“Ms.Lauren”

  Dante caught up with her just as she was about to step into her room.

  Lauren paused at the door. “What is it?”

  “They’ve all gone down to eat. Aren’t you joining them?”

  She shook her head. “No. You go ahead.”

  Dante blinked. “Wait… don’t tell me you haven’t eaten all these years?”

  Lauren rubbed the back of her neck, looking sheepish, and nodded.

  He fell silent.

  Master had once told him that those who restrained their appetites before practicing the Great Fast would forge a purer, cleaner Golden Core. Many ambitious cultivators who dreamed of perfection began the discipline as young as possible.

  Dante had tried. He’d skipped meals, pushed away food. But when his junior brothers and sisters brought fragrant dishes to his door, he always gave in. He thought he had willpower—until now.

  The Ms.Lauren had gone three whole years without food. Not a taste. Not a single indulgence.

  That was on another level entirely.

  When Dante finally went downstairs alone, everyone turned, curious.

  “Isn’t Ms.Lauren eating?”

  He shook his head. “No. She hasn’t eaten in a long time.”

  A hush fell over the table. For most of them, resisting food was harder than resisting temptation itself. The idea of ignoring such fragrant dishes for years left them stunned.

  Respect flickered in their eyes.

  Only Nash muttered sympathetically, “How pitiful…”

  “Pitiful?” someone echoed.

  “Of course,” Nash whispered, leaning closer to the group. “Three years ago, Immortal Master ordered Ms.Lauren to prepare for the Hidden Mist Secret Realm. Since then, she’s been in seclusion. In all that time, she’s only come down from Starfell Summit a handful of times. She’s never even visited the righteous sect markets. Don’t you think that’s sad?”

  Everyone sighed. So young, still in her best years for py and discovery, yet locked away in cultivation? Truly, being the Immortal Master’s disciple was as suffocating as it was prestigious.

  Still, sighs didn’t keep them from devouring the feast. Soon the dishes were cleared, bellies satisfied. Some disciples returned to their rooms to rest, while others drifted out in small groups to explore the lively town.

  Not all came from the same sect—many had family scattered across other righteous cns, so this was a rare chance to visit kin.

  Nash, however, darted back upstairs and knocked eagerly on Lauren’s door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Lauren, it’s me. I’m heading out for a walk. Do you want to come?”

  Lauren cast a warning gnce at Little Four Legs to stay hidden, then rose and opened the door.

  “Perfect timing,” she said. “I was going out too.”

  “Then please, after you.” Nash grinned.

  The “small” town wasn’t so small after all.

  As they made their way down the main street, Lauren realized her earlier estimate from the air had been far too modest. The pce was packed—easily more than half the total expected cultivators had already arrived, and that was just the ones in view.

  Not everyone here was eligible to enter the Hidden Mist Secret Realm, but plenty had come for the spectacle. A makeshift market had sprung up overnight.

  Vendors hawked elixirs, talismans, enchanted trinkets, and cheap magical tools, their stalls crammed tight against each other.

  Lauren and Nash didn’t need to buy anything—their sect had already provided them with better. Still, they browsed, curious to see what casual cultivators had to offer.

  Nash picked up a small jade vial, uncorked it, and sniffed. His face twisted in disappointment as he set it back down.

  He leaned close and murmured, “Far inferior to the elixirs from Sky-Curtain Peak. Definitely made by a casual cultivator.”

  Lauren raised a brow. “Didn’t the stall owner cim it was from the Moonlit Sect?”

  “Pfft. Don’t listen to that crap. They probably bribed someone for the bel. Happens all the time—sp on a famous name, sell twice as much.”

  They walked further, but before long the crowd thickened ahead. Noise spilled down the street.

  “Lauren, let’s check it out,” Nash suggested, already pushing forward.

  The ne was narrow, but with Nash leading the way, people gave them room. Soon they squeezed through to the front row.

  Lauren blinked in surprise.

  The ones at the center of the commotion were none other than Dante and his group.

  And facing them down… was Timothy.

  They ran into him sooner than expected.

  The man stood like a beacon, radiant as if wreathed in a thousand streams of light, impossible to ignore even in a crowd. He practically demanded attention just by breathing.

  And of course, his voice carried that same arrogance.

  “So, Thunder Sect disciples,” Timothy sneered, “you’ve already lost to me once, and you still won’t call me Senior Brother?”

  Among cultivators, there was an unspoken rule: peers of the same generation and realm addressed the strongest as Senior Brother or Senior Sister. Those who were direct disciples followed strict ranking by seniority, but when equals cshed, martial strength decided who stood higher.

  Three years ago, Timothy had defeated Dante and his companions. According to the rules, they should have swallowed their pride and called him Senior Brother. But the man’s smugness had been unbearable. They refused—and Timothy never let them forget it.

  “Damn it,” Nash muttered, face red with anger. “Look at him—he’s not here for respect, he’s here to humiliate us.”

  Before Dante could stop him, Nash strode forward.

  “You’re so strong, huh? Fine, I’ll call you Senior Brother.”

  Timothy turned his cold gaze on him. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

  “Nash. Thunder Sect.”

  Timothy scoffed, his lip curling. “Nash? Never heard of you. Some nobody who couldn’t even earn a pce in Thunder Sect’s core has no right to speak to me. Get lost.”

  “You—!” Nash’s fists clenched.

  “Nash, step aside.” Dante’s voice was low, steady.

  For three years, Timothy’s victory had gnawed at him, festering like a demon in his heart. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that smirk. If he didn’t settle this here and now, he feared it would poison his path forward, perhaps even cripple his future Core Formation.

  “Timothy,” Dante said, forcing the words out, “you want me to call you Senior Brother? Fine. But only if you can beat me again. Do you have the guts to fight me?”

  For a moment, Timothy blinked in surprise—then he threw his head back and ughed.

  “You? Challenge me? Hahaha! What, you didn’t learn your lesson three years ago?”

  “What’s wrong?” Dante shot back. “Afraid?”

  “Afraid?” Timothy smirked, eyes narrowing. “Hardly. I’m just wondering if you’ll be able to crawl into the Hidden Mist Secret Realm afterward. If you’re too broken to go, your sect’s elders might try to pin it on me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dante said coldly. “This challenge is mine alone. It has nothing to do with Thunder Sect.”

  Timothy’s grin widened. “Good. At least you’ve grown a backbone. Where do you want to fight?”

  Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd. Someone shouted, “The hilltop opposite the town! There’s a big clearing there!”

  Voices rose in agreement, and the crowd surged with anticipation.

  Meanwhile, the Thunder Sect disciples were nearly frantic.

  “Brother Dante, don’t! He’s baiting you. He wants this!”

  “If you get injured, you won’t be able to enter the Secret Realm. Think about it—without you, Thunder Sect will have no one to lead us. A hundred years of waiting, wasted!”