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## Chapter Fifteen: Whispers and Illusions
The tournament grounds buzzed with an electrifying tension. The previous rounds had culled the weak and the unlucky, leaving behind only the most promising Outer Disciples, each radiating a fierce determination. Yan Zhen felt the collective anticipation like a physical force, a challenge he was more than ready to meet. His recent breakthrough to **Body Tempering, Stage 6**, fueled by the illicit qi from the Grand Elder's garden, had ignited a furious confidence within him. He felt an almost boundless wellspring of power, a raw, untamed current that pulsed beneath his skin.
His opponent, Fan Li, was a figure of quiet dread in the Outer Court. A **Body Tempering, Stage 7** disciple, Fan Li rarely relied on brute force. Instead, he was a master of subtle illusion techniques, his battles often leaving opponents disoriented, exhausted, and humiliated, rather than physically broken. Rumors whispered of his ability to weave qi into convincing phantoms, twisting light and sound to create a battlefield of the mind.
In the days leading up to the match, Yan Zhen had been restless, his focus sharper than ever, but also tinged with a new, almost imperceptible irritability. He snapped at a junior disciple for bumping into him, a rare outburst for his usually patient nature. Xiao Li's calming elixir had helped, but the restless qi from the siphoned Spirit Vein continued to subtly churn beneath his surface, making his emotions a little more volatile.
Lin Feng, ever the attentive friend, had noticed this subtle shift. He casually approached Yan Zhen one morning, a concerned frown on his face. "Yan Zhen, have you heard the whispers about Fan Li? They say his illusions aren't just visual. He targets the mind, planting subtle doubts, exploiting your fears. And he has a particular knack for disrupting a cultivator's focus, especially if they're feeling… agitated." Lin Feng delivered this with a thoughtful, almost academic air, as if merely relaying common knowledge, yet his words were carefully chosen to prick at Yan Zhen's burgeoning temper and make him self-conscious about his current emotional state.
Yan Zhen scoffed. "Illusions? What's there to fear? I'll break through them with pure force! No trick can stand against solid qi!" He pounded a fist into his palm, but a flicker of unease crossed his face. Lin Feng's words had planted a seed.
Later, Lin Feng sought out Shen Li. The disgraced disciple was a gaunt shadow of his former self, his eyes hollow with resentment. "Shen Li," Lin Feng began, his voice low and sympathetic, "I've been thinking about what happened to you. And what we saw in the Grand Elder's garden. It's all connected, isn't it? The favoritism, the rigged system… it's in every aspect of the sect. Even the tournament."
Shen Li's eyes flared with a bitter light. "What do you mean?"
"Fan Li," Lin Feng murmured, glancing around conspiratorially. "He's a prime example. His family has deep ties to the Inner Elders. It's rumored he receives special elixirs to enhance his illusionary qi, elixirs that come straight from the Spirit Vein. They say he's already been promised an Inner Disciple spot, regardless of his actual performance. The matches are just a formality. It's all rigged, Shen Li. Just like your assessment. Just like everything."
Shen Li's hands trembled with suppressed fury. "They're cheating! Right in front of us!"
"Precisely," Lin Feng said gravely. "They make it look legitimate, but the unseen advantages... that's how they ensure their chosen ones always win. What if someone could expose his tactics? Not just beat him, but reveal *how* he truly fights? It would shake the foundation of their 'fair' tournament, wouldn't it?" Lin Feng didn't suggest Shen Li do anything specific, merely painted a picture of righteous exposure. He knew Shen Li's rage would fill in the blanks.
On the day of the match, the arena crackled with anticipation. Yan Zhen strode onto the platform, his confidence radiating, but a flicker of unease gnawed at him. Fan Li stood opposite him, a slender figure, his eyes holding an unsettling, distant quality.
The Elder's voice boomed, signaling the start of the match.
Fan Li moved first, not with a charge, but with an ethereal grace. His hands wove intricate seals, and the very air around him shimmered. The arena seemed to warp, the boundary lines twisting, the faces in the crowd blurring into indistinct blurs. Yan Zhen felt a sudden disorientation, a familiar sense of direction slipping away.
"Illusions!" Yan Zhen roared, channeling his enhanced qi. He lashed out, his fists slicing through empty air, but the feeling of solid ground beneath him wavered. His own movements felt sluggish, distorted. He tried to focus, to break through the sensory assault, but Fan Li's illusions were insidious, preying on his sense of balance and space.
As Fan Li's illusions intensified, the faint qi instability in Yan Zhen's meridians, a direct result of the unrefined Spirit Vein qi, began to exacerbate. His breathing grew ragged, his vision tunneling. He felt his anger spike, a sudden, irrational surge of fury at the deceptive opponent. This wasn't a fair fight!
Suddenly, a loud, panicked shout ripped through the spectator stands. "He's cheating! Fan Li is cheating! He used a Spirit-Dulling Powder!" It was Shen Li, his face contorted with rage, pointing a trembling finger at Fan Li. He held up a small, empty pouch, frantically gesturing.
A ripple of shock and confusion went through the crowd. Fan Li, caught off guard, stumbled, his illusion momentarily flickering, revealing the arena in its true form for a split second. The Elder overseeing the match roared, "Silence! Guards! Seize that disciple!"
The momentary disruption was all Lin Feng needed. From his position in the crowd, he had subtly, almost imperceptibly, amplified Shen Li's cry using a minor sound-amplification technique, ensuring it reached the entire arena. At the same time, seeing Fan Li's brief flicker of concentration, Lin Feng channeled a minuscule burst of his own **Spirit Condensation** qi, directing it not at Fan Li, but at the *edge* of Fan Li's illusion formation. It was a ripple, a tiny, undetectable flaw.
Yan Zhen, his vision momentarily cleared by Fan Li's lapse, instinctively felt the minute vulnerability in the illusion. The earlier seed of doubt Lin Feng had planted, combined with his own righteous anger and the subtle qi agitation from the Spirit Vein, propelled him forward. He didn't think; he reacted. He unleashed a savage, powerful strike, not at Fan Li, but at the precise point where the illusion had wavered, the subtle flaw Lin Feng had just magnified.
The illusion shattered like glass. Fan Li cried out, his concentration broken, his face blanching as he stumbled back. Yan Zhen, seeing his opponent exposed, didn't hesitate. He charged, unleashing a brutal flurry of punches, his movements driven by raw, unbridled fury. He wasn't elegant; he was a force of nature, his qi roaring. Fan Li, stripped of his illusions and disoriented, couldn't defend himself against such a direct, overwhelming assault. With a final, crushing blow, Yan Zhen sent him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
Silence descended, then erupted into a roar. Yan Zhen stood panting, his chest heaving, his eyes still burning with an almost feral intensity. He had won.
The Elder quickly ordered guards to remove Fan Li, and then Shen Li, who was still raving about cheating. Lin Feng quickly rushed to Yan Zhen's side, his face a mask of concern and admiration. "Zhen! That was incredible! You just… *felt* the weakness! Your raw power just broke through it all!" He clasped Yan Zhen's shoulder, his grip firm, reinforcing Yan Zhen's belief that it was his own unique instinct that had won the day.
"Yeah," Yan Zhen rasped, trying to control his heavy breathing. "He was cheating. And I... I just broke through it. With pure force." He believed it, deeply. The lingering qi instability made him feel more powerful, more aggressive, blurring the lines of what he knew and what he truly felt.
In the stands, Qing Yu watched, her usual composure slightly shaken. Yan Zhen's victory was undeniable, his power impressive. But she had seen the wildness in his eyes, the almost savage intensity of his final blows. And Shen Li's outburst… it felt too convenient, too clumsy. She looked at Lin Feng, who was now expertly ushering Yan Zhen away, speaking in soothing tones, his expression one of calm, unwavering support. Lin Feng seemed to be the stable point in Yan Zhen's chaotic brilliance.
As Yan Zhen was led away for medical checks, a buzz of conversation spread through the crowd. Some hailed Yan Zhen as a rising star, a powerhouse who crushed cheaters. Others, however, whispered about his "unpredictable temper" and the "suspicious timing" of Shen Li's accusation. Lin Feng smiled to himself. Yan Zhen had won, yes. But the victory had come at a subtle cost to his image, a cost only Lin Feng could truly appreciate. The serpent's coil had tightened once more.
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