I am the Heroine’s Master?

"He turned it down?" Mo Jian wished he were more surprised, but it was far too late in the tournament to start lying to himself.

Bai Ning, on the other hand, clearly didn't share his resignation. She was focused entirely on her outrage, which admittedly, sounded exactly like her. "He got a bye and still turned it down? How is that fair? I was never even offered one."

Fan Mei paused long enough to give Bai Ning a pointed look, which made her flush faintly, before turning back to Mo Jian. "It makes sense. His last two fights ended in ways he didn't like, the first because of you, the second because his opponent had the sense to concede. He's probably eager for a proper fight, and Fahai Sattavadeva won't back down from a challenge. Given that, it's reasonable for Fu Zhan to refuse a direct advance to the finals."

She paused, then added, arching an eyebrow at Bai Ning, "And it means you are the first finalist of the tournament. That's no small matter."

Bai Ning nodded slowly, chewing on the idea, her earlier outrage already forgotten. "The way you said that, senior… it sounds like you think Fu Zhan is guaranteed to be the other finalist. You don't think Fahai Sattavadeva has a chance?"

Mo Jian and Fan Mei exchanged a complicated look. Finally, Mo Jian sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I agree with Fan Mei. The monk is extremely capable, especially for someone still at the Foundation Establishment stage, but even if he's mastered manifestations of all eight great bodhisattvas, I don't see him overcoming the Sanguine Blood Banner. That's a genuine treasure refined by a Nascent Soul cultivator. Beating it would require either deeper cultivation or far greater comprehension than Fahai Sattavadeva has shown."

Fan Mei nodded as well, though more hesitantly. "My thoughts are similar, though for a different reason. Beyond techniques and treasures, there's something else to consider: Fu Zhan may act arrogant, and truly be arrogant, but he isn't a fool. He was stalled by Fahai Sattavadeva once in the bonus round, yet he shows no fear or hesitation about facing him again. That means he either has a method to defeat him, or confidence in simply outlasting him. Refusing the bye suggests absolute confidence in victory. I'm inclined to believe him."

Bai Ning didn't look pleased by any of that, which was understandable. After all, once Fu Zhan's current match concluded, the final round would be him against her. Mo Jian believed Bai Ning possessed the tools to fight Fu Zhan on even footing, but whether she could turn that into victory was another matter entirely.

Letting the thought go, he sank back into the cloud-like cushions of the silk couch in one of the rooms of Fan Mei's residence and exhaled softly. That fight was still days away. The tournament was meant to last a full month, and considering how much time had already passed, there was at least another week to go. After the semifinals, there would likely be a gap of several days before the final match.

And then there was the political dimension.

The Song clan had been knocked out of the tournament – by Bai Ning, no less. What that meant in concrete terms, Mo Jian couldn't say, but they hadn't simply packed up and left. The clan's Nascent Soul elders still lingered in the Thousand Shattered Islands, and Song Shaoyue, along with her bodyguard, continued to serve as judges. None of the other factions, neither Ancestor Qing nor Old Devil Fu, had reacted openly, so most people carried on as usual. Still, Mo Jian couldn't shake his unease.

The Song clan had sunk an enormous amount of time and resources into this affair. Would they truly be content to let a divine treasure slip through their fingers at this stage? Fan Mei believed so. She had absolute faith that no power would dare act underhandedly with so many eyes watching. Mo Jian did not share that confidence. The first rule of cultivation was simple: might made right. If the Song clan believed they could get away with it, then a repeat of Song Shaoyue's behavior at the Ming family auction was far from impossible.

Perhaps he was biased. He had never held a good opinion of the Song clan to begin with.

On top of all that was the uncomfortable truth that victory or defeat now lay only a single fight away. Personally, Mo Jian didn't care who ended up with the South Pointing Chariot. Whether it went to Ancestor Qing or Old Devil Fu, neither would keep it for long. Most likely, the winner would make a pilgrimage to the capital, offer the treasure to the emperor, and seek his favor in return.

But if Bai Ning won-

That would secure her future in the Thousand Shattered Islands beyond doubt.

Five years of worry would finally lift from his shoulders. Ever since he had taken her in as a student, back when she was fourteen, that fear had followed him relentlessly. With a victory here, it would vanish, along with his anxiety over the book's plot. And soon enough, Ye Chen would arrive as well. With the hero's appearance would come a hundred new troubles, distractions, and shifting currents. No one would have the time or inclination to single out Bai Ning once that happened.

"-Master? Master, are you listening?"

Mo Jian jolted out of his thoughts. Bai Ning was staring at him with a distinctly unimpressed expression.

"What were you thinking about that made you so lost in thought, Master?" she asked. Even Fan Mei was looking at him now, curiosity evident in her eyes.

Mo Jian waved a sleeve dismissively. "Nothing. What were you asking?"

Bai Ning gave him a dubious look but didn't press the issue. Instead, she circled back to her earlier concern. "What do you think I should work on before the final fight? I want to perfect my sword technique, but I know that can't be rushed. Is there anything else I could do to gain an edge?"

Ah. That.

Mo Jian considered the question seriously. Truthfully, there wasn't much. Preparing for this was like cramming for an exam at the last moment; you were unlikely to actually learn anything important at that juncture. At best, it was something to stave off panic.

Viewed through that lens, there was nothing Bai Ning could pick up in the span of a few days that would meaningfully improve her combat strength. He had already selected the best techniques he knew for her – not the flashiest or most obscure, but the ones with the greatest long-term potential. Her tools, likewise, were already as good as they reasonably could be, unless he chose to give her something he had crafted himself.

Did he want to do that?

No. The tournament mattered, but Bai Ning's future mattered far more. Letting her rely on something she hadn't refined or mastered herself, even temporarily, risked stunting that future. The Paper Crane was acceptable because it lay outside her cultivation path; a flying tool could be overlooked. A weapon or combat treasure, however, was a different matter entirely. That would be a step too far.

In fact, now that he thought about it, the thing that could help her the most…

…wasn't something new she could gain, but something she could afford to let go of.

Mo Jian studied Bai Ning in silence. The line of her shoulders was rigid, her stance too deliberate, and her hand rested unconsciously near the lip of her storage pouch. Ever since the tournament began, she had been focused, driven – perhaps too much so. He remembered her unease when they first arrived on Daisai Island, the way she had initially gone quiet, and then tried to hide her nerves behind bravado. That worry hadn't disappeared. It had only been buried.

A month ago, she'd still been laughing as she swung her sword like a ribbon, or racing her Paper Crane and boasting she could finally beat him. That lightness was gone, replaced by a tight, coiled readiness.

"You're already doing everything right," he said at last. "Which is precisely the problem."

Bai Ning blinked. "Master?"

"You're polishing every technique until it shines," Mo Jian continued. "Trying to account for every possibility, response, counter or counter-counter. That kind of thinking has its place, but it's also something to guard against. Right now, you shouldn't be chasing perfection, rather, you should be aiming for formlessness. And formlessness comes only when it is not grasped, but allowed to flow naturally."

Even Fan Mei tilted her head, interest flickering across her face.

"Your foundation is as solid as can be," Mo Jian went on. "Your techniques are sound, and your instincts were honed in real combat, not through lectures or manuals. At this stage, forcing progress will only make you stiff."

Bai Ning frowned, turning his words over. "So… you're saying I shouldn't train?"

"I'm saying you shouldn't strain," he corrected. "Refine what you already know. Meditate and sleep properly. Let your qi circulate naturally instead of pushing it. When the time comes, trust that your instincts already know what to do."

She was silent for a few breaths. Then she sighed. "That sounds… frustrating."

Mo Jian allowed himself a faint smile. "Most useful advice is."

Fan Mei laughed quietly. "He's right. The final stretch before a decisive battle is about balance, not accumulation."

Bai Ning exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Alright. I'll do it your way, Master."

Good, Mo Jian thought.

At her best, Bai Ning didn't win through brute force or clever schemes. She won through clarity, by being wholly present, sword and intent aligned as one. That was the path of sword cultivators. Even if it wasn't his own, he knew it well enough, or at least, well enough to recognize it when he saw it.

And if that Bai Ning stepped onto the arena floor…

Even Fu Zhan might be caught off guard.

………………………………………..

For the penultimate fight of the Grand Tournament, there was no announcement.

Fu Zhan and Fahai Sattavadeva were already standing on the ring, positioned at opposite ends of the vast stone arena.

This time, there were no private boxes. Bai Ning, along with everyone else, had been relegated to the stands of the Cloud Ring. It was a sight she had never imagined. She could only see a portion of the immense, tiered seating curving inward, but even that fragment was staggering. Thousands upon thousands of cultivators filled the stands, moving like a living tide. Shouts and laughter echoed through the air, mingled with snatches of song and animated conversation. The feverish excitement was contagious; Bai Ning found herself grinning without quite realizing it.

As one of the judges, Master Mo Jian was busy and couldn't sit with her. Instead, Bai Ning had taken her place among her – still new – friends. Her parents were there as well, though they barely stayed seated, constantly rising whenever they spotted an acquaintance to exchange greetings and discuss sect affairs. By contrast, Li Kang, Chen Zhuhe, and even Yue Shuangyi shared her anticipation.

From the seats, the ring itself was far too distant to see clearly, so the organizers had prepared a solution. Suspended above the arena was an enormous sphere of near-transparent cloud. Across its curved surface, visible from every angle, were projected images of everything happening below. The combatants' movements were rendered in perfect clarity, and even their voices carried effortlessly through the formation.

All around them, tens of thousands of cultivators were settling in, the energy rising to a peak. Bai Ning also found herself feeling oddly like a celebrity. She'd already been stopped three times by strangers who recognized her; some wishing her luck in the finals, others simply wanting to talk. One man had cheerfully informed her that he'd wagered his entire fortune on Fu Zhan killing her, but he was very much the exception.

"Here," Li Kang said, thrusting a handful of roasted nuts into her field of view. "They're supposedly roasted in earth-lung fire. Try one."

Grinning, Bai Ning did. It tasted like an ordinary nut, if perhaps a little burnt, but the crunch was immensely satisfying. She awarded it a full ten stars in her heart.

Chen Zhuhe, who had a memory jade balanced carefully atop his bald head, reached out without looking and scooped up a handful of nuts. He tipped them into his mouth with exaggerated care, clearly mindful not to disturb the jade.

He chewed loudly.

Yue Shuangyi shot him a look of pure disapproval. "Have some decorum," she tutted. "And why is that jade slip on your head? Are you planning to preserve this fight for posterity?"

Chen Zhuhe rolled his eyes and chewed even louder, purely out of spite. "It's for the money, Miss I-have-a-Core-Formation-teacher. Do you have any idea how much recordings of fights from this tournament will sell for? A fortune. And coming from someone who made it to the third round, it'll look authentic. Between this and the prize I received, I'll be set for life."

Bai Ning laughed, eyes already drifting back toward the projected image of the arena, where the two figures still stood motionless, like the calm before the storm.

A subtle shift rippled through the Cloud Ring. There was no announcement or signal, yet the noise drained away all the same. One moment the crowd was buzzing; the next, it was as though tens of thousands of people had drawn a single breath and forgotten how to exhale.

On the pale stone ring below, Fahai Sattavadeva brought his palms together and bowed. The gesture was simple and unadorned, looking neither theatrical nor mocking. His expression remained calm, and almost gentle.

Fu Zhan did not return the bow. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow, studying the monk with open curiosity. "Oh? Feeling bashful all of a sudden?" he asked lightly. "What happened to the man who wanted to kill me?"

Fahai Sattavadeva's composure did not waver in the slightest. "This is merely respect shown to the dead," he replied evenly. "I bow at the graves of friend and foe alike. After all, the dead belong to everywhere and nowhere."

The silence shattered.

One half of the crowd – larger, Bai Ning noted with quiet satisfaction – erupted in roaring approval as if on cue. Cultivators surged to their feet, cheering, shouting, hands raised high. Across the ring, the other section of the stands responded very differently. Those in dark robes, heavy qi clinging to them like a miasma, remained seated, their expressions tight and sullen.

The current divide was unmistakable.

Fu Zhan said nothing. Instead, he summoned the Sanguine Blood Banner, planting its end firmly at his feet. The square red cloth at the top snapped sharply in the wind, drawing every eye. "Good words," he said, voice low and dangerous, "but don't expect me to bow at your grave. I'll grant you the courtesy of digging one for yourself, though."

Fahai Sattavadeva smiled faintly, and golden light began to bloom behind him. Slowly, a gigantic, muscular torso emerged, gleaming like molten sunlight. Unlike most of his manifestations, this one's face was not hidden behind a halo. It was fierce, almost demonic, with bared fangs and wild, flowing hair. One massive hand hovered close to the chest, fingers extended in a precise mandala, while the other stretched outward, fingertips crackling with lightning.

A bolt of pure energy arced down from the heavens, piercing the clouds above and slashing through the gap at the center of the cloud ring. It narrowly missed the projection showing the fight, striking the manifestation's outstretched hand. Yet the lightning did not dissipate. It hung there, alive and humming, a raw conduit of power connecting heaven and earth.

"Nirmanakaya: Vajrapani," Fahai Sattavadeva intoned.

The crowd erupted once more. Bai Ning found herself on her feet, cheering loudly. In the Buddhist texts she had read, Vajrapani was the defender, the protector of the Buddha, wielding the vajra; an indestructible weapon, equal parts spear and lightning, a symbol of unyielding power.

In response, Fu Zhan spun his banner, unleashing a cloud of crimson mist. It surged outward with terrifying speed, filling the entire stone ring in the span of a single breath. Even the golden manifestation was swallowed, its presence betrayed only by the lightning still arcing from its outstretched hand to the heavens.

The mist was vivid and alive, swirling with crimson, spotted with darker carmine, streaks of almost blood-like red tracing chaotic trails through it. Worse, it bled color into everything around it. The formation dome containing the fight shimmered like oil on water, its surface shifting and flowing, alive with unnatural hues. The stone arena's edges, barely visible beneath the mist, glowed faintly like moonlight on snow. Even the cloud ring above reflected the distortion: the inner edges radiated shifting pinks and golds, chased by muted streaks of blue. Beautiful, yet unsettling.

Within that living red haze, no movement was discernible, until the lightning bolt linking heaven and earth split. It fractured into dozens of thinner forks, each striking outward through the crimson cloud. The energy exploded like shrapnel, scattering across the mist in violent arcs. The red mist fought back. Deep within, shapes coalesced, forming beasts of immense power and savagery, but each was torn apart where the lightning struck. Temporary gaps appeared where the arcs hit, but the mist refused to dissipate. Any opening was swiftly closed, and gradually, the lightning thinned, fading toward nothingness.

A lion, formed entirely from red mist, leapt high above the cloud as if racing across an open plain, roaring before diving back into the carmine sea. Near the bottom, a sinuous coil of red scales whipped across the floor before curling deeper into the swirling mass.

Fu Zhan pressed the attack, relentless. Whatever Fahai Sattavadeva was doing remained hidden beneath the crimson veil. The golden glow of his summoned warrior had vanished completely, and no new lightning flared. Instead, the mist pulsed and writhed with the sounds of slaughter: roars, growls, and the echo of snapping jaws. A howl tore through it, savage and unnatural, like a Moonblight Wolf or a Ravenous Wolf-Headed Spider hunting, before fading back into the living red.

Next to Bai Ning, Li Kang exhaled sharply, almost like a shudder. "Glad I didn't fight that," he muttered.

The crowd, however, seemed not to share his sentiment. They shouted and cheered, almost hypnotized by the spectacle of the Sanguine Blood Banner. After roughly fifteen minutes, the red cloud began to scatter. It did not vanish entirely. Instead, it coalesced at one end of the stage, leaving half of the white ring bare.

On the cleared portion, Fahai Sattavadeva was revealed. The crowd collectively groaned. The monk had clearly seen better days. Behind him, the colossal golden figure was badly mauled. Golden light leaked from a hundred wounds; half its face had been bitten away, the arm that had wielded lightning was torn into chunks. Three massive claw marks ran across its torso, as though some enormous beast had shredded it from shoulder to waist.

Fahai Sattavadeva himself fared only slightly better. No obvious injuries marred his form, but his saffron robes were soaked with blood. Thick, dark liquid dripped from his mouth, pooling at his feet. His face was pale and taut with pain, the composure he had displayed earlier hanging by a tenuous thread.

The arena fell into a tense hush. Even through the projection, the severity of the fight was undeniable: the monk had survived, but at a terrifying cost.

Yet the battle was far from over. On the other end of the arena, the red mist began to shift, coalescing into a shape. It was a shape Bai Ning was intimately familiar with due to recent experiences, and she was far from the only one. A long, sinuous body emerged, covered in diamond-hard scales that caught the light like molten rubies. Its jaw gaped wide, lined with jagged fangs, and atop its head, two enormous horns curved skyward. It had no wings, yet it coiled and twisted through the air as if it were solid ground. Two small arms and legs, tipped with blade-like, wickedly sharp claws, completed the form.

It was a dragon, born entirely from the living red mist of the Sanguine Blood Banner. The crowd froze, a mixture of awe and dread rippling through the stands. The dragon opened its mouth, and tiny motes of red light began to gather, coalescing into a massive sphere before its jaws. Wisps of ruby-like qi streamed from nowhere, pooling into the orb as the creature prepared a breath of unimaginable power.

Bai Ning jolted, feeling her own blood thrumming in response, a deep resonance echoing through her veins. She was not alone; sections of the crowd began coughing, some even spitting blood as the overwhelming presence of the blood dragon became impossible to ignore. Yue Shuangyi's hand snapped around Bai Ning's wrist, pale-faced and grim-eyed, as if seeking comfort amid the chaos.

Bai Ning's eyes stayed locked on the orb, growing larger, burning bright like liquid fire. Fahai Sattavadeva stood before it, looking drained and battered, yet he forced himself upright. A hand rose, trembling just enough to show the strain, and his voice carried across the ring, clear and unwavering: "Nirmanakaya: Sitatapatra."

The broken form of Vajrapani behind him dissolved into nothing. In its place, another golden figure emerged. Like the others, it was only a torso, but this one was unmistakably female, draped in intricate golden layers of cloth. A massive crown obscured most of her head, leaving her features lost in radiant light. Both hands gripped a small, curved umbrella, exquisite and heavy with detail. She lifted it, positioning it between Fahai and the blood dragon charging it's breath, a shield against the crimson sphere that was aimed towards them.

The orb detonated in a torrential beam of power. Red light bloomed and surged, swallowing both the monk and manifestation alike. It didn't stop there; the breath attack continued forward, the energy tearing through the side of the formation dome in one continuous arc, slicing the air and sea alike, until it vanished on the horizon. The island trembled; the sea split, walls of water climbing toward the clouds, steam rising in waves. The hiss of scorching energy lingered, distinct over the roar of collapsing waters.

Every spectator froze. When the light finally dimmed, half the arena was simply gone. There was no trace of Fahai Sattavadeva left. The entire stage lay in ruins, replaced by jagged craters and smoldering debris. The formation dome was in tatters, suspended strands of energy swinging weakly in the ruined air. A static, oppressive glow hung over the wreckage.

Up above, Yue Shuangyi's hand tightened around Bai Ning's wrist in a sudden, crushing motion. Bai Ning herself was frozen, as her eyes traveled over what remained of the blast's impact, over the emptiness where Fahai Sattavadeva had stood. This was the opponent she was supposed to defeat in the finals?

......................................................................................................

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