Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation
146. Friends to Enemy’s

Tian Li clenched her hands so tightly that her nails pierced her palms, drawing blood.

A crumbling sound—like stone grinding to dust—snapped her attention sideways. Her master’s chair was disintegrating into powder as the woman stood abruptly, unleashing her cultivation base and making the pavilion tremble.

“Master?” Tian Li called, startled—before remembering that Jin Shu was technically her master’s son. Seeing him injured so severely must have been a shock. Still, Martial Aunt Mei’er hadn’t looked concerned—at least, not until Tian Li noticed the white-knuckled grip on her armrest and the tremble in her leg.

“Hmph! Sit down. Your shaking is disturbing my sleep,” Grand Elder Feng snapped without opening her eyes.

Chen Ai Yun turned with a tight smile. “My apologies.” She bowed and withdrew her leaking qi.

With a wave, the Grand Elder reclined and fell asleep instantly.

By then, the illusionary screen shifted, revealing Elder Di Ti. Tian Li’s heart lifted at the sight of her—she had always been fond of Elder Di Ti, the first to care for her when she joined the sect years ago.

But today, the usual warmth did little to soothe her. She was still worried about Jin Shu.

Di Ti wore a solemn expression, so unlike her usual lighthearted demeanor. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, she sighed deeply.

“Bing Hou and Jin Shu showed true grit and determination in their match—and that deserves praise. But even though we cultivators fight against the heavens, risking our lives at every turn, that does not mean we should throw them away for pride or petty gains. Your lives matter—not just to you, but to those who care for you. Never feel ashamed to set pride aside and survive, even if it means surrendering… or running.”

A hush fell over the crowd, whispers spreading as her words sank in.

Di Ti continued. “The next match begins now. Fight with everything you have—but remember: your lives matter most.”

Tian Li stood. Her match was the last of the round—against Ling Shi, of all people. She glanced to the side where Ling Shi sat beside her master. The towering woman was hard to miss, though she hadn’t always been so imposing.

Tian Li remembered when they had joined the Immortal Phoenix Sect together as children, both just nine years old. Back then, Ling Shi had been small and shy—far more innocent than Tian Li.

But that changed. Years later, Ling Shi began cultivating a strange hybrid art: a mix of body refinement and dual cultivation. She grew—not just larger, but more cruel.

That wasn’t unusual. Their sect didn’t merely produce cultivators—it bred warriors from blood. Positioned near one of the few paths out of the demon-infested southern region, they were in constant conflict with demonic cultivators. It made them fiercer than those raised inland.

No, it wasn’t Ling Shi’s cruelty that unsettled Tian Li.

It was her habit of treating people like possessions—trophies to display and control.

A thousand thoughts flickered through Tian Li’s mind in a heartbeat. She turned from Ling Shi and walked toward the dueling stage.

She just wanted to get this over with and check on Jin Shu.

As she walked, her steps faltered. She blinked, startled by a sudden realization.

When did Jin Shu become so important to me?

It wasn’t as if worrying would speed up his recovery. Normally, she was pragmatic enough to recognize that, to trust others to care for the wounded. Even during battles with demonic cultivators, she rarely worried when fellow disciples fell. But just the thought of Jin Shu being hurt tugged painfully at her heart.

Is it because I see him as an important friend? She shook her head. No... it’s more than that. Maybe it’s the feelings I have for him?

Her heart had first stirred when she’d seen him disguised as a woman. But that had been simple attraction, nothing more.

When did I actually fall in love…? Did I even fall in love?

She didn’t know—and there was no time to figure it out now. She had reached the stage. It was time to focus.

Lifting her gaze, she arrived just in time to see Ling Shi land on the opposite side of the arena.

Impressive physical strength, Tian Li couldn’t help but think. I wonder whose muscles are harder—hers or Jin Shu’s?

She blinked, startled by the stray thought, and flushed red. Shaking her head quickly, she forced the heat from her cheeks.

“Scared?” Ling Shi scoffed from across the arena. “Don’t worry. I won’t break you… too badly.”

She smirked with cruel amusement.

“You can only blame yourself for what’s about to happen,” Ling Shi continued, voice low and bitter. “At first, I tried being nice—acted demure, even shy. But that look you gave me… like I was an annoying fly? That actually stung.”

Was I too harsh? Tian Li wondered. No. She’s not that same shy, weak child anymore.

A tense silence settled between them, broken only when Elder Li’s voice rang out across the arena. “Are you both ready?”

Both girls nodded. Ling Shi pressed her hands together, beginning the motions for a spirit summoning technique.

“Then—begin!”

The moment the barrier rose, Tian Li acted.

She called upon her spirit without delay, summoning it from the deep recesses of her soul. Unlike those with beast spirits, she didn’t need complex seals or chants—her spirit was a weapon: an embroidery needle.

A thin strand of qi drained from her core, and the needle materialized before her, delicate and gleaming. At a glance, it looked ordinary—small, slender, with a silk thread trailing from its end.

But that was just the surface.

In her eyes, the thread was impossibly long, looping around her body dozens of times in elegant coils. She had tested it before—even a cultivator at the 6th stage of the Spirit Realm could be restrained for a time.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she launched the needle across the stage. It struck the ground beneath Ling Shi’s feet in an instant. To the audience, it likely appeared as though the needle pinned her shadow, locking her down.

But that wasn’t it at all.

Before Ling Shi could complete even half her hand seals, the nearly invisible thread had wrapped tightly around her body, binding her in place. Her expression twisted in confusion and rage as she looked down at herself.

“What is this?” she growled, flexing to break free—but the thread held.

“You’ve already lost,” Tian Li said, calmly stepping forward.

“Hmph! Nothing can bind me!” Ling Shi roared, and a blast of black-and-white energy surged from her dantian.

Her muscles bulged, body swelling until she towered nearly eight feet tall.

The silk thread trembled, then snapped.

“Ah—!”

Pain shot through Tian Li’s head like a hammer blow. The silk was part of her spirit—and her soul. When it broke, she took the backlash directly.

Reeling, she barely registered Ling Shi’s fist hurtling toward her.

Through the haze of pain, she managed to recall her spirit. It returned to her hand and transformed mid-flight into a thin sword—its edges blunt, but its tip razor-sharp.

Just in time, she raised the needle-sword to block. The impact knocked her backward across the stage.

By the time she skidded to a stop, she had recovered enough to think.

The real fight was just beginning.

“Ugh…” Gold groaned as he woke, head pounding like it had been run over by a tank—several times. His body felt distant, numb, and unresponsive.

He tried… and inevitably failed to sit up, so instead turned his neck with effort to get a look at his surroundings. White cloth walls. A tent, probably. Tables lined the perimeter, covered with blood-streaked medical tools: scalpels, forceps, pliers… and others he couldn’t even begin to name.

A woman stood nearby with her back to him. Even without seeing her face, he recognized the black blood phoenix on the back of her white robes.

Nurse Joy as Tian Li called her... or was it Xiyue? 

Same difference, he thought groggily. The headache wasn’t helping.

A moment later, she turned around. A bloody scalpel in one hand, a piece of white cloth in the other. She wiped the blade clean with clinical efficiency—and then flames bloomed from her fingers, curling along the metal in a vivid red glow.

Expressionless, she began walking toward him, the burning blade in hand. Her face was blank—colder than Bing Hou’s ever was.

Gold gulped. Loudly. The sound echoed in the tent’s silence.

“So, you’re awake,” Nurse Xiyue said, standing over his paralyzed body. “This might hurt.”

She slowly reached down, the flaming scalpel lowering toward his face.

He broke out in a cold sweat, trying desperately to move, to roll away—but his body still wouldn’t respond.

“Don’t—”

Hiss!

The scalpel dropped into a jar beside the cot, steam rising from whatever liquid filled it. Then, without a word, she lifted his upper body and propped him into a sitting position.

“—ugh!” The motion sent pain shooting through his numb limbs, sharp enough to make his eyes water.

He glanced down at his aching body—and frozen in shock.

Shit!