The Path No One Saw

Chapter 14: The Duel No One Expected

While the Wu Clan's outer training field buzzed with rising excitement—disciples whispering rumors of the unexpected duel, elders exchanging wary glances—inside a quiet hall behind veiled curtains, a very different storm was brewing.

The pale light of late morning filtered in through gauzy paper windows. Dust motes floated like drifting petals in the still air. In that silence, Su Qing's voice rang out, sharp and trembling.

"How can you allow this, Lin? He's just a child! And you want him to fight a level three Body Tempering cultivator? Are you insane? Have you ever seen someone at level one win such a fight?"

Her eyes blazed with fury, but her hands trembled as they gripped the edge of the low table. The sleeves of her lavender robe trembled slightly with her breath.

Wu Lin, robed in muted bluish-gray, stood with arms folded behind his back. He faced the incense brazier, its thin smoke curling into the rafters like a trail of old thoughts. His posture was still, but a flicker of fatigue danced across his eyes—fatigue not of the body, but of the spirit.

"It wasn't me who asked Yuan'er to do this," he said at last, voice low, almost unreadable.

Su Qing's jaw tightened. "But it was you who proposed this challenge, wasn't it? You—" Her voice cracked, grief breaking through the armor of anger. "You're his father…"

There was a long, quiet pause. Only the faint crackle of burning incense dared break the silence.

Wu Lin turned, slowly, and met her gaze. His eyes—dark as storm clouds on a winter morning—held an odd mix of steel and regret.

"Do you know he wants to go to Wu City?"

Su Qing blinked. The words caught her off guard. "What?"

"He asked me for permission," Wu Lin said, each word slow and weighted. "But he hasn't reached the required level. The rules are clear—only those at the fourth stage of Body Tempering or above may leave the clan grounds without supervision."

He stepped closer, his shadow falling across her folded hands.

"And more importantly, Yuan'er is no longer at the first level."

Su Qing's breath caught.

"He's broken through to the second level of the Body Tempering Realm."

Silence exploded in her ears like thunder.

Second level? Her lips parted, but no sound came. Just days ago... he was still limping. Still weak. Still... her fragile son.

Wu Lin's voice softened.

"He challenged this fight on his own. Not for pride. For preparation. If he truly wants to walk the path he's chosen, he must face the world sooner than others. You've seen it too. He's... different."

Different.

Yes. She had seen it. The light behind his eyes, the silent hours he spent sitting beneath the spirit tree, as still as stone and yet burning with quiet will.

But she shook her head, slowly, pain brimming in her gaze.

"He's still my son. Not a soldier. Not a weapon."

She rose to her feet, chin trembling, and when she next spoke, her voice dropped to a whisper—brittle and low as falling leaves.

"If anything happens to Yuan'er because of this—if he gets hurt, Lin, I swear on my bloodline... I will not forgive you."

She didn't wait for a reply.

The silk hem of her robes brushed the floor as she turned sharply and strode toward the door. With a soft click, it closed behind her.

But the air remained heavy—thick with the scent of lotus incense and the weight of unsaid words.

By midday, the entire Wu Clan knew.

Word spread like a fire fed by wind—first to the stewards who managed the duel registration boards, then to the outer disciples, then across the inner courtyard where gossip clung to every spirit well like ivy.

Wu Yuan—the once-hopeless heir, the boy once whispered to be rootless—had challenged Wu Lu to a duel.

And not just any duel.

Wu Lu, one of the top three talents from the same batch as Wu Feiyan, stood at the third level of Body Tempering and was widely regarded as the next likely candidate to join the elite rankings.

The initial reaction was disbelief.

Then came laughter.

"Has he gone mad?"

"He was a cripple three years! Maybe all that silence scrambled his brains."

Some snickered cruelly. Others shook their heads, too confused to form an opinion.

Only a few paused longer, their expressions turning thoughtful. Among them were elders who had seen Wu Yuan train under the morning mist—quietly, without fanfare, his movements slow but deliberate.

Even they thought it must be symbolic. A test, perhaps. A gesture.

No one—not even those who handled the duel registry—believed the boy would survive two rounds.

And yet...

He would.

That evening, in a quiet wing of the elder courtyard, Su Qing sat alone.

A single lantern lit the chamber. Its golden glow spilled over scroll racks and casting shadows like claws along the walls. The faint scent of lotus incense clung to the air, but the tea at her side had long gone cold.

She hadn't spoken since her argument with Wu Lin. Hadn't touched her food. The silence pressed against her chest like a weight.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached forward, then stopped halfway. She bowed her head.

"This isn't a duel," she whispered.

"It's a public execution."

The sun had not yet risen, but the training grounds were already overflowing.

Disciples packed the outer benches shoulder to shoulder, their breaths misting in the morning chill. Elders stood on the stone terrace above, their robes rustling faintly in the wind. Even kitchen staff and stewards had found excuses to sneak in.

Few came to see a battle.

Most came to see a boy fall.

Wu Tianhai stood near the edge of the terrace, arms folded behind his back. His sharp eyes swept over the crowd, then down to the raised dueling platform.

He said nothing.

Wu Yuan arrived with no fanfare.

No guards flanking him. No cheering juniors. No special clan robes.

He walked onto the dueling stage in simple training clothes—faded gray with threadbare cuffs. His hair was tied back plainly. His hands were empty. But his spine was straight.

And his expression... utterly calm.

As if the thousands of eyes watching meant nothing.

As if the mountain of expectation—and ridicule—rested lightly on his shoulders.

Somewhere in the crowd, a disciple gasped.

Then came the whisper.

"Wait... that pressure. Is he already level two?"

Like a stone dropped into still water, the reaction spread instantly.

"It can't be."

"He just awakened ten days ago!"

"How is that possible?!"

Elder Tianhai's brow lifted slightly. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, tapping a single finger against his folded arms.

Wu Yuan stood still. His gaze calm, feet apart, body balanced—not with polished form, but with... purpose.

Across the platform, Wu Lu stepped forward.

Tall and confident, he wore the light-blue uniform that symbolized the Wu Clan's rising generation. Bronze embroidery lined his sleeves—a clear mark of a distinguished talent among the younger disciples.

He paused to offer a polite bow toward the elders.

Then locked eyes with Wu Yuan.

He smiled slightly. Not mockingly—but with assurance.

A predator greeting a sheep brave enough to enter the den.

But before the duel could begin, a voice rang out from the elder platform.

Cold. Calm. Cutting.

Wu Lin had risen from his seat, arms behind his back.

"You don't need to go easy on him."

All eyes turned.

"This is not a staged performance. If he gets hurt, no one will hold it against you."

Wu Lu blinked, caught off guard.

He hesitated, then gave a respectful bow.

But confusion flickered in his eyes.

Wu Lin turned his head slightly, voice now lowered to those near him.

"Let's see if he can back up all this talk. Reckless brat… if he wants to leap ahead, let him face the fall."

The overseer elder raised a hand.

The duel had begun.

Wu Lu moved first.A single step.His body, tempered over the past year, exploded into motion—clean, precise, and refined through countless hours of training. Every movement spoke of discipline, of strength forged through repetition and hardened by experience.

His fist lashed out.

Fast. Heavy. Sharp like a spear thrust.

Wu Yuan twisted.

Just barely.

The strike grazed past his shoulder, brushing his sleeve.

The next blow came. Wu Yuan blocked it—awkwardly—with the flat of his palm.

His posture was off. His stance, a little too wide. His footwork, stiff.

But he didn't fall.

Strike after strike followed. Blindingly fast punches. Low kicks meant to break rhythm. A feint toward the neck, then a real attack to the knee.

And Wu Yuan...

Blocked.

Parried.

Endured.

Not with style. Not with speed.

"How is that possible?"

"Wu Lu only awakened last year, and he's already at the third level of Body Tempering! He's one of the Wu Clan's top ten young talents—maybe even top three!"

Across the platform, Wu Lu's brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his confident expression.

He pivoted. Changed rhythm. Faster arcs, more pressure.

Wu Yuan stumbled once.

Then again.

But each time, he caught himself faster.

Adjusted.

Corrected.

His block changed. A misstep turned into a counterbalance.

A stumble became a springboard.

Elder Tianhai's gaze sharpened.

He was watching not a battle...

But a lesson.

A student learning, moment by moment, each movement refined not through years of form—but through the sheer clarity of instinct and adaptation.

Wu Lu spun into a sharp heel kick.

Wu Yuan didn't dodge.

He stepped in—low, sudden—and drove his elbow upward into Wu Lu's ribs.

A thump.

Wu Lu staggered.

Gasps filled the stands.

But Wu Yuan didn't chase.

He waited.

Eyes steady.

Breath slow.

When Wu Lu attacked again, Wu Yuan met him head-on.

A palm strike.

A pivot.

Another blow.

Clean. Measured. No wasted movement.

Every exchange more controlled than the last.

Wu Lin's expression slowly shifted from cold scrutiny to... silence.

Wu Yuan's final strike landed—a straight, clean palm to Wu Lu's chest.

The ranked disciple flew backward, hitting the platform hard.

And for a long, frozen moment... no one moved.

No one cheered.

Because they didn't know how to react.

The duel that was supposed to end in embarrassment...

Had ended in dominance.

Wu Yuan stood over Wu Lu.

Chest rising and falling slowly.

No arrogance in his stance.

No triumph.

Just composure.

As if this was always the outcome he had prepared for.

Elder Tianhai whispered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

"This... isn't normal talent. This is something else entirely."

Wu Lin remained silent.

But deep in his eyes, behind the stillness...

Something stirred.

A weight that had long rested upon his heart now shifted—just slightly.

This wasn't the same boy from three years ago.

Not even the same one from ten days ago.

This was the beginning.

The moment the clan would remember for years to come.