Heaven-Piercing Peak.
Cloud Sea Plaza.
This was where the Qingyun Sect held the Seven Peaks Martial Arts Tournament, and it was also the place with the densest spiritual energy in the entire Qingyun Mountain Range.
Clouds drifted ethereally, surging beneath their feet like great waves washing over the sand.
Nine enormous bronze cauldrons stood in a row. Incense curled inside them, and purple smoke rose straight into the heavens.
The plaza, usually quiet and secluded, was now bustling with voices.
Disciples from the various peaks wore robes of different colors, standing in groups of three or five or alone with an air of pride.
The light from magical treasures shimmered in and out of the clouds, dazzling and colorful. The place was positively lively.
But in the southwestern corner of the Sea of Clouds, the air suddenly grew a little quieter.
Several streaks of light cut across the sky, carrying an aura that was not particularly powerful, but exceptionally steady, before crashing down to the ground.
The light faded.
The people of Great Bamboo Peak appeared—the same ones who used to be timid and submissive, as if they were already a cut below everyone else before they even entered the arena.
But today.
Something about them seemed off.
Song Daren walked at the front.
The usually honest and guileless Senior Brother stood ramrod straight, as if he had swallowed an iron rod.
His gaze swept over the crowd. His face still wore that trademark, simpleminded grin.
But deep in his eyes lay a sharp glint unlike anything he had shown before.
It was confidence.
When there was money in your pocket, you had nothing to worry about;
when you had spiritual energy in your dantian, you strode with a swagger.
Wu Dayi, Zheng Dali, and the others following behind him