Chương 57: 1.57 Clear Sight

Ning walked into the Moon Dew Pavilion. Every counter was crowded with disciples. Some clutched genuinely bruised arms; others had minor scrapes but behaved as though they had survived mortal combat. The Moon Dew Pavilion functioned as both a pharmacy and a shop selling various cultivation materials, so after every round of competition, it was chaos. Ning slipped through the crowd using the Turtle Breathing Technique, blending into the flow of bodies and moving with unhurried precision.

By the time he reached the inner counters, he spotted someone familiar. Si Sihua. She wasn't standing so much as draped over the counter, half leaning on it. Her eyes looked hollow, as though she were merely going through the motions. When she noticed him, her eyelids lifted slightly.

"Oh, junior brother," Si Sihua said, raising her head a fraction. Ning glanced around.

"Senior Sister… you work here too?"

"I don't," she replied flatly.

"I was forced."

"…Forced?" She clicked her tongue irritably.

"Yes. My aunt said that since the mission hall is quite empty right now, I need to help her manage this place for a while. Something about me being 'experienced in these matters.'" She even made air quotes, her disdain obvious.

"I was supposed to be watching the matches," she added bitterly.

"Instead, I'm here explaining the difference between bruises and internal injuries to idiots." Ning nodded sympathetically.

"No wonder I didn't see you at the arena."

"Exactly," she grumbled.

"You think I'd willingly miss the chaos?" A disciple nearby tried to ask about ointment ratios. Without even looking at him, she tossed a bottle over. It landed perfectly in his hands.

"Next." Despite her complaints, she was terrifyingly efficient. She identified injuries at a glance, cut off bargaining attempts with a single look, and resumed leaning as though none of it required effort.

"And why are you here, junior brother? You don't look injured." She turned her attention back to Ning.

"I want to buy a second-tier spiritual liquid for my ocular technique. Is there something suitable?"

"There are a few options," she said lazily.

"Depends on how much you're willing to bleed." She placed three bottles on the counter.

"This one," she tapped the first, "Moonfall Condensate. Collected from high-altitude cliff basins during a full moon. Strong potency, but absorbing it is quite rough. It'll feel like someone's sanding your eyeballs." She tapped the second.

"Silver Veil Nectar. Extracted from night-blooming spirit flowers grown in mist valleys. Gentler than the first one, but its effect is slightly weaker." Then she tapped the third.

"This one's new. Moonlight Spirit Dew. Refined from Frostlake condensate and diluted lunar essence. Easy absorption, minimal backlash… but more expensive." She glanced at him.

"I recommend the third one." Ning nodded.

"Price?"

"Eight hundred spirit stones." She said it casually. Ning felt his heart twitch slightly. Eight hundred. That was not a small number. Si Sihua watched his expression with mild amusement.

"What? You look like you just lost your soul." She knew he had no backing and was usually short on spirit stones. So, right now, she was just teasing him.

"I will after I buy it," Ning replied.

"Hm? I thought you'd bargain." She raised an eyebrow.

"I would with others," Ning said smoothly, smiling, "but Senior Sister is the one in charge."

"Hng! One hundred points. You really know what to say." She waved a hand lazily.

"Fine. Give me seven hundred. Who told my aunt to force me here? I'll take revenge this way." The last part carried genuine resentment. Ning understood. As one of her friends, he knew Si Sihua's greatest ambition was to live leisurely. In a world obsessed with struggle and ambition, she simply wanted to be a salted fish, floating through life without unnecessary effort. Simply put, she had the same wish as a middle-aged man having to work overtime.

"Also," she suddenly perked up, "how did you earn so much? Junior Brother, teach me. If I can earn a lot of spirit stones, my aunt won't threaten to cut my allowance."

"I just gambled in the Outer Sect Competition," Ning sighed.

"You what?"

"Placed a bet. It paid off." Si Sihua stared at him for a long moment.

"Are you trying to ruin yourself?" she finally said.

"Don't you know gambling is dangerous?" She proceeded to lecture him thoroughly.

"It was a calculated decision," Ning said sheepishly.

"That's what everyone says before they lose their house."

"I don't own a house."

"…Fair." She rubbed her temple.

"Don't tell me you went all-in on some underdog. Otherwise, you won't win so much normally." Ning's smile deepened slightly. Si Sihua narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, clearly sensing there was more to the story. She held the look for a moment, then sighed. Thinking too much was exhausting. She had already given her warning. That was enough effort for today.

"If you win big again, come treat me," she said lazily.

"And if you lose everything, don't come crying." Ning nodded seriously. After all, could it really be called gambling if winning was guaranteed?... Ning had earned around 1, 900 spirit stones from the bet. After witnessing the strength of the others, he knew he had to improve. While Ning was generally quite protective of his spirit stones, he understood that only by using them could he gradually transform resources into strength.

For now, the fastest way to enhance his power was by refining his Pure Eyes technique, the only thing he could realistically break through within this time period. Pure Eyes was a method of turning ordinary eyes into something extraordinary. Even its cultivation process was unusual, requiring the eyes to be nourished with spiritual liquids. Fortunately, for the past year, Ning had been building a solid foundation, nourishing his eyes with spiritual rain liquid and occasional first-tier essences.

Now, it was time to achieve a qualitative transformation. Ning uncorked the jade bottle. A cool fragrance filled the room. He tilted his head back and let a single drop fall into each eye. The sensation was immediate. Cold. It wasn't painful, but it was deeply uncomfortable, a searing chill that pierced inward. Still, Ning endured it. Compared to those protective eyelashes that were supposed to shield the eyes but somehow always ended up poking into them instead, this at least was actually doing its job.

He began circulating his qi according to the technique. Spiritual energy gathered along the delicate meridians around his temples, flowing toward his pupils. The Moonlight Essence Dew did not clash with his qi; instead, it merged with it, weaving together seamlessly. The world behind his closed eyelids shimmered silver. Ning breathed steadily. The liquid seeped inward, layer by layer. The nourishing phase had thickened his ocular meridians.

Now, the second-tier essence began restructuring them, refining their alignment. Tiny pulses radiated from behind his eyes. A faint heat followed the cold. Though his eyes were closed, he could feel the changes intuitively. He continued circulating his qi. Finally, after some time, the process was over, and the circulation completed itself naturally. He completed the transformation phase just like that. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ning opened his eyes, and the world was never the same again.

"This is too clear." The change was immediate and overwhelming. The very quality of his vision had risen to an entirely different level. The first stage of the Clear Eyes technique was Clear Sight. At this stage, he could perceive spiritual energy fluctuations with striking clarity. But it wasn't limited to that. Every aspect of his eyesight had improved: depth perception, focus, and dynamic vision. Movements seemed slower, more defined. Details that would normally go unnoticed now stood out effortlessly.

Ning shifted his gaze through the window. The world seemed… sharper. Cultivators already possessed near-perfect vision. Compared to mortals, they saw clearly at great distances and reacted swiftly. Now, his vision was simply ridiculous. Ning finally understood why characters moved differently after awakening their special eyes. It was like going from 4K to 16K resolution. Everything was sharper, smoother, more defined. Then Ning glanced at the mirror. His pale blue eyes were now a striking, gem-like blue.

They looked almost unreal in a good way. Then, after a few minutes, the brilliance in his eyes dimmed. The vivid blue faded, returning gradually to normal.

"Hm. It's good in every way… but it consumes qi quite rapidly." He could feel the drain clearly. Maintaining Clear Sight required a constant flow of spiritual energy, and even with his refined control, the consumption was significant. This was not something he could keep active indefinitely, not yet. Ning exhaled softly. Alas, beauty had its price. And this time, it was spiritual energy.... The second round of the Outer Sect Competition shifted to one-on-one matches. Only twenty disciples remained in the running.

Ning stepped onto the stone platform, looked across the scarred bluestone, and caught the eye of his opponent. Standing there, waiting for him, was Lang Rulang.

"I didn't expect you to be my first match," Ning said, letting out a helpless sigh. Not only was he stuck fighting in the opening bracket again, but he was staring down one of his companions. Fortunately, this round allowed a cushion of two losses before total elimination. Even if one of them dropped this match, their shot at entering the inner sect wasn't dead. Lang Rulang stood upright, her fingers resting lightly against the hilt of her sword.

Her posture was rigid, her face remained an unreadable mask, and her voice didn't waver when she spoke.

"Same here." She adjusted her grip on the hilt, her eyes dropping to gauge his stance.

"Don't hold back." Ning blinked.

"Hmm?"

"I'm just concerned," she said, her tone flat and frosty, "that you'll pull your punches now, and then spend the next three months complaining that you couldn't use your full strength after I beat you." Ning let out a low chuckle.

"I won't." He paused, a teasing grin breaking through his serious expression.

"Turns out Zhang Feng was right about you. You're incredibly earnest." Her dark brows twitched, the sudden movement almost invisible.

"That idiot," she muttered, her voice dropping a few degrees colder.

"What nonsense has he been spreading around the barracks now?" Ning cleared his throat.

"Just that you have an icy shell but a warm heart."

"Tsk." She clicked her tongue sharply, her eyes narrowing.

"I'll deal with his mouth after the tournament. As for you, I am going all out."

"Just what I wanted to hear." The massive bronze gong rang out, the heavy sound reverberating through the floorboards. The match began. Ning lunged forward first. His fingers snapped through a sequence of hand seals, releasing a violent surge of cold qi straight out of his meridians. The Hidden Ice Mist erupted from his palms in a thick, freezing wave that swallowed the bluestone platform and cut visibility down to zero within seconds.

Lang Rulang's sharp outline immediately dissolved into a vague shadow in the frost. Ning didn't wait to see her reaction. He backed away into the expanding fog, his fingers reaching for the black bow slung across his back. He triggered his Turtle Breathing to drop his life signs to a faint, unnoticeable thrum, while his Shadow Steps kept his boots silent against the stone. He carved out a wide angle, creating distance to open up a clean line of sight through the haze.

The first arrow left the string with a sharp, metallic hiss. It tore through the white mist, catching Lang Rulang by surprise and slicing clean through her silk sleeve to carve a thin, bleeding line across her upper arm. She didn't let out a sound. She instantly dropped her center of gravity, shifting her weight to find the origin of the wind current. Ning's second arrow was already airborne, tracking lower.

The iron tip pierced the outer hem of her heavy robes and grazed her thigh, leaving another bright streak of red against the pale fabric. Having calculated the general trajectory of the two shots, Lang Rulang moved. A yellow paper talisman ignited between her fingertips in a flash of green sparks. The Wind-Repelling Talisman detonated. A compressed cylinder of air violently spiraled outward, tearing a straight, narrow corridor through the freezing fog.

The dense mist shattered under the localized high pressure, exposing Ning's position for a brief heartbeat. But Ning had already shifted three paces to the left, and his third arrow came from the new blind spot. It slammed directly into her bronze shoulder guard, glancing off with a harsh, ringing crack that threw her off balance. Before the metallic echo could fade, the fourth arrow was on its way. Lang Rulang didn't hesitate, immediately crushing another charm in her left hand.

The Swift Step Talisman took effect. Her speed surged with a sudden burst, her body blurring forward through the thinning patches of fog. The abrupt acceleration would have thrown off any ordinary archer, but Ning's eyes remained locked onto her hips, predicting the path of her momentum. His fifth arrow left the string with a subtle lead, compensating perfectly for her burst of speed. It was on a direct course for her chest. Mid-stride, she shattered a third talisman.

The Mirror Veil distorted her physical outline for half a breath. The iron-tipped arrow passed cleanly through a flickering afterimage, striking the stone floor behind her with a shower of sparks. Ning's eyes narrowed as he notched another shaft. He knew she was an accomplished talisman maker, so he had braced himself for this relentless utility. Lang Rulang was already bleeding from three separate cuts, but her forward charge didn't slow. Ning's expression stayed totally flat.

He placed every shot to pressure her joints and force her to burn through her inventory. Another arrow hissed through the air. She raised a small bronze disc talisman just in time to catch the tip. The Iron Shell barrier flared with a dull yellow light upon impact, the sheer kinetic force driving her back half a step before the magic stabilized. Four talismans gone. Distance: fifteen meters. She gritted her teeth, her boots skidding on the damp stone as Ning's next arrow targeted her exposed left ankle.

If that iron tip severed the tendon, her mobility was finished. Instead of trying to parry, she burned her final option, crushing the paper into dust. The Wind Escape Talisman released a violent, lateral burst of air that yanked her body sideways mid-air, wrenching her out of the arrow's path at the cost of a brutal twist to her torso. The shaft scraped across her calf, leaving a long scratch, but it failed to pin her down.

She landed heavily, her boots sliding two feet across the bluestone before she anchored herself. Five talismans used. Her entire allowance was spent. Under the strict rules of the sect tournament, secondary profession practitioners were capped at five self-crafted talismans per match to prevent them from buying a win using a stronger talisman. Lang Rulang had completely exhausted her arsenal, but she had achieved exactly what she needed. She had breached his dead zone.

"Now I've got you," she said, her voice dropping low as her steel sword swept upward in a rising arc. Ning didn't try to pull another arrow. He slung the bow over his shoulder and unlatched the heavy iron-headed spear from his back in a single, continuous motion. The heavy clang of steel meeting steel rattled the air. Their styles clashed instantly. Lang Rulang's swordplay was precise; every single cut was a calculated strike aimed strictly at his wrists, elbows, and armor gaps.

Her movements were textbook execution, drilled into her bones by her elders. Ning didn't try to match her speed or raw muscle. He relied on his Four-Sided Stability, locking his spine into a rigid line while keeping his shoulders completely loose. Every time her blade crashed against his weapon, his body naturally transferred the heavy kinetic impact down through his legs and into the stone floor, saving his arms from the vibration. She executed a rapid low slash meant to take his knees.

He rotated the wooden shaft of his spear, catching her guard and lifting her blade clear of his body. She immediately followed with a blinding thrust to his throat. He leaned his head an inch off-line, letting the steel slide past his neck while simultaneously driving the blunt butt-end of his spear toward her ribs, forcing her to abandon the assault and skip backward. Their weapons became a blur of silver and iron.

She unleashed a three-hit combination in a single breath; Ning deflected each one with micro-adjustments of his wrists, his feet remaining firmly planted. To keep her off-balance, he let his qi drip into the environment. A sudden flare of the Scorching Purge technique ignited a patch of stone near her left heel, forcing her to instinctively hop right, straight into a lingering patch of his Hidden Ice Mist, which instantly froze a thin, slick layer of frost beneath her boots.

She adapted instantly, cracking the ice with a stomp, but the seamless trap forced her to realize she was losing the psychological war. Her aura suddenly shifted, expanding outward in sharp, whistling currents of wind. She disengaged with a long backward hop, creating five meters of breathing room. The air around her steel blade began to violently spiral, gathering a localized gale that hissed like a nest of disturbed vipers.

"Falling Gale Sequence," she whispered. It was her family's inherited Earth-grade martial art. Her absolute trump card. The first horizontal slash came with a deafening whistle, the sheer wind pressure compressing into a visible white crescent. Ning raised his spear horizontally, absorbing the impact, but the heavy gale drove him back two inches. The second diagonal cut followed without a single microsecond of delay. He deflected it, his teeth grinding as the wind pressure doubled. The third strike crashed down.

Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Each swing used the leftover momentum of the previous one, building an exponential chain of force. The multiplying wind pressure turned the simple blade strikes into a heavy, suffocating weight that began to crush the air right out of Ning's lungs. His forearms thrummed with a painful numbness as the ash-wood spear shaft flexed precariously under the relentless storm.

Stray blades of pressurized wind slipped past his guard, slicing small, clean cuts across his cheeks and shoulders, drawing thin beads of dark blood. Pure Eyes: Clear Sight. Ning activated his ocular art, his vision instantly shifting. The world seemed to slow down in his eyes. Falling Gale Sequence was strong, yes, but it also required a perfect, unbroken rhythm to function. Continuous execution demanded absolute physical stability. Ning took one short step back, altering the angle of his feet.

The Soil Refining Technique hummed to life deep beneath the bluestone directly under Lang Rulang's front boot. The stone simply softened into the consistency of dense wet clay for a fraction of a second. Her heel sank less than half an inch. Against a normal opponent, it would have meant nothing. But in the middle of a high-speed Earth-grade sequence where every millimeter was calculated, that tiny dip threw her balance out of alignment. Her sixth slash hesitated for a single millisecond.

Ning's spear exploded forward. Falling Spear: Overturning the Dragon. The heavy iron spearhead slammed directly into the flat side of her blade, hitting the exact structural weak point where her qi was trying to gather for the next loop. The internal flow of her technique fractured. The heavy gale around the sword instantly sputtered and died. Ning twisted his hips, channeling power from his back heel through his spine and straight into his arms.

The spearhead slid effortlessly up the length of her blade, bypassing her guard entirely, and came to a dead stop an inch away from her bare collarbone. The arena went completely still. Lang Rulang's sword trembled for a second before she slowly lowered the tip to the floor.

"…You broke my rhythm," she said softly, her breath ragged.

"Yes." Ning had never intended to fight an Earth-grade technique with raw strength. He knew his current limitations, which was exactly why he had spent his spirit stones to buy detailed intelligence on the Lang family's martial arts before the tournament even started. He knew the Falling Gale sequence relied entirely on cumulative momentum; if you didn't let the snowball build, the technique was just an expensive series of heavy swings.

Even with the successful disruption, Ning's arms were aching fiercely from the impact, his meridians burning from the sudden burst of defensive qi. That was with his monstrous level of physical body tempering; if an ordinary qi cultivator had tried to tank those first five hits, their arms would have been broken by the third strike. The head elder's voice boomed across the silent arena.

"Winner: Ji Ning." Lang Rulang swallowed a green healing pill, her face returning to its usual detached calm as she looked down at the softened patch of stone, the faint frost patterns, and the scorch marks on the floor. It was a grid of micro-traps. He had engineered the entire sandbox before she even drew her weapon. Ning lowered his spear, looking at her from the corner of his eye. Trying to find the right words to comfort an intensely proud rival after beating them was always a logistical nightmare.

Before he could offer an excuse, she spoke up first.

"Fights have a winner and a loser," she said, her voice entirely steady as she wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek.

"Today, I simply drew the short straw."

"You call that a short straw?" Ning replied, adjusting his robes.

"If that fifth strike had landed a millimeter closer, my spear would've snapped." She shot him a dry, completely flat look. He continued without missing a beat.

"I'm serious. You had me pinned from the jump. If I hadn't managed to mess with the terrain early on, I wouldn't have found an opening to stop that sequence." Lang Rulang studied his face for a long moment, ensuring there was no mockery hidden in his eyes. Finding only genuine exhaustion, the tight tension in her shoulders finally vanished. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of her lips.

"You really do know how to use that mouth of yours," she sighed. Ning placed a hand over his chest.

"I only speak the absolute truth."

"Mm. You're the one standing, so you get to write the history," she said, her eyes sharpening with a familiar, competitive fire.

"But don't get comfortable. Next time, I'm taking your spot." Ning grinned, slinging his spear back into its leather harness.

"Good. I'd be insulted if you didn't try." Lang Rulang turned on her heel and marched off the platform, her posture as straight and unyielding as the day they first met.... Thanks for reading~