71. Striking Down the Power of Love with an Inverted Triangle Frame

The fighters file onto the platform. Eight of them. Two immediately stand out—their robes bear the same emblem, a crane with its wings spread wide. The Purple Crane Sect. A medium-sized sect, by the standards of this tournament, but clearly an organization that has produced two competent disciples who reached this far.

The crowd murmurs. I hear fragments of conversation.

“That is not fair. Two from the same sect in a free-for-all.”

“The bracket should have separated them.”

The complaints are justified. Two cultivators who trust one another are more than the sum of their parts. A coordinated pair can control the flow of a group fight, isolate opponents, cover each other’s weaknesses.

I activate the Gaze.

The crowd expects the Purple Crane pair to dominate, and the odds reflect that. Bao Gantian’s odds are longer than they should be. Not as long as before, his previous matches have earned him some recognition, but still longer than the two. I look at Ling’er. She is staring at Bao Gantian, her eyes intense, almost ignoring the Purple Crane disciples entirely.

‘He will win.’

I can say that confidently. He has been hiding his true strength longer than anyone in this tournament.

The match begins.

The pair move immediately. They separate, positioning themselves on opposite sides of the platform, creating two hemispheres of control. Any fighter who enters one hemisphere must contend with one Purple Crane. Any fighter who tries to cross the center must contend with both. It is effective. A spearman charges Wei Jiang. Liu An appears behind him, blades flashing. The spearman falls in seconds. Another user of the spear, defeated and so callously thrown to the side.

A woman with fire techniques tries to zone them from range. The pair close the distance together, their movements synchronized, and she is eliminated before she can launch a second attack. I watch them work and feel a familiar unease. Their coordination is intuitive; they do not need to signal, they simply know where the other will be.

‘This is what teamwork looks like when it is done right.’

I think of my own disciples. They have trained together. They have fought together. But they do not move like this. They do not trust each other like this. If the sect is ever attacked, they will need to fight as a unit. I make that a goal for when I return. Another item for the list.

On the other side of the platform, Bao Gantian fights alone. He does not seek allies or try to coordinate. He simply defends his position and punishes anyone who comes too close. A fighter tries to flank him. Bao pivots, his massive sword swinging in a wide arc. The fighter jumps back, barely avoiding the blade. Bao stays where he is, waiting. Another fighter, overconfident from an easy elimination, charges him head-on. Bao meets the charge. His sword crashes into the fighter’s weapon, shattering it. The fighter stares at the broken pieces in his hands. Bao punches him in the chest. The fighter flies across the platform, hits the barrier, and slides to the ground.

‘Bao Gantian is picking his spots, conserving his energy, letting the Purple Crane disciples eliminate the weaker fighters while he preserves himself for the confrontation to come.’

I am impressed. When it comes to tactical thinking against multiple opponents, Bao Gantian likely surpasses Mu Jianyu. Mu Jianyu was a duelist, excellent at analyzing a single opponent, less effective when surrounded. Bao is a brawler. He understands positioning, angles, and the geometry of the platform far better than he did.

But understanding does not mean easy. The other fighters have realized, slowly, that Bao is a bigger threat than he lets on. Multiple fighters try to keep their distance, pelting him with ranged techniques while the Purple Crane disciples close in on the stragglers. He takes hits: a fireball to the shoulder, a wind blade across his back. He grunts, but he refuses to fall, minimizing damage to vitals.

The pair finish the last of the other fighters. The platform is empty except for them and Bao.

Two against one.

The Purple Crane disciples do not hesitate; they attack together, from opposite sides, their blades flashing in the hard light. Their teamwork is seamless: Wei Jiang thrusts high, Liu An cuts low. Bao blocks the high thrust with his sword. He cannot block the low cut. It scores across his thigh and he stumbles. The two press their advantage, attacking in tandem, forcing him to defend on two fronts. His sword is massive, powerful, but slow compared to theirs. Cuts accumulate. He is forced backward toward the barrier, and his eyes narrow in frustration. I lean forward in anticipation, wondering how he plans on getting out of this. With what he’s shown so far, I know it won’t be enough to deal with their teamwork.

‘Show me! Show me what it means to have a B-grade constitution in this bracket!’

“Ha…”

Bao Gantian exhales.

Red mist appears. Just faint steam rising from his skin, curling off his shoulders like smoke from dying embers. His thick frame tightens. The softness around his jaw recedes. His breathing changes—a low, guttural hiss, like air escaping from a pressurized chamber. The veins along his forearms darken. His fingers tighten around the sword grip until the leather creaks.

‘There! He’s revealing it! His trump card!’

The crowd stirs.

“What technique is that?”

“Blood art?”

“Demonic! A demonic cultivator in our midst!”

Wei Jiang and Liu An sense the danger immediately. They attack together, hoping to end it quickly. Bao Gantian doesn’t move, seemingly focused on his breathing as the red mist intensifies. Wei Jiang’s thrust lands against Bao’s guard and stops as if it has struck a wall. Liu An’s slash cuts across his ribs, but the blade skids through red mist and only draws a shallow line.

“What?!”

Bao backhands Wei Jiang.

Wei Jiang raises his sword in time, but the impact still sends him skidding three steps across the platform, boots carving lines into the stone.

“Senior Brother!”

“I’m fine,” Wei Jiang says, though his arm is trembling. The area Bao struck was dented inward.

He is already changing tactics. I see it in his stance. His weight shifts forward, too far forward. His guard opens by half an inch. A deliberate flaw. I see it immediately.

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‘He plans to draw Bao’s attention, take the hit, and create an opening for Liu An to advance.’

Stupid, but commendable. Then Liu An moves. Not to take the opening, but to create one of her own. She angles left, exposing her right side in a way no competent fighter would unless she wanted Bao to see it. Her blade dips, her footwork widens, and suddenly I understand.

She is trying to do the exact same thing.

I close my eyes for half a breath.

‘Ah. These two idiots.’

They shout at the same time.

“Junior Sister, go!”

“Senior Brother, go!”

Both of them freeze. The synchronization that made them so effective moments ago becomes a trap. For half a heartbeat, neither attacks. Neither retreats. Their blades hang in the air, and the entire platform seems to pause around the shape of everything they have not said. Bao Gantian stands between them, red mist curling from his shoulders. It seems every breath he takes gives the Blood Furnace more time to burn, and he’s content with letting them concede their tactical advantage.

Wei Jiang’s sword lowers by a fraction.

“Junior Sister,” Wei Jiang says, voice tight. “You must advance.”

Liu An’s eyes widen. Her voice cracks.

“I… wanted the same for you.”

I hear a sound beside me. Sniffling. I turn. Ling’er’s eyes are shining. Her lips are pressed together. Her hands are clasped in her lap.

Bao Gantian breaks the silence. The red mist continues to pour off him. His voice is flat. Practical. Sincere, in the way of someone who genuinely does not understand why anyone would pause a fight for this.

“… Are you finished?”

The Purple Crane pair turn toward him. Embarrassment flashes across their faces, followed by fury. They attack.

Their coordination becomes sharper now. No longer just fighting together, but fighting for each other. Every strike covers the other’s weakness. Every retreat opens a path for the other’s advance. The moment of confession didn’t distract them. It made them even stronger. I watch and feel a strange admiration.

‘Love, alongside teamwork apparently, is a combat multiplier.’