## Chapter Eighteen: The Semi-Finals and a Calculated Clash
The Spirit Manifestation Ceremony had left a bitter taste in Yan Zhen's mouth, a stark reminder that sheer power wasn't everything. He spent the next few days in a subdued fury, his frustration at his lack of finesse simmering just beneath the surface. Lin Feng, observing him with quiet satisfaction, continued to offer words of understanding, subtly reinforcing Yan Zhen's reliance on him for strategic thinking. "Your strength is undeniable, Zhen," Lin Feng would often say, "but mastery, true mastery, lies in knowing when to unleash, and when to rein in. The tournament is a different beast than mere demonstrations."
The posting of the semi-final brackets ignited a fresh wave of excitement and anxiety throughout the Outer Court. Only four disciples remained, and the tension was palpable. Yan Zhen found himself matched against **Mu Yuelan**, a disciple renowned for her swift, unpredictable sword techniques and her calm, almost ethereal demeanor. She was a favored candidate for an Inner Disciple spot, her fighting style a graceful dance of precision and deadly intent. Lin Feng, to Yan Zhen's surprise and a slight pang of envy, was matched against **Zhou Teng**, a brute of a cultivator whose strength rivaled even Yan Zhen's, and whose cultivation was a solid **Body Tempering, Stage 7**.
"Mu Yuelan?" Yan Zhen muttered, staring at the bracket, a mix of apprehension and competitive fire in his eyes. "Her sword arts are legendary. And she's always so... calm. It's unsettling."
Lin Feng clapped him on the shoulder, a thoughtful expression on his face. "She is formidable, Zhen. Her movements are like flowing water, impossible to grasp. But every flow has a source, and every calm conceals a depth. You have the raw power to disrupt her flow, but you'll need to hit the exact moment of her vulnerability. And about Zhou Teng… he's all about overwhelming force. I'll need to rely on my agility and wits." He spoke with a hint of genuine concern for his own match, making his advice to Yan Zhen seem purely selfless.
Lin Feng had meticulously scouted Mu Yuelan's past matches. Her techniques were indeed beautiful, almost poetic, but they relied on precise, almost rhythmic qi circulation. A sudden, jarring disruption at a critical point could throw her off balance. He knew Yan Zhen, with his raw, untamed qi and amplified irritability, was perfectly suited to deliver such a shock.
Just before the semi-finals began, Lin Feng approached Yan Zhen, his voice low and serious. "Zhen, I've been thinking about Mu Yuelan's sword arts. They say she once practiced a unique meditation technique in the Spirit Clearing Pool, allowing her to reach her current level of precision. It left her qi circulation incredibly fluid, almost imperceptible. But there's a downside: extreme disruptions can cause temporary backlash, making her momentarily lose control. Most people don't have the brute force to do it, but you… you might." Lin Feng looked contemplative, as if sharing a hard-won secret. He was weaving a half-truth, twisting common knowledge of Mu Yuelan's cultivation method into a specific vulnerability only Yan Zhen could exploit. He didn't tell Yan Zhen *how* to do it, only that the *possibility* existed.
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The first semi-final match began, a thunderous clash between Lin Feng and Zhou Teng. Zhou Teng lived up to his reputation, a whirlwind of fists and raw qi, each strike capable of shattering stone. Lin Feng, however, moved like smoke, his movements deceptively simple, yet always placing him just out of reach. He absorbed blows with subtle qi redirection, his hidden Spirit Condensation foundation granting him resilience that astonished the crowd. He used the 'Swift Crane Step' to its full potential, a blur across the arena. He didn't engage in prolonged power struggles, but rather chipped away at Zhou Teng's defenses, exploiting minute openings, making Zhou Teng's raw power seem almost clumsy against Lin Feng's precise agility. He used a series of low-grade talismans he'd secretly prepared, creating subtle illusions and explosive flares that kept Zhou Teng off balance, further showcasing his 'resourcefulness' and 'cunning'. After a grueling exchange that stretched for nearly a hundred breaths, Lin Feng delivered a final, precise palm strike to Zhou Teng's pressure point, sending the burly disciple staggering back, defeated. The crowd roared, impressed by Lin Feng's strategic brilliance against a physically superior foe. Qing Yu's eyes shone with admiration, while Xiao Li watched with quiet awe.
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Then came Yan Zhen's match against Mu Yuelan. As they stepped onto the platform, Yan Zhen felt the familiar churn of his agitated qi, intensified by the pressure of the semi-finals and Lin Feng's recent words about Mu Yuelan's "vulnerability." Mu Yuelan, slender and composed, drew her sword, its blade gleaming with a cold, almost ethereal light.
Her first move was a blur of silver, her sword tracing intricate patterns in the air, each strike a fluid, unpredictable dance. Yan Zhen found himself reacting instinctively, blocking and dodging, but always a step behind. Her qi was indeed like water, flowing around his brute force, making his powerful blows feel like they struck empty air. He felt frustration begin to bubble, the familiar irritation of his qi instability rising. He remembered Lin Feng's words: *extreme disruptions can cause temporary backlash*. He needed to hit her hard, precisely, at a moment of vulnerability. But when was that moment?
As Mu Yuelan executed a particularly complex sword form, her qi rippling around her, Yan Zhen's eyes narrowed. He felt a faint, almost imperceptible shift in her qi flow, a tiny intake of breath as she prepared for the next intricate movement. It was a momentary, internal pause in her otherwise fluid dance, a vulnerability only someone with his brute strength and slightly agitated, over-sensitive qi could perceive. The raw, untamed qi from the Spirit Vein, now coursing through him, responded not with finesse, but with pure, unbridled force.
"Break!" Yan Zhen roared, unleashing the entirety of his **Body Tempering, Stage 6** power in a single, devastating punch. It wasn't aimed at a specific pressure point or a delicate area; it was a pure, overwhelming qi blast, a blunt force trauma delivered at the precise instant of her subtle internal re-calibration.
Mu Yuelan cried out, a sharp, uncharacteristic gasp. Her sword technique shattered. Her body recoiled violently, thrown back by the sheer, unrefined power of Yan Zhen's blow. Her calm facade cracked, revealing a flicker of pain and disorientation. She landed awkwardly, her sword clattering to the ground, a visible tremor in her usually steady hands. The impact hadn't just struck her body; it had momentarily disrupted the incredibly fluid qi circulation she relied upon. It was a brutal, almost ugly, method of victory, completely devoid of grace or technique, but devastatingly effective.
Yan Zhen stood, chest heaving, his eyes burning with triumph and a satisfaction that bordered on ferocity. He hadn't fought with elegance; he had fought with raw, overwhelming power, exploiting a weakness Lin Feng had hinted at. The crowd was stunned into momentary silence, then erupted into a cacophony of gasps and exclamations. It wasn't a pretty win, but it was a win.
Mu Yuelan, gathering her composure with visible effort, slowly rose, retrieving her sword. Her gaze, usually serene, held a flicker of something akin to fear as she looked at Yan Zhen. She silently conceded, exiting the stage with an almost imperceptible limp.
Yan Zhen felt a thrill of victory, but also a lingering, unsettling feeling. The fight had been messy, powered by anger as much as qi. As he exited the arena, Lin Feng met him, his face a mix of concern and admiration. "Zhen, that was... unprecedented! You just shattered her technique with pure, unadulterated power! Truly a force of nature!" Lin Feng's praise was genuine, yet carefully phrased, emphasizing Yan Zhen's brute force rather than his finesse.
Qing Yu watched from her seat, her analytical mind churning. Yan Zhen had won, yes. But the victory had been brutal, almost crude. His outburst of raw power, devoid of the control she admired, disturbed her. She saw not a heroic cultivator, but a powerful, unrefined weapon, barely controlled. Her gaze then drifted to Lin Feng, who was now subtly consoling Yan Zhen, his presence radiating a quiet, insightful strength. Lin Feng had fought with strategy and precision, while Yan Zhen had won with a savage, almost destructive force. The contrast was stark.
Xiao Li, her healer's senses more attuned to the subtle disharmony, saw the faint, residual agitation in Yan Zhen's qi, a violent tremor barely concealed by his victory. She felt a growing unease, an intuitive sense that while Yan Zhen gained power, he was losing something else. Her empathetic nature felt a flicker of apprehension at the sight of his uncontrolled, almost ruthless power.
Lin Feng, noticing the subtle shifts in their expressions, allowed a faint, satisfied smile to bloom in his heart. Two powerful cultivators, now subtly swayed. The stage for the finals was set, and with it, the final, decisive play.
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