The moonlight washed over the entire base of the Rookie Competition, bathing the area in a soft glow, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of insects.

Qin Fen immersed himself completely in the [Wu] Manual. At this moment, he barely needed to control the True Qi within his body; it pulsed and vibrated precisely along the meridians illustrated in the book's diagrams.

Though it was merely a book, Qin Fen felt as if he were being personally guided by a Grandmaster. The True Qi inside him had truly "come alive"!

This was resonance, a sensation only experienced during true enlightenment. Qin Fen forgot everything, his limbs and posture mirroring the small figures in the text without conscious direction.

Bai Sheng stood with his eyes closed, sensing everything around Qin Fen's room, listening to the fluctuations of True Qi caused by the punches thrown and kicks delivered within.

A faint, appreciative smile touched his lips. Controlling the shockwaves of True Qi demanded rigorous discipline; even he, at the Ten-Star level, might not have possessed better control than this young man at Eight-Star.

Zhao Huzi leaned against the wall, absorbing the power emanating from Qin Fen's sparring next door. He held a bottle of Erguotou, draining it in one gulp. The fiery heat blasted down his esophagus, sending a wave of invigorating comfort through the General.

"Infrared sensors cannot penetrate the curtains of Qin Fen's room."

"Anti-acoustic detectors have been placed near Qin Fen's quarters..."

"Approach to Qin Fen's room is impossible..."

Wula Hu reviewed the data submitted by various teams, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Why was East Asia's security so tight? It hadn't been this secretive just a few days ago. What exactly were they doing?

The dark night quickly passed. In the blink of an eye, the sun crested the horizon.

The African teams assigned to monitor Qin Fen had already withdrawn. Wula Hu remained baffled. What on earth had Qin Fen been doing all night?

Pushing open his door, Qin Fen looked up, unsurprised, to see Bai Sheng approaching from the far end of the corridor.

"Good morning, Sir."

Standing ten meters apart, Qin Fen executed a deep, respectful bow as the junior.

"En."

Bai Sheng passed by Qin Fen with an impassive face, extending his index and middle fingers outwards to pluck the [Wu] Manual from Qin Fen’s grasp.

There were no extra words of thanks, nor were they needed. For men, the truest expression of gratitude often required no verbal acknowledgment.

Qin Fen bowed deeply again toward Bai Sheng’s not particularly tall back. As he straightened, he heard Bai Sheng's parting words: "Fight well. I won't leave until I've watched your match today."

"En."

Qin Fen straightened his spine and headed toward the mess hall. Today’s round—the Sweet Sixteen moving into the Elite Eight—was a grueling schedule for any young rookie.

For the audience, a schedule where the outcome was unpredictable was the most captivating.

The eighty-thousand-seat stadium was already completely full by the time Qin Fen finished his breakfast; many people had even bought standing-room tickets.

On the massive projection screens, highlights of the sixteen remaining rookies from the Sixty-Four and Thirty-Two rounds played on repeat, with Qin Fen’s footage drawing the most attention.

Besides Qin Fen, Xue Tian was another major attraction. This young man, who had advanced easily in both previous rounds, had his move—the fiercely deadly “Thousand Blades Never Sever the Mountains and Rivers”—become one of the most frequently replayed segments.

On several smaller screens flanking the main display, the betting odds for the Sixteen-to-Eight matches were scrolling.

As the first rookie scheduled to fight, Xue Tian’s name appeared at the top of the odds board, but his numbers were incomprehensible to many.

Before using “Thousand Blades Never Sever the Mountains and Rivers,” Xue Tian’s odds of winning were only 1.15 to 1, while his odds of losing were 2 to 1.

Yet, after he unleashed his ultimate move and seemed to challenge fate, his odds of winning actually shifted to 2 to 1, and his odds of losing dropped to 1.5 to 1.

Many suspected the organizing committee had made a mistake and rushed to inquire. The answer they received was firm: no error had been made.

The audience could not fathom it. Why would the committee, which favored Xue Tian before he displayed his true strength, suddenly bet against him after he used his signature move provocatively? Everyone assumed they predicted his defeat.

Just as confusion peaked, a stunning piece of insider information broke: a spectator swore they saw Xue Tian last night carrying tens of thousands in cash to a betting station, placing it all on himself to lose!

The competition rules did not prohibit participating martial artists from placing bets. Under the gaze of tens of thousands of spectators, any man with a shred of dignity would hesitate to deliberately lose a match for a small wager.

Xue Tian, however, was an exception! Anyone who had watched him compete in this tournament knew this. To put it kindly, the man possessed a free-wheeling, detached style, unafraid of public opinion.

To put it less kindly, Xue Tian possessed an extraordinary thick skin. Throwing a fight for profit in a martial competition—something others wouldn't dare—was exactly the kind of outrageous thing he might do.

The staff at the committee's betting kiosks could only watch in exasperation as Xue Tian’s odds appeared on the big screen. This young man had bet on his own defeat with such swagger, he might as well have stripped naked and wagered his underwear.

With such audacious behavior, who would dare set his loss odds at 2 to 1?

As soon as the news spread, even more people rushed to bet on Xue Tian losing. The committee was forced to temporarily revise the odds again. His odds of defeat plummeted to a mere 0.35 to 1, while his odds of victory soared to an astonishing 5 to 1.

Kaitian Brooks entered the stadium, pausing abruptly as he saw the staggering odds displayed on the screen.

Qin Fen turned back, staring toward Lin Liqiang and Inzarota in a corner of the stands, shaking his head internally. Old Yin, he thought, had been badly influenced by Lin Liqiang and Xue Tian.

Bai Sheng was equally stunned by the projection screen. What was going on with these odds? Kaitian Brooks was certainly a strong young man, but he, like Xue Tian, had received an invitation from the [Sacred Martial Hall].

Curious! Bai Sheng looked at Brooks sitting in the competitor's section. Brooks was also someone he had personally invited; while perhaps not as astonishingly talented as Qin Fen, he was still a promising talent.

But that didn't mean Brooks was guaranteed to beat Xue Tian! Bai Sheng recalled that while he hadn't personally scouted Xue Tian, the available data suggested today’s fight should have been a fierce contest, not one where Brooks held an overwhelming advantage.

A sudden roar erupted from the audience, causing Bai Sheng to realize the focus of the commotion was Qin Fen.

Throughout the many days of the Rookie Competition, regardless of whether he was the crowd favorite, Qin Fen’s popularity had reached its zenith.

Especially yesterday, when he carried the one-ton Thunder Cloud Storm like a barbarian from a fantasy novel, using the most violent and direct method to instantly crush the elite American rookies, forcing them to forfeit. Even the young female fans cheering for Caesar and his cohort had to give a second look to this East Asian rookie who, though not conventionally handsome at first glance, exuded a rugged masculinity upon closer inspection.

Qin Fen was startled by the clamor. Seeing the enthusiastic crowd greeting him along the corridor, he nodded repeatedly while quickly exiting the passage.

Swish, swish, swish!

Hundreds of sharp gazes fixed upon him from all directions. Beneath the lively cheering, a dense, oppressive atmosphere settled.

Qin Fen walked forward without looking aside, absorbing the hostile looks cast by rookies from various continents, and calmly took his seat.

Amidst the hundreds of adversarial stares, several flickered with surprise.

Caesar narrowed his eyes at Qin Fen, his long eyelashes twitching slightly as he let out a soft sound of curiosity: "Oh?"

Almost simultaneously, Brooks, Yang Lie, Solomon, and others squinted, focusing intently on Qin Fen.

Was it an illusion? Caesar fell into deep thought. Why did he suddenly feel that this man had become exponentially stronger overnight?

Bai Sheng nodded slightly. It seemed Qin Fen had indeed grasped a significant portion of the essence within the [Wu] Manual during the night.

Lin Ling stared fixedly at the arena, showing no interest in his upcoming opponent, acting as if nothing in the world concerned him. This sheer composure made the hearts of the other young martial artists pound. To ignore the current Qin Fen—what kind of mindset and strength did that require?

Brooks and Yang Lie exchanged puzzled glances. Was Qin Fen intentionally releasing his powerful aura to intimidate others, boosting his own presence?

"Hey!" Xue Tian's loud voice broke the speculation among the assembled experts. "Brooks, it makes sense for others to worry about Old Qin; they might actually face him. But you, you don't need to concern yourself with Qin Fen's issues. Today, your run ends in the Sweet Sixteen."

The American rookies suddenly stood up in unison, dozens of angry eyes seeming ready to pierce Xue Tian from every angle.

"End in the Sweet Sixteen?" Brooks slowly rose from his seat, straightening his chest. "Xue Tian, do you know the title people gave me? Kaitian—Heaven Opener!"

Xue Tian smiled, his eyes narrowing into two beautiful crescent moons as his Iaijutsu sword spun lightly in his palm. "But this piece of heaven isn't so easily opened, you know."

A beautiful smile! Even from an opponent's perspective, Brooks had to admit Xue Tian's smile was stunning—a calm, confident grin laced with a touch of cunning and a hint of arrogance.

"Is that so?" Brooks slowly spread his arms, his languid posture immediately drawing screams from countless young women in the stands. A sound of shifting joints slowly echoed as his ten fingers decisively clenched into his palms, compressing the air until it cracked like an explosion from a dropped lighter hitting a wall.