Boom!

The air shook as energy surged, fists clashed, and fragments of stone flew through the air. Ye Wuque took a punch to his chest, forcing him to stagger back three steps before regaining his stance.

Standing there was a young boy, around fourteen or fifteen, with fair skin and a strikingly handsome face. His bright, intense eyes gave him an unusual charm, adding to his youthful appearance. Despite his good looks, Ye Wuque looked slightly disheveled. His black hair fluttered over his shoulders as he kept his eyes closed, not looking at the opponent who had defeated him with only three moves on the martial stage. Instead, he seemed lost in his own world, expressionless.

"Ye Wuque, eliminated! Murong Hai wins and advances to the next round!"

From behind the large martial arts stage, the announcement echoed. Murong Hai, standing proudly on the stage, was eighteen, tall, with a scarred face and a burly frame. His expression was filled with arrogance as his eyes swept over Ye Wuque's closed eyes, radiating both pleasure and disdain. As he walked past Ye Wuque, he sneered, unable to hide his contempt.

"Ye Wuque, I truly admire your persistence. Ten years… Have you ever counted how many times you've lost? Ah, I suppose you've even forgotten what victory feels like. Truly... pathetic."

Voices of mockery and disdain arose from the crowd surrounding the large martial arts field. Around a hundred boys and girls, ranging from eleven to twelve years old, dressed in matching light blue martial uniforms, stood together. Each young face glowed with ambition and strength, like the morning sun.

"Poor Ye Wuque had to face Murong Hai in the first match. Bad luck indeed!"

"Defeated in just three moves—he's truly weak!"

"He's never won a single battle in the last ten years. Losing again and again! Such a strange fellow."

Ye Wuque, his eyes still closed, seemed unaffected, as if accustomed to their ridicule. Yet, within him, an incredible change was taking place. Though he had endured this silence for a decade, his heart was racing, stirred by something deep within his soul. His hands trembled slightly as an overwhelming feeling took hold.

"Finally, after ten years of silence… Am I… achieving it?"

Murong Hai had already rejoined his group, where several other young men and women sat on stone benches near the martial field. He called out to a girl at the front with a broad smile. "Binglan, I'm one step ahead. Try to keep up."

Murong Binglan was a striking young woman. She sat cross-legged in a red, form-fitting silk dress adorned with intricate embroidery. Her slender legs formed a graceful arc, and her piercing eyes gave her a cold, captivating presence. She looked at Murong Hai and spoke with a slight sneer, her voice cool.

"Murong Hai, does beating someone like Ye Wuque really make you proud? Your strength has improved, I'll grant you that, but compared to Brother Tian, you're still far behind."

The mention of "Brother Tian" brought admiration from the other young elites surrounding her. Murong Hai's smile faded, and though his expression was strained, he said nothing, choosing instead to close his eyes in silence.

"The next match: Murong Binglan versus Murong Jie!"

The announcer's voice resonated through the martial field, silencing the crowd. All eyes turned to the two fighters as they stepped onto the martial stage.

Ye Wuque, who had remained seated in meditation, finally opened his eyes. Ten years of relentless practice had forged his will, allowing him to maintain a calm demeanor. He rose and slowly walked to the back of the martial stage, nodding respectfully at Murong Changqing, the patriarch of the Murong family.

"Uncle Changqing, I'll take my leave and return to practice."

His voice was steady and clear, showing no hint of bitterness from his recent defeat.

Murong Changqing looked at Ye Wuque, a complex expression crossing his face. How extraordinary the young man before him had once been! Eleven years ago, an elder had entrusted him to the Murong family, along with a precious keepsake. Back then, Ye Wuque had been a prodigy, displaying talent that could only be called monstrous.

At the age of four, he began practicing the Murong family's supreme technique, "Hao Tian Jin." By five, he reached the Fifth Layer of Body Forging, even defeating a young genius from the Qingming Temple. Such talent was unprecedented, but after that single victory, Ye Wuque's progress had mysteriously ceased. For ten years, he remained stuck at the Fifth Layer, with no advancement despite countless efforts from the family elders.

The family concluded that his blood had lost its power, rendering him incapable of further progress—a tragic fate.

Many assumed Ye Wuque's refusal to give up was merely desperation, clinging to the remnants of his former glory. "Ye the Wastrel," they whispered, an alias that haunted him wherever he went.

Just as Ye Wuque turned to leave, a powerful surge of energy rippled through the air, accompanied by a radiant silver glow. A young man, seventeen or eighteen, entered the field, his strength evident in his calm, commanding aura. Behind him hovered a faint silver crescent moon, pulsing with a mysterious power.

The crowd erupted in murmurs.

"Murong Tian! He's returned!"

"Look at that aura—has he truly broken through to the next realm?"

Murong Tian, with his poise and strength, had become the center of everyone's attention. Even Binglan, her cold demeanor softened, fixed her gaze on him, her admiration clear.

An elder, his face lighting up with pride, rose and clapped. "Heaven bless our Murong family! To reach the Poyue Realm at only seventeen! Outstanding!"

Murong Tian, exuding quiet confidence, bowed respectfully to the patriarch and elders. "Patriarch, elders, I humbly greet you."

Patriarch Murong Changqing responded warmly, pride evident in his tone. "Tian'er, to reach such heights at your age places you among the greatest talents of our family's history. You make us proud."

After acknowledging the praise, Murong Tian's expression grew serious. He glanced towards Ye Wuque, who was still preparing to leave. His voice, though calm, carried authority.

"I have two requests, Patriarch. Firstly, on behalf of Binglan, I ask that you dissolve her marriage contract with Ye Wuque. He… is unworthy."

A hush fell over the crowd as his words registered. All eyes turned to Ye Wuque, some pitying, others curious. Murong Binglan stepped forward, her expression cold.

"Father, I won't marry Ye Wuque," she declared firmly. "He is a disgrace to our family."

Ye Wuque paused, processing their words. Instead of reacting with anger or shame, he smiled—a genuine, almost relieved smile. He looked up at Murong Changqing, bowing slightly.

"Uncle Changqing, I'm grateful for this. Please, release me from this arrangement."

Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd; they had expected sorrow or rage, not relief.

Murong Tian, however, was not finished. "And for my second request, Patriarch… I ask for the Blood Dragon Jade. Ye Wuque no longer deserves to possess it."

At this, Ye Wuque's expression hardened. The Blood Dragon Jade was a keepsake left by his guardian, Fubo, and represented the one link he had to his past. Though he had long endured the disdain of the Murong family, this was something he couldn't relinquish. His eyes met Murong Tian's, the calm resolve within them sharper than ever.

It originally belonged to Ye Wuque.

And now, Murong Tian wanted to grab it!