The next day, the sky had barely brightened, and dawn had yet to fully break.
Dense, blue-gray morning mist shrouded all of Moonwatch Mountain. Only the faintest streak of fish-belly white showed along the eastern horizon, while distant mountains and nearby woods remained immersed in hazy stillness.
Daylight had yet to unfold, and the morning dew had yet to disperse. As the world began to stir, most plants on the mountain still bore cool droplets gathered throughout the night. Heaven and earth remained in the deepest quiet of daybreak.
At that moment, many martial artists and spectators were still asleep in the sprawling encampments halfway up the mountain and the village inns along the roads below. Faint snores drifted through the air; they had yet to rise.
But the winding main road of Moonwatch Mountain, linking its foot to its summit, had long since lost its silence.
Dense, surging streams of people already filled the entire Blue-Stone Mountain Path, rank upon rank without end, making their way up toward the summit plaza.
At a glance, the crowd stretched endlessly like a woven tapestry. Thousands upon thousands of figures crowded together, steadily climbing the stone steps with hurried strides and eager expressions.
Neither the cool morning mountain wind nor the clinging mist could dampen the burning anticipation in their hearts.
Most of those hurrying along were ordinary martial artists without powerful backgrounds.
They had no right to enter the reserved viewing seats in the plaza's inner ring, nor did they have designated viewing areas provided by sects or aristocratic families. They could only mingle among the tens of thousands of unaffiliated spectators outside, their view determined by how good a spot they managed to claim.
Yesterday's Preliminary Round had merely offered the Heavenly Prodigies their first chance to shine, yet it