After Becoming a High-Risk Master, I Flipped the Script Chapter 10

The third-place match came first. This time, the person who had once fought Mo Xuanli didn’t persist stubbornly to the end—just a few moves in, he couldn’t continue. Clearly, his previous match had drained him too much, greatly affecting his performance.

Watching this, Gu Baiqing suddenly felt a strange unease.

The final match for first and second place was arranged closest to the viewing platform. As Mo Xuanli walked over, Gu Baiqing could clearly see his face.

His complexion was poor, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line—it seemed he still hadn’t recovered.

The two stepped forward and bowed to those seated on the high platform.

When Mo Xuanli raised his head, his gaze locked straight onto Gu Baiqing. His black eyes were deep, as if concealing some thought.

Gu Baiqing felt he was about to speak, but in the end, he said nothing. His clear eyes no longer held gentle affection, but rather a cold, resolute sharpness.

The two stood up, just about to begin, when Zhao An suddenly raised the standard-issued wooden sword and shouted loudly:

“Mo Xuanli, today I will defeat you and prove that Elder Luofeng was wrong to take you in! Compared to you, I am the one most qualified to be Elder Luofeng’s personal disciple!”

The entire audience erupted in an uproar.

Mo Xuanli’s cold gaze instantly took on a murderous edge.

On the high platform, the others glanced at Gu Baiqing with varying degrees of awkwardness. Someone even joked, “Elder Luofeng is still as popular as ever—everyone wants to be your disciple. Why not just take on another one, haha.”

“Yes, Fourth Junior Brother has always been the most popular. Precisely because he rarely accepts disciples, scarcity makes things more valuable,” Fu Zhiyi said with a smile, helping to smooth things over. “It’s just some harsh words between young people before a match, no need to take it to heart.”

Fu Zhiyi knew that Gu Baiqing was unwilling to take on disciples, and naturally even more unwilling to be put in a situation like this, where it felt like public coercion.

“But what if Mo Xuanli really loses?” Elder Zhao hinted.

Gu Baiqing wasn’t having it. He replied directly, “If he loses, then he loses. He can just keep training harder—what’s the big deal? Who among us didn’t grow by losing?”

Hmph, just wait—when he wins later, it’ll slap your faces.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere below the stage had already reached a fever pitch.

“Mo Xuanli, if you lose, you’re not qualified to keep being his disciple. Get out now and make room for me.”

“You’re not worthy.” Mo Xuanli clenched his teeth, his expression cold—he was truly angry. He raised his wooden sword, its blade already a bit battered. Compared to Zhao An’s still-intact wooden sword, it looked as if it might snap at any second—clear proof that his earlier opponents had gone all out against him.

At the command, the match began.

The two leapt forward in an instant, attacking and counterattacking. Their wooden swords, wrapped in spiritual energy, flashed with different lights and clashed with sharp ka-ka sounds.

After dozens of moves, the two seemed evenly matched. Zhao An, who had worn a look of disdain at first, gradually grew grim. He hadn’t expected Mo Xuanli to hold his own this long. But he could feel Mo Xuanli’s spiritual energy thinning—clearly at the end of his rope. If he just held out a bit longer, he could exhaust him to defeat.

Mo Xuanli, of course, knew his own situation. He understood that he had to end this quickly, or his chances of victory would shrink to almost nothing.

The cheers from the crowd were so loud they could have lifted the square’s roof—this was clearly a thrilling match.

“It’s hard to tell who’ll win,” Fu Zhiyi observed intently.

“No… Mo Xuanli’s about to give out,” said Chu Fei instead, still holding the little porcelain bottle Fourth Senior Brother had given him. Realizing how that sounded, he glanced awkwardly at Gu Baiqing.

Gu Baiqing’s expression shifted slightly—he too could see Mo Xuanli was on the verge of collapse.

Right now, Mo Xuanli was recklessly overdrawing his spiritual power just to hang on. This wasn’t good—his spiritual energy hadn’t been fully unleashed. Aside from the unreasonable “recharge” mode of the system that could tap into his latent power, it was almost impossible for Mo Xuanli to use it on his own. Unless the seal broke and released the demonic bloodline within him, he couldn’t access his full strength. Otherwise, this was a self-harming move that could damage his spiritual root.

Was it this hard for him to win in the original text too?

Although Gu Baiqing didn’t fully approve of this approach, he couldn’t step in to stop it.

“He’ll find a way,” Gu Baiqing couldn’t help murmuring, eyes fixed on Mo Xuanli. He believed in him—he would definitely think of something better.

And in that instant, the situation on the field changed completely.

Mo Xuanli dodged a strike, then made as if to flee in a flustered state. Zhao An eagerly chased after him—only to step right into a Four-Direction Trap Formation that suddenly lit up beneath his feet. It turned out that, during the course of their duel, Mo Xuanli had silently set up the array.

Blocked by the formation, Zhao An grew agitated and used his thunder spiritual root to break it with lightning.

The array’s spiritual energy was insufficient and easily shattered. Zhao An stormed out, ready to settle accounts—only to be met head-on by two talismans releasing water-element spells. Because water conducts electricity, Zhao An didn’t dare release lightning carelessly and was forced to take the drenching, ending up like a soaked chicken.

In matches, formations and talismans weren’t forbidden—only spirit-grade artifacts, spirit beasts, or other things that would unfairly skew the fight. Still, few people used them; there was rarely time, and few thought of it.

Now Zhao An was so angry he nearly lost his head. But he overlooked one thing—or rather, no one present had imagined Mo Xuanli could pull this off.

Just as Zhao An was about to strike at Mo Xuanli, his body suddenly froze. His wooden sword veered away, striking at empty air instead. This left the back of his neck and spine completely exposed to Mo Xuanli—one thrust would knock him out and secure victory.

The crowd was stunned, and an uproar broke out among those on the platform.

“What’s going on?!” Elder Zhao barked, springing to his feet.

Fu Zhiyi suddenly burst into laughter. “An illusion! Clever boy!”

Water was the basic medium for illusions—one of the staple spells for disciples with a water spiritual root. Depending on cultivation level, a qi-refining disciple could only make a target see a phantom for an instant, while higher ranks could weave full illusions.

In a match, even an instant of illusion could be decisive.

The crowd was astonished—wasn’t this boy supposed to have wind and fire roots?

He actually knew how to use water techniques, and had even mastered illusion spells?

By now, everyone on the high platform had caught on.

They looked at Mo Xuanli with eyes full of surprise and admiration.

Gu Baiqing, once he processed it, felt his blood stir.

First he trapped Zhao An with a formation, then used the visual blind spot while Zhao An broke free to launch a talisman attack. Next, he exploited the water from the talismans to trigger an illusion. Step after step, each move set up the next—even if Zhao An had stayed calm, he might not have had the wits or time to counter it all.

With his spiritual energy and stamina running low, Mo Xuanli had used every skill he knew to create a single, decisive opening.

No other young disciple present could have done this—not just because none had studied so many paths, but because no one else could have devised such a brilliant strategy in such a short exchange.

What an extraordinary person—Gu Baiqing felt as though he had stumbled on a treasure of a disciple. His blood boiled with excitement, and pride welled up inside him.

Everyone was now waiting for Mo Xuanli to land the winning blow.

Even though the illusion lasted only a heartbeat, by the time Zhao An saw clearly, his chance was gone. Mo Xuanli’s sword was already swinging toward him. Zhao An desperately dodged and brought up his wooden sword in a weak, awkward block—one that would certainly fail to stop the strike.

There was a loud bang as the wooden swords, both wrapped in spiritual power, clashed.

Then came a sharp crack—something unexpected had happened.

Mo Xuanli stared in disbelief as the wooden sword in his hand once again snapped cleanly into two pieces. Zhao An’s wooden sword came sweeping sideways, striking Mo Xuanli squarely in the chest.

At the critical moment, it was already too late for Mo Xuanli to retreat. In front of him was Zhao An’s face, alight with joy. Seizing the opportunity, Zhao An leapt up in an instant, his sword aura carrying the force of thunder as it swung toward Mo Xuanli.

Mo Xuanli tried to block with the broken sword, but he could no longer gather any spiritual power—his earlier chain of moves had completely drained his reserves.

In a heartbeat, the situation reversed. Mo Xuanli was knocked flat to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth.

He barely managed to roll aside, avoiding the second strike, but there was no escaping the one that followed.

His body moved on instinct to avoid danger; he felt the urge to erupt with something… but alongside it came a deep sense of foreboding, his reason resisting it.

Then Zhao An kicked him away.

“Do you admit defeat? Do you?”

Flat on the ground, Mo Xuanli lifted his head with difficulty and caught sight of a dark silhouette high on the platform. His eyes were blurred, clouded with the blood from his mouth, but somehow that shadow gave him strength.

“I do not!”

Mo Xuanli ignored the strange power roiling inside him, beckoning him to use it. He would rely on what his master had taught him—he would rely on himself to win.

Even with his spiritual power exhausted, he still wanted to fight. But in the face of such a huge gap in power, he was struck down again, spitting blood.

Voices from below urged him to surrender, but he refused to nod. In the haze of his fading consciousness, his head drooped limply toward the edge of the arena, by chance giving him an upside-down view of the high platform.

His gaze still struggled to focus on one spot—messy, pained.

Was his master watching him? Was his master disappointed?

Zhao An sneered, raising his wooden sword to strike again. But then, flying straight toward him, came a white porcelain bottle. Zhao An ignored it—he had already formed the intent to kill, planning to seize the chance to “accidentally” finish off this eyesore.

Mo Xuanli felt the killing intent—too familiar, this nearness to death. He wanted to run, to dodge; he didn’t want to die. But he could no longer move at all, not even open his mouth.

Those watching below were terrified, especially those who knew Mo Xuanli. Instinctively, they cast pleading looks toward Gu Baiqing, seated high on the platform.

But Mo Xuanli’s master remained seated, lifting an arm slightly but making no move to approach.

Instead, another figure moved with the porcelain bottle—catching it in one hand, and in the other sending a spell straight at Zhao An. A gust of wind drove Zhao An back several steps, forcing him to halt.

“You’ve already won—do you still want to kill?”

“Elder Chunyang, you misunderstand,” Zhao An replied. “He refused to admit defeat, so I could only keep fighting. I only meant to knock him out and end it.” Knowing he’d missed his chance, Zhao An reluctantly backed down.

Chu Fei snorted coldly and shot an impatient glance at the young page nearby.

The boy jumped as if waking from a daze and quickly shouted, “The match is over—the winner is Zhao An!”

It had been a thrilling fight; moments ago, the crowd had almost forgotten to breathe. What a pity for Mo Xuanli—he had been so close. Wooden sword against wooden sword, the real contest came down to spiritual power. A broken sword only meant one’s power was inferior. Zhao An’s spiritual power was indeed formidable—enough to break his opponent’s weapon. Truly, he was one of the most outstanding talents of his generation. If not for the huge difference in reserves, Mo Xuanli would surely have won given the situation just before.

By now, Yun Yue and Tang Yu had rushed up.

Yun Yue fed an unconscious Mo Xuanli a pill, while Tang Yu glared furiously at Zhao An.

Zhao An, unfazed, looked up toward Gu Baiqing on the platform. “Elder Luofeng, you saw it—I won. You should take me as your disciple.”

Gu Baiqing’s expression remained unreadable as he gazed down. Chu Fei had been about to complain about his fourth senior brother snatching and throwing his porcelain bottle—why couldn’t he just speak up if something was wrong? But seeing his senior brother’s expression now… Even knowing he had no spiritual power, Chu Fei’s body automatically shifted into a guarded stance.

This side of his senior brother was a little frightening.

Gu Baiqing was indeed angry—not because Mo Xuanli had lost, but because in that moment, he had seen that Zhao An truly meant to kill him. He should have kicked that little beast out of the Zixiao Sect from the start.

Fu Zhiyi reached over and patted Gu Baiqing’s hand, about to speak, when the commotion from below drew their attention.

“Zhao An, you’re despicable! You won dishonorably! Shameless!” Tang Yu’s temper flared. Though he normally avoided offending the powerful—coming from an ordinary family—he couldn’t hold back now.

He rushed to the foot of the platform and knelt. “Honored elders, I have something to report. Zhao An’s victory was not honorable—he cheated.”

“What nonsense!” Zhao An flared instantly, stepping forward as if to strike.

But Fu Zhiyi would not indulge him—he waved a hand, and other disciples stepped in to block Zhao An.

“Don’t be hasty. Explain clearly. If you slander him, you will naturally be punished,” Fu Zhiyi said—handling such matters was his responsibility.

Tang Yu pointed an accusing finger at Zhao An. “He secretly bribed several of the sixteen disciples earlier, and even the child attendant who drew lots, so that every opponent Xuanli faced was one he had bought off. Those men, knowing they couldn’t beat Xuanli, deliberately dragged the fight out and refused to concede, draining his strength. Zhao An must have realized in earlier matches that he might not be able to beat Xuanli outright, so he used this despicable war of attrition. That way, he could win easily in the end. This was no fair contest—if they had fought with the same level of spiritual power, he would never have beaten Xuanli.”

After hearing Tang Yu’s words, the crowd began to connect the dots. Indeed, the earlier matches had shown the same pattern: by the time Mo Xuanli faced Zhao An, his spiritual reserves were severely depleted, while Zhao An had breezed through his matches, expending little energy.

The tournament’s format naturally involved spiritual drain, and forbidding contestants from replenishing their reserves was meant to better test them. After all, sometimes skill mattered less than power—just like what had happened here.

However, maliciously dragging down an opponent and ganging up in competition is absolutely against the rules. And bribing child attendants and disciples—that is a particularly vile act.

Fu Zhiyi’s expression darkened slightly. He turned to look at Gu Baiqing. “Junior brother, what do you think?”

“Whatever senior brother decides.”

As always, Gu Baiqing showed no sign of protecting his own. From the outside, it looked as though the one being wronged was his own disciple, yet he didn’t say a word in defense—truly cold-blooded.

It was only that Fu Zhiyi noticed Gu Baiqing’s gaze had been fixed all along on the injured and unconscious Mo Xuanli.

Fu Zhiyi knew that if this matter wasn’t handled properly, with fourth junior brother’s secretly overprotective nature, he definitely wouldn’t let it go—after all, this was fourth junior brother’s treasured disciple.

So Fu Zhiyi began investigating.

Unfortunately, the results were disappointing.

Because there was no evidence.

According to Tang Yu, he happened to overhear that group of people talking, and then told Mo Xuanli. Mo Xuanli, being sharper than Tang Yu, naturally knew that without evidence, saying such things was useless. Other than relying on himself to win, there was no second option—so he could only grit his teeth and push through the match.

The others who had been pulled in, of course, wouldn’t admit anything. As for why they wouldn’t concede defeat, they naturally claimed it was because they disliked the halfway-joined Mo Xuanli and were afraid of losing face—exactly the same reason everyone had suspected from the start.

The reason sounded legitimate, and refusing to concede was not wrong in itself. Who could prove they had ganged up to bully someone?

The child attendant responsible for drawing lots had been in Zixiao Sect for a long time and knew well that their sect never used harsh interrogation. So as long as there was no evidence, he could simply deny everything.

Faced with a group of scoundrels, even with eight mouths Tang Yu couldn’t explain it clearly. Now he understood why Mo Xuanli had chosen to remain silent—because there was simply no way to explain, unless by forcing a confession. But that was not something Zixiao Sect would do, since these were all their own disciples, each with their own masters to protect them.

Right and wrong could no longer be sorted out.

According to Zhao An’s version, they were just sore losers, deliberately looking for an excuse to put a label on him and slander him. This explanation even sounded reasonable to those listening.

And so, after a cloud of foul air, the matter was dropped.

Zhao An still got to keep the title of first place, while Mo Xuanli was carried off to the Flying Crane Pavilion for treatment, unable even to attend the awards ceremony.