A Waste of Time

Chapter 75: Glassy Mirage

Elder Ping’s curiosity sharpened like a blade. She tilted her head slightly, studying the boy’s calm eyes as the clash raged on before them.

“You seem… unbothered, young master Daemon,” she said lightly, folding her hands in her lap. “Tell me — do you truly believe your maid still has a chance to win this?”

Daemon didn’t even glance her way. He just kept his gaze fixed on Jia’s flickering flames and answered with a tone so steady it left no room for doubt. “She’ll win.”

The woman in black raised a finely shaped brow, half-amused, half-intrigued by the blind faith in his voice. So stubborn, she mused. Still, she didn’t press him. Instead, she offered him a thin smile and said almost absently, “Such a fine seedling indeed. With that Martial Spirit of hers awakened, she’d stand a fair chance in the Sect’s Core Disciple Competition, you know.”

That got him. Daemon’s eyes finally shifted to her, narrowing slightly in curious interest. Beside him, Ru straightened as well, his snake-like gaze snapping to the Elder, the same question dancing silently on his tongue.

“Martial Spirit?” Daemon asked bluntly. “What’s that supposed to be?”

Even Kirin tilted its massive head from its perch behind them, as if the Soul-Snatcher Eagle itself was leaning in to listen.

For a heartbeat, Elder Ping wondered if this was some subtle game — a hidden test slipped into casual talk. She was no stranger to such tricks; she’d played them herself countless times when parrying the sly, fox-like elders up the Mountain or sizing up foreign Cultivators seeking favor.

But the boy’s open stare, the Swordsman’s stiff curiosity, even the Soul-Snatcher Eagle’s tilted head — they all screamed the same baffled innocence. Her Spirit Sense swept them again, tasting every flicker of breath and tension in their bones.

Nothing. No sly glimmer of deceit. No hidden smirk waiting to pounce.

Either they’re truly clueless,

she thought with a faint twist of disbelief, or they’re the best damned actors I’ve ever met.After a long moment of silent confirmation — three bloody ignorants, she realized — a kid, a man, and a damn bird taller than a five-story building — Elder Ping all but spat out her disbelief. She jabbed an accusing finger toward the little golden bird perched proudly on Jia’s shoulder, its tiny wings flickering with warm sparks.

Realization flickered like lightning across Daemon’s and Ru’s faces at the same instant. Their eyes met — two conspirators caught red-handed — and they exchanged a small, infuriating smile that made the woman’s eye twitch.

Ping’s pride bristled at the quiet mockery dancing just beneath their calm. A senior of her stature wasn’t about to beg answers from a boy so young and so aggravatingly smug — not when they were still technically enemies in this standoff. Still, the ripple of curiosity itched at her composure, scratching at her thoughts in maddening circles.

It should have ended there — careful words, shallow ripples. But the boy, damn him, leaned back with that same careless ease and dropped another stone into her mind’s pond.

“She doesn’t just have one Martial Spirit, Elder Ping,” Daemon said, tone sweet as poisoned wine. “She has two.”

The breath hitched in the Elder’s chest, her lips parting in reflex, almost ready to bark a sharp laugh in his face — but she caught it at the last heartbeat, smothering it behind a perfectly trained smile. Only her eyes betrayed her — wide and unblinking, fixed on Jia as if they might bore through flesh and flame to unearth the truth.

Two? Her mind warred with itself — hoping and dreading in equal measure — desperate for proof that would either confirm the boy’s outrageous claim… or expose him for the reckless, bragging child he must surely be.

The moment came crashing down soon after — Jia was truly at the end of her rope. Her Fire Qi had dwindled to single digits, flickering like a dying ember. The little Martial Spirit perched on her shoulder drooped low, its bright mischief snuffed out to a dull shimmer.

Frost crept hungrily toward her boots, inch by inch, the promise of an icy tomb. Yue Lan exhaled a quiet, shaky breath of relief — finally, this flaming thorn was about to snap. She’d clawed tooth and nail for this moment.

Xue Lian, arms crossed at the edge of the circle, scoffed inwardly at the sight. So this is all it was,

she thought. Minutes ago she’d considered this unknown girl a real rival — a worthy thorn. What a waste of attention.The audience split — half pitying the girl about to be frozen in place, half cheering silently for Yue Lan’s hard-earned triumph. Among the remaining Inner Sect Disciples, restless eyes began to drift away from the duel, their minds pivoting back to the true reason they’d descended the mountain in the first place.

But when their gazes shifted to the boy lounging beside Elder Ping, they found no look of worry, no hint of regret — only that wicked smirk. Slowly, deliberately, Daemon raised his right hand — then snapped his fingers.

The world lit up.

A searing glow erupted from the girl who should have fallen. Jia blazed like a goddess of Lightning tearing down from the clouds — radiant arcs dancing across her shoulders, coiling around her fists.

Before anyone could breathe, a thunderous screech ripped through the air — so sharp and wild it clawed at every eardrum in the village and far, far beyond.

Hovering above Jia’s shoulder, a new Martial Spirit had answered the call — the same size as the golden bird, but black as a stormcloud, crowned with three vivid plume feathers: one silver, one purple, one red. Strings of Lightning snapped and twisted in riotous colors, scattering Yue Lan’s creeping frost as if it were paper before a wildfire.

The villagers flinched back, shielding their eyes — their minds half-thrilled, half-exhausted by this relentless tug-of-war. Surely this was it — surely the scales would stay flipped this time.

But none felt it more fiercely than Xue Lian. Her fists tightened at her sides as the sealed power inside her Dantian thrashed for release — a wild beast howling at the cage bars the moment that black bird appeared.

Elder Ping’s gaze shifted from the second Martial Spirit crackling above Jia’s shoulder to the boy lounging calmly at her side. She swallowed hard — the cold realization sinking into her bones like ice water.

Moments ago, she’d been mocking him in her heart, amused at his naïve bravado and clueless airs. But now the truth stood blazing right in front of her, undeniable as daylight: she had gravely underestimated this group the moment she stepped foot here.

Her earlier judgment — that this girl might scrape into the Core Disciple Competition to test herself against the Sect’s Elite Inner Disciples — seemed almost laughable now. With not one, but two Martial Spirits blooming in the Qi-Gathering Realm, this girl wouldn’t just compete — she’d be snatched up by the Grand Elders the instant word got out.

And those ancient monsters didn’t extend their hands lightly. To be chosen as a Legacy Disciple — or even as a candidate for it — meant more than resources and status. It meant a chance at inheriting a Dao, the secret heart of the Mountain’s strength and its truest lifeline through the endless turns of history.

No one outside the upper echelons ever learned how those Inheritances were passed on, nor how fiercely the old monsters guarded them. Elder Ping knew better than most — and that knowledge turned her spine rigid as she stared at the calm, unbothered boy beside her.

Just who… or what… are you?

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