Outside the arena, Spirit Realm's live stream window was divided into countless perspectives, each focusing on a different player.
In the audience seats and the observation rooms of various factions, several names were repeatedly mentioned—the most popular contestants.
They occupy the top of the list, and with each enlightenment, the number of images they conjure is breaking records, and each appearance of an image draws a murmur of amazement.
But those people may not all know that behind each of these geniuses and prodigies lies a poignant and inspiring story.
The person ranked 436th was a gray-haired young man, thin, with an indescribable weariness in his eyes.
His name is Lu Qingxuan, and he comes from a long-declining family in the southern part of the star field.
Three hundred years ago, their ancestor failed to break through to the Eleventh Realm and perished on the spot, causing the family to decline.
From then on, Lu Qingxuan carried the hopes of his entire family as he moved forward.
Before his death, his master held his hand and said, "I don't ask you to restore our family's glory, I only ask that you go further than we have."
He climbed all the way to the Ninth Tier, all thanks to this sentence.
He sat cross-legged in front of a purple stele, his palms pressed against the surface, his brows furrowed.
His breathing grew heavier and heavier, and a trickle of blood even seeped from the corner of his mouth.
Several descendants of the Lu Family, dressed in gray robes, were watching the live broadcast, their fists clenched tightly and their eyes reddening.
In the live broadcast room, every move of the contestants touched their hearts.
There was nothing they could do to help; they could only watch.
At the same time, in front of another monument, a contestant who was younger and less experienced than him had already comprehended the eleventh level of the diagram, drawing gasps of amazement.
Lu Qingxuan heard the exclamation, his fingers trembled slightly, but he did not look up.
The one ranked 217th was a woman in red named Shen Yan.
She comes from a prominent family in the northern part of the star field, renowned for its weapon crafting skills, and has shown exceptional talent and comprehension since childhood.
Her master was an old man who had retired from the family for many years. He was a famous genius in the star field when he was young, but he damaged his foundation due to an accident and stopped at the Ninth Tier.
The old man placed all his unfinished journey on Shen Yan.
She remembered what her mentor said to her on the day he sent her to the competition, "The road I didn't finish, you go and walk."
She was sitting in front of a crimson monument. The fire element was extremely compatible with her innate cultivation technique, but the deeper she went, the more complicated the fragments became, like a tangled mess.
She gritted her teeth and worked out the calculations, fine beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
But then someone else figured out a new pattern and surpassed her in the rankings again.
She took a deep breath, suppressing the anxiety surging within her, and continued to bury herself in the deduction.
Her master is watching her!
The seventy-fifth ranked person was a taciturn, burly young man with dark skin and broad hands, clearly the kind of martial artist who had trained diligently since childhood.
His name is Zhou Tieshan, and he comes from a resource-poor mining planet in the western part of the star system.
He had no illustrious family background, nor did he receive guidance from any famous teachers.
His father was an old miner who had worked on the mining planet his whole life. Before he came to participate in the competition, he stuffed three bottles of energy liquid, which his family had saved up for half their lives, into his hands.
Only then did his extraordinary rise to power begin.
Zhou Tieshan kept these words in mind, and from that moment on, he sat in front of an earthen-yellow stele.
His comprehension wasn't top-notch among everyone, but he had a tenacious spirit. If he couldn't figure it out, he would try again and again, breaking it down piece by piece, until he could piece the fragments together into a shape.
But he knew that many people were chasing after him.
The road ahead is getting increasingly difficult.
Besides these three people, there were more than two thousand Ninth Tier prodigies in this hall, each with a group of people standing behind them.
Parents, teachers, friends, family, mentors—those who placed their hopes and unfinished journey on them.
They all did their best, but as you run forward, everyone else is running forward too.
No matter how hard you try, there will always be someone stronger ahead of you.
This is the Cosmic Genius Battle, which puts a group of super geniuses together, lets them fight and compete, and allows the most dazzling few to stand out, while the rest can only watch.
At this moment, Chen Du was sitting in front of the Seven-Colored Stele, his eyes still closed, immersed in the surging emotions and fragments.
Ranked 1,712th is a young man named Ji Yuan, who is sitting cross-legged in front of a bluish-gray stele.
His fingers traced the surface of the monument, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead and down his jawline. He had already deciphered eight symbols, and eight faint lights appeared on the monument in sequence, forming a diagonal line.
However, no matter how he disassembled, reassembled, and deduced the ninth diagram, those fragments of rules were always missing a crucial thread.
Ji Yuan, that's the name his father gave him.
His father was a small-time merchant who sold groceries on an ordinary planet on the edge of the star field for decades. He had never practiced martial arts and didn't even reach the First Tier.
But his father's biggest obsession in life was to have him practice martial arts.
When Ji Yuan was a child, he didn't understand and asked his father why he had to make him suffer like this.
His father just laughed and said, "I've never amounted to anything in my life, but you're different."
You are more successful than me.
Later, Ji Yuan learned that his father had also wanted to practice martial arts when he was young, but his family was too poor to even afford the most basic energy liquid.
That dream was left unfulfilled for decades, becoming a thorn in my heart.
Ji Yuan was sent to a martial arts school by his father from the age of six, rain or shine.
His mother would get up before dawn every day to prepare medicinal meals for him, and she did this for a full ten years.
His father sold half of the shop, and used all the money to buy him gene-enhancing drugs.
He asked his father if it was worth it.
His father said, "Just keep going, don't worry about whether it's worth it or not."
He spent a long time analyzing the diagram, but the ninth figure remained completely unchanged.
He slowly opened his eyes, exhaled a breath of stale air, and his lips twitched slightly, as if in a bitter smile or a sense of relief.
"As long as you have a clear conscience, that's enough!"
Meanwhile, on an ordinary planet at the edge of the star field, Ji Yuan's father was sitting behind the counter of a general store, staring at the live broadcast on an old terminal.
In the picture, his son is sitting in front of the inscription, his face covered in sweat, and he is ranked twelfth.
The shop was dark, with only the blue light from the terminal illuminating his graying temples.
He watched for a while, then reached out and turned off the live stream. He picked up the ledger on the counter, opened it, and closed it again.
Then he stood up, walked to the door of the small hut behind the shop, and called inside, "Wife, don't cry, our son did his best."
He stood there for a while, then turned around and went back behind the counter to restart the live stream.
On the screen, Ji Yuan was still sitting in front of the inscription, his fingers touching the surface of the stele, pushing the last fragment of the eighth graphic little by little.
He stopped looking at the rankings and just stared intently at his son's back.
Yes, just do your best.
Reality is just that cruel.
In the blink of an eye, a month has passed.
When the 2,300 people first came in, each one was full of enthusiasm.
But after a month, most of that sharpness had been worn down.
The mental strain is even greater than the physical strain. Day after day, you dismantle fragments of the laws, deduce them, fail, deduce them again, fail again, and repeat the cycle endlessly, like groping in an endless tunnel.