With the end of the first match, two young men immediately climbed onto the stone platform, each carrying a wooden staff.
At the signal from the brown-robed youth, the two men each used their own techniques and began battling.
Although Qin Fengming had never practiced staff techniques, he knew that this kind of weapon relied on overwhelming force. It was best suited for combat at medium to long range, since the wooden staff itself was already half a zhang long. Once wielded, its power was immense.
The two seemed to have known each other before. Thus, when they crossed weapons, neither bothered to probe the other. They immediately unleashed their ultimate moves and fought with all their might.
Watching the techniques the two used, Qin Fengming could not help smiling inwardly. The two had already abandoned technique and were now simply competing in strength.
Such a brawl between brutes naturally settled the victor and loser in almost no time.
The third pair to take the stage differed greatly in both age and strength. In only a moment, the youth who fought with his fists and feet had snatched away his opponent's long spear and won without the slightest difficulty.
When Qin Fengming looked at the youth using palm techniques, his expression grew solemn. That pair of fleshly palms possessed astonishing power. Although the youth had not reached his master's level with the Thunderclap Palm, he still gave Qin Fengming the feeling that he would be difficult to withstand. Thus, Qin Fengming put away his contempt for the other disciples.
With the end of the third match, it was Qin Fengming's turn to take the stage. He smiled faintly at the disciples who had come with him, then stepped out from the crowd and climbed onto the stone platform without the slightest trace of nervousness.
Holding a bamboo token, the brown-robed youth looked at Qin Fengming with confusion. Seeing that Qin Fengming was so young and slight, yet dared to take the stage, he was astonished beyond words. After a brief pause, however, he still waved his hand and allowed the two to begin.
The youth opposite him held a strange weapon in each hand. Each weapon had a crescent blade at the bottom and a hook at the tip. Looking at Qin Fengming, the youth's eyes revealed a hint of ease.
"Junior Brother, you're a new disciple, aren't you? At your age, you're already taking part in the contest. Don't you know that swords and sabers have no eyes? It would be terribly unfortunate if I accidentally injured you."
"Thank you for the reminder, Senior Brother. I am a disciple of Luoxia Valley who has yet to reach three years here. I only came to this contest to broaden my experience. I hope Senior Brother will show mercy."
The disciple nodded and said no more. He crossed his weapons before his chest, forming a cross, then fixed his bright eyes on Qin Fengming without taking the initiative to attack.
Drawing the treasured sword his master had given him, Qin Fengming smiled faintly. With a tremor of his wrist, the first form of the Thirteen Forms of the Willow burst forth like flowing clouds and running water, surging rapidly toward the youth several zhang away.
The instant they exchanged blows, the youth wielding the strange weapons was greatly startled. How could this boy before him be easy to deal with? Even if he went all out, whether he could defeat him was still uncertain.
Although the youth's mastery of his strange weapons was polished and their power was considerable, under the exquisite sword techniques of the Thirteen Forms of the Willow, he was completely suppressed. After going all out at the beginning, Qin Fengming gradually used only half his strength.
The youth grew more alarmed the longer they fought. This twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy's techniques were so seasoned, and his swordplay so elusive, that he seemed like someone who had immersed himself in the art for more than a decade. Layer upon layer of sword light hemmed him in. He felt sword shadows flashing everywhere around him; if his defense had not been steady, he would have lost long ago.
Qin Fengming was already completely at ease. Defeating the youth opposite him would take no more than a thought. Yet although he was young, he understood the principle of concealing one's edge. He knew the saying that the rafter sticking out first would rot first. If he won every battle at his age, he would inevitably arouse the united hostility of all the disciples, which would be most unfavorable to establishing himself in Luoxia Valley.
With that thought, Qin Fengming already had a plan. When he suddenly saw the youth smash both weapons against his treasured sword, he followed the momentum and gave his wrist a tremor. With a crisp clang, the treasured sword was flung into the air and fell a zhang away.
"Thank you for showing mercy, Senior Brother. My learning is inadequate, so I concede this match." After clasping his fists in salute and saying this, Qin Fengming picked up his long sword and floated down from the platform.
Staring blankly as Qin Fengming left, the youth stood on the platform with a look of bewilderment. He had clearly been on the verge of defeat, yet his opponent's sword had flown from his hand under an utterly ordinary attack. This left him deeply puzzled.
"Fengming, you showed no sign of defeat at all. Why did you suddenly lose?"
Hearing everyone question him closely, Qin Fengming merely laughed carelessly. "I was just careless. It doesn't matter. There are still matches for the defeated group. If I win the matches below, I can enter the next round all the same."
Seeing this, the other disciples began discussing it animatedly, all lamenting his sudden defeat.
"Zhang Feng and Wei Zhihu, take the stage!" the brown-robed youth on the stone platform shouted just as Qin Fengming closed his eyes to rest.
When the two climbed onto the platform, Qin Fengming recognized them as the disciples who had both lost earlier. By now, Qin Fengming already knew the strength of everyone in his group. He was naturally brimming with confidence that he could enter the next round smoothly.
By the time Duan Meng reminded Qin Fengming that it was his turn to take the stage again, two matches had already been fought in the group. One youth named Wei Zhihu had earned the right to challenge, while Cui Liang had advanced directly to the next round.
His opponent this round was the seventeen- or eighteen-year-old disciple who used a sword. Qin Fengming admired this person greatly. He knew that his opponent possessed some foundation in martial arts, though he was merely not weak; compared with Qin Fengming, there was still a gap.
This time, neither side needed to exchange many words. At the brown-robed youth's signal, the battle began.
This time, Qin Fengming no longer held back in the slightest. In only a little over thirty moves, he used a clever technique to knock his opponent's long sword flying and smoothly secured the right to challenge.
Seeing Qin Fengming win smoothly, Duan Meng and the disciples who had come with him immediately erupted in thunderous cheers. The entire scene filled with clamorous noise. This was the first victory in several decades achieved by a new disciple. How could it not delight everyone?
As the contest continued, Qin Fengming ultimately fought a young disciple wielding a staff for the final spot in the next round.
The two stood on the stone platform. Looking at the boy who was a head shorter than him, the staff-wielding disciple felt not the slightest contempt. He had watched all of Qin Fengming's earlier matches. Although the boy opposite him was young, his power was profound.
He knew even more clearly that defeating this boy through technique would be exceedingly difficult. The only way was to use strength to force his opponent to abandon his sword and admit defeat.
With that thought, the instant the two exchanged blows, the staff-wielding disciple fiercely smashed his staff against Qin Fengming's long sword, hoping to achieve victory in one strike.
Facing this move, Qin Fengming naturally understood his intention. He unleashed the Thirteen Forms of the Willow, sending exquisite sword techniques into motion. His small body was extraordinarily nimble as he spun around his opponent, refusing to let their weapons collide.
When they had fought roughly seventy exchanges, Qin Fengming lightly pricked with his sword tip, directly slicing a shallow wound across the other man's arm. The wound was not deep, but it still forced his opponent to abandon his staff and concede.
At this point, the disciples who would enter the next round from Platform Six had been decided. They were the saber-wielding Huyan Zhuo, Wei Zhihu, the fist-and-foot fighter Cui Liang, and Qin Fengming.
The second round would not begin until the following day. Surrounded by the disciples of his own generation, with everyone clustered around him like stars around the moon, Qin Fengming was escorted from the valley.
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