple places simultaneously—one image diving left, another stepping right, the third meeting the attack head-on. The visual distortion lasted only a heartbeat, but it disrupted targeting.

Liu Feng's eyes narrowed. His spiritual sense cut through the illusion, tracking the real body moving left. Mid-technique, he adjusted. The tiger-qi twisted impossibly, following Zǔ Zhòu's true position. His palm arrived with the weight of a mountain.

Zǔ Zhòu managed to get both arms up in an X-block, but the impact was devastating. The force lifted him off his feet, sending him flying backward. His heels dug twin trenches in the packed earth as he fought to stay upright, finally stopping just short of the ring's edge.

His arms went numb from fingertips to shoulders. That single strike contained more power than all his previous opponents combined.

"Your tricks work on the emotionally compromised," Liu Feng noted, walking forward with measured steps. Each footfall seemed to make the arena tremble. "But I am not my followers. I am iron that's been tested in true fire."

He attacked again, this time with Raging Tiger Hundred Strikes. His body became a blur of motion, not from superhuman speed but from perfect economy of movement. Each strike flowed into the next without pause or wasted motion.

First came a straight punch aimed at Zǔ Zhòu's face, qi extending the fist's reach by half a meter. As Zǔ Zhòu tilted his head aside, Liu Feng's other hand was already moving—a palm strike toward the ribs. Dodge that, and a knee was rising toward the stomach. Evade the knee, and an elbow descended toward the spine.

It wasn't just a hundred strikes—it was a hundred inevitable strikes, each positioned to punish the evasion of the previous one. The air filled with sonic booms as fists broke sound barriers. Qi manifestations overlapped, creating a solid wall of destructive force.

Zǔ Zhòu gave ground desperately, using every evasion technique in his degraded arsenal. Temporal Drift made his body seem to move through thick honey, sliding between strikes by millimeters. Paradox Step had him moving backward while seeming to advance, confusing distance. Infant Void Walking created tiny spatial inconsistencies, making him harder to hit cleanly.

But strikes still landed. A glancing blow to his ribs sent spiderweb cracks through the bones. A palm strike clipped his shoulder, dislocating it with an audible pop. A knee strike he only partially dodged folded him in half, blood spraying from his mouth to paint the arena floor.

The crowd watched in fascination. This was what they'd expected—the heir demonstrating absolute superiority over the upstart.

Liu Feng paused after the hundredth strike, not even breathing hard. Zǔ Zhòu swayed on his feet, left arm hanging useless, blood dripping steadily from numerous wounds.

"Is this the limit of your temporal theories?" Liu Feng asked. "Clever movements mean nothing against absolute power."

Time for the first hook.

"You're right," Zǔ Zhòu gasped, struggling to stand straight. His legs shook visibly. "But power... isn't everything. Watch!"

He brought his palms together with his good arm supporting the injured one. The movement sent visible waves of pain across his face, but he began cycling qi in the complex pattern from the Temporal Demon manual. The technique was real but incomplete—Paradox Breakthrough, using combat pressure to force advancement.

His body began to glow with unstable energy. Silver-white light leaked from his pores, temporal qi creating visual distortions around him. The air near his skin aged and renewed rapidly, dust motes appearing and vanishing in accelerated cycles.

"Attempting breakthrough mid-combat?" Liu Feng's eyes widened. "Suicidal!"

The energy erupted outward in a spherical shockwave. Arena stones near Zǔ Zhòu aged centuries in seconds, crumbling to sand. Others reversed in time, becoming fresh-cut marble before reverting. His body convulsed as Body Tempering Sixth Stage forced itself into existence through sheer will and paradox energy.

Bones reknit with audible cracks. His dislocated shoulder snapped back into place. Muscle density visibly increased, his frame becoming more defined. The blood on the arena floor evaporated as his wounds sealed themselves.

"Body Tempering Sixth Stage!" someone in the crowd exclaimed. "He's breaking through under fire!"

Liu Feng's expression shifted to genuine interest. A breakthrough during combat was dangerous but impressive. It showed the kind of desperate determination that created legends—or corpses.

"Admirable," Liu Feng admitted. "But still insufficient."

He launched forward with Tiger Hunts Its Prey, a technique that combined movement with attack. His body low to the ground, he crossed the distance in a zigzag pattern that made tracking difficult. Each direction change kicked up dust clouds, obscuring vision.

Through the dust came his fist, wrapped in spiraling orange qi that extended into claws. The attack aimed for Zǔ Zhòu's heart with lethal intent—finals allowed potentially fatal techniques.

Zǔ Zhòu met it with Temporal Counter-Current Palm, his newly stabilized Sixth Stage allowing better execution. His hand moved in reverse-spiral to Liu Feng's attack, temporal qi creating a silver vortex that opposed the orange tiger claws.

The techniques clashed with a sound like reality tearing. The opposing spirals ground against each other, sending chaotic energy waves across the arena. Spectators in the front rows had to shield themselves from flying debris.

For a moment, they seemed equal. Then Liu Feng smiled and pushed harder. Foundation Establishment power overwhelmed Body Tempering resistance. The tiger claws shattered Zǔ Zhòu's defense, raking across his chest. Fabric and flesh parted, four parallel wounds opening from shoulder to hip.

But Zǔ Zhòu had expected this. As the claws connected, he used the impact to spin backward, converting injury into momentum. His rotation brought his leg up in a temporal-enhanced kick aimed at Liu Feng's temple.

Liu Feng leaned back, the kick passing close enough to ruffle his hair. "Better! Your breakthrough grants actual combat capability!"

They exchanged a dozen more passes. Liu Feng's Mountain Splitting Palm met Zǔ Zhòu's Echo Strike Reversal. Tiger Ascends to Heaven clashed with Paradox Falling Leaf. Each exchange sent shockwaves across the arena, the stone floor becoming increasingly cratered.

Time for the second hook—the "weakness."

During a particularly intense sequence where Liu Feng chained five techniques seamlessly, Zǔ Zhòu created his most complex Temporal Echo yet. Seven versions of himself seemed to attack from different angles, each throwing a different technique.

The qi drain was visible. Zǔ Zhòu's face paled, sweat beading on his forehead. The echoes flickered like candles in wind. His breathing became labored, the specific rhythm required for the technique breaking down.

"There!" Liu Feng's strike dispersed all seven echoes simultaneously, his fist finding Zǔ Zhòu's solar plexus. The impact folded him in half, lifting him three meters into the air. "Your techniques consume too much qi. Temporal manipulation at your level can't be sustained!"

Zǔ Zhòu hit the ground hard, bouncing once before rolling to a stop. Blood pooled beneath him, his breathing shallow and ragged. He tried to stand but his legs wouldn't support him.

Liu Feng approached slowly, each step measured and inevitable. "You've impressed me, Third Brother. Breaking through mid-combat, pushing techniques beyond your realm. With proper guidance, you could become truly formidable."

The offer was genuine, which made it hilarious. Liu Feng wanted to recruit the very person psychologically destroying his generation, thinking to control the threat through generosity.

"I... yield," Zǔ Zhòu gasped from the ground, raising one hand weakly. The gesture took visible effort. "Eldest Brother's strength... insurmountable."

The crowd released held breath. Some applauded the spectacular fight. Others murmured about the combat breakthrough. But Liu Feng's expression held something dangerous—confidence.

He'd solved the puzzle. The temporal techniques were powerful but qi-intensive. The psychological victories came from desperate innovation, not hidden strength. His third brother was talented but controllable.

Every conclusion perfectly wrong.

"Well fought," Liu Feng said, offering a hand up. "Your progress brings honor to our family. Continue developing these techniques—within proper limits."

"Thank you, Eldest Brother. Your guidance means everything."

They left the ring to thunderous applause. Zǔ Zhòu limped convincingly, supported by medical cultivators. His wounds were real—Liu Feng hadn't held back. But pain was just information, and he'd gathered valuable data on the heir's true combat capabilities.

In the medical pavilion, healers fussed over his injuries while he reviewed the victory hidden in loss:

Sixth Stage advancement publicly revealed as desperate breakthroughLiu Feng believes temporal techniques have exploitable weaknessReputation enhanced by "brave" performance against impossible oddsSuspicion reduced by clear demonstration of realm limitationsFuture recruitment possibility planted in Liu Feng's mind

"Your ribs are cracked in three places," the healer scolded. "Breaking through during combat? Madness! You're lucky to be alive!"

"Desperate times," he replied weakly. "I couldn't let family down."

She softened at that, applying healing salves with gentler touch. Another reputation point gained—the devoted family member who risked everything for honor.

Outside, Liu Feng proceeded to his final match, confidence radiating from every movement. He'd identified the threat, evaluated it, found it manageable. His position as heir remained secure, enhanced even by showing magnanimity to brave inferiors.

"Psychological seed planted," Zǔ Zhòu murmured to his servant during a private moment. "He thinks he understands my limitations. That certainty will destroy him eventually."

"The observers seemed disappointed by your loss," the servant noted.

"Surface reading. The sophisticated ones understand—losing with purpose beats winning without. This positions me perfectly for the remainder of the competition."

The semi-final sacrifice had achieved everything intended. Liu Feng's overconfidence would grow like cancer, making him blind to future manipulations. The family saw Liu Wei as brave but limited. And the temporal technique "weakness" would bait future opponents into fatal errors.

"Monitor the remaining matches," he instructed. "I need to appear invested in outcomes while recovering."

He settled back, projecting exhausted satisfaction. Around him, healers bustled and disciples gossiped about the spectacular fight. None suspected that the desperate underdog had orchestrated every moment, turning defeat into deeper victory.

The semi-finals had provided excellent theater. But the real performance was just beginning, and Liu Feng had volunteered as primary audience.

"Thank you, Eldest Brother," he whispered to absent ears. "Your confidence will make the final act so much sweeter."