A Waste of Time

Chapter 72: Murmuring Clay

Ru’s breath came in ragged bursts now — each swing of the blunt-edged Sword carved away another coil of thorned vines, only for more to surge in, thicker, thornier, snapping at his arms and throat. His boots scraped over the last patch of bare ground behind him — the encroaching carpet of grass and blooming flowers left him nowhere else to stand.

Lin Qinghai’s eyes gleamed with triumph as he pressed forward, staff braced like a spear of living wood.

“It’s over,” he sneered. “Yield — or I’ll bind you so tight you won’t even—”

He never finished.

Jia’s eyes widened the moment she felt it — a flicker of warmth inside her chest, a familiar heartbeat that wasn’t her own. Deep within Ru’s Sword, something ancient and restless stirred. She could feel it respond to her, like a sleeping ember catching a breath of wind.

She didn’t hesitate. She reached inward — tugging that hidden spark awake with a soft, mischievous pull.

A heartbeat later, a tiny firebird — a perfect replica of the blazing spirit that nested within her own Dantian — burst from the Sword’s core in Ru’s hands. Its wings flared wide once, flicking motes of living flame into the choking tangle of vines.

With a single lazy flap, the tiny bird exhaled a wave of searing heat that swept across the grass and flowers in a flash.

The lush carpet of Lin Qinghai’s domain withered in an instant — vines shriveled to blackened cords, blossoms curled in on themselves and turned to drifting ash. The suffocating thorns choking Ru’s limbs fell away in crumbling flakes of soot, freeing him in a heartbeat.

Ru exhaled a slow, steady breath, steadying his stance as the scorched earth smoked around him — and the tiny firebird hovered above the tip of the Spiritual Treasure for a blink, flicked its head at him, then winked out in a swirl of sparks.

Jia pressed a hand to her chest, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. I’ve got you, big brother.

For a heartbeat after the firebird’s scorching sweep, silence reigned.

The Sect Disciples gaped openly, the pride and scorn drained from their faces — all ten pairs of eyes fixed on Ru as if seeing him for the first time. Even the villagers and passing merchants, who had only half-understood the clash of Qi and strange arts so far, stared in open-mouthed wonder at the swordsman standing calm and unharmed in the middle of the scorched circle.

A faint steam rose from Ru’s body — his Water Qi shielding him in a thin, rippling layer that shimmered with traces of crackling Lightning. Yet in his grip, the Sword burned bright and alive, its edge sheathed in an unruly blaze of Fire Qi that danced along the Spiritual Treasure without clashing with the other Elements at all.

Beside Daemon, Jia hid her satisfied smile behind her sleeve, though her eyes sparkled with mischief and quiet pride.

Elder Ping’s fan, half-raised to hide the bottom half of her face, paused just short of her lips. Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she stared at the impossible balance before her — Water, Lightning, and now Fire, coiling together without chaos or backlash.

How…? she thought, gaze flicking once to the boy lounging on Kirin’s talon — calm, almost bored, as if this outcome were only natural. What exactly did he forge into that Sword?

Daemon caught her glance, but only popped another sweet into his mouth, pretending not to notice her stare. His grin said enough for anyone watching: this was exactly the show he’d been waiting for.

Lin Qinghai’s jaw tightened until his teeth ground together, his staff spinning desperately as he summoned more and more of his Wood Qi to conjure fresh vines from the charred earth. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his glare stayed locked on Ru — a stubborn refusal to admit defeat in front of his peers, Elder Ping, or the villagers gawking just beyond the treeline.

I’m still stronger, he snarled inwardly, forcing his exhausted Qi through the Staff with ragged breaths. I’ll crush him through sheer force if I must!

But every fresh wave of creeping roots shriveled on contact with the flickering Fire Qi that danced along Ru’s Sword. The flames licked hungrily at every new sprout, searing it to ash before it ever reached the Swordsman’s feet. The searing heat warped the air, shimmering even against the thin ripple of Ru’s remaining Water Qi.

Then, in a blur, Ru stepped through the last desperate tangle, pivoted on his back foot, and slammed the flat of his blazing Spiritual Treasure into Lin Qinghai’s side — burying the blow just under his ribs. The force rattled through bone and organ alike, stunning Lin’s Qi flow in an instant.

Before Lin’s Weapon could even drop from numb fingers, Ru’s free hand snapped up — a sharp left uppercut crashing under his chin with a crack that echoed past the tree line.

Lin Qinghai’s eyes rolled back, his mouth fell slack — then his limp body crumpled to the scorched ground, Staff tumbling after him.

A hush fell over the clearing. Ru exhaled a long, trembling breath, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright. He could feel it — his Dantian scraped empty, the last flickers of Water Qi spent to the last drop. The Fire still flickered faintly along the Sword’s edge, but it felt distant now — borrowed power slipping back into hiding as if content with its work.

Ru lowered the blade, steadying himself with one knee just shy of touching the dirt. His snake-like eyes stayed fixed on Lin Qinghai’s unmoving form, but his shoulders trembled from exhaustion.

Behind him, the villagers and merchants stood frozen — caught between awe and the hush of disbelief at what they’d just witnessed.

Daemon leaned forward on Kirin’s talon, clapping once — sharp enough to snap the stunned silence hanging over the clearing.

“That’s enough for you, Ru. Come back here,” he called, his voice carrying easily through the hush. He flicked a glance toward Jia, who stood already stepping forward, eyes bright with quiet resolve. “Your turn, Jia. But—” he added, lifting a finger in mock warning, “only the girls step forward for this one. Let’s keep things fair, shall we?”

His grin was pure mischief, but his eyes never left Elder Ping beside him.

The woman in black’s lips curled into a knowing smile as she lowered her fan. She gave Daemon a side glance, half-amused, half-calculating — then turned her gaze on the group of Inner Disciples now clustered around Lin Qinghai’s fallen form.

“Very well,” she said smoothly, her tone calm but edged with subtle authority. “Only the girls, then.” She let her sharp eyes sweep over her disciples until they landed on a young woman standing near the back — tall, lean, her eyes a flinty green beneath a veil of calm pride.

“Yue Lan,” Elder Ping called lightly, tapping her fan once against her palm, “step forward. And take this seriously — your two junior brothers thought too little of these people and look at them now. Don’t repeat their mistake.”

Yue Lan nodded once, her face composed, but a flicker of something sharp — annoyance, challenge, or quiet excitement — sparked in her eyes as she stepped past the cluster of disciples. Her gaze settled on Jia, who stood waiting with her hands already brimming with a faint, shimmering Fire Qi.

The hush thickened again — but this time, it burned with a new, brighter tension.

Both girls stepped into the scorched clearing, eyes locked as they closed the last few paces of distance. The air around them shifted — the subtle crackle of Jia’s Fire Qi rising in flickering waves from her fingertips, while a cool, crisp mist began to swirl around Yue Lan’s slender frame.

They were equals in Cultivation, both firmly rooted in the Seventh Stage of the Qi-Gathering Realm. But it took only a breath for Jia to sense it — the difference that mattered far more than raw rank.

Her Water Qi… it’s purer than Ru’s, Jia realized, a faint prickle of unease sparking beneath her calm mask. The steady ring of Yue Lan’s presence made it obvious — her Elemental-Compatibility leaned fully into Water, and the clarity and force of it felt at least a grade or two above what her big brother could muster even at his best.

Yue Lan let the faintest smile touch the corner of her lips — calm, confident, and just a little amused by the flicker of realization she caught in Jia’s eyes. The cold mist at her feet coiled upward, wreathing her arms in threads of chill as she raised her hand and called her Qi to the ready.

Jia only exhaled once, her own flames guttering low for an instant before blazing brighter — an unspoken promise that she wouldn’t yield an inch of ground to a stronger tide.

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