Cushion Contest

Hongjun's gaze swept over them indifferently, from left to right, from the Three Pure Ones to Jieyin and Zhunti, past Hongyun and Zhen Yuanzi, past Di Jun and Taiyi, before finally returning to empty space. Throughout the entire process, his expression never changed, and he could not even be bothered to lift his eyelids.

Yet among the two or three hundred people in the hall, no one dared even breathe too loudly.

Taiyi stood there, glancing from the corner of his eye at the six cushions ahead. His gaze lingered for a moment on the fifth cushion—Hongyun sat upon it with his back ramrod straight, both hands pressed tightly against his knees, his knuckles clenched white. A fine layer of sweat had formed on his forehead and trickled down his temples, soaking a small patch of his collar.

As Taiyi watched, everything was clear to him. It was rather amusing that this old do-gooder had managed to sit in such a position. During the first sermon, no one understood the rules, and Hongyun had muddleheadedly been pushed up by Zhen Yuanzi to take a seat. During the second sermon, Jieyin and Zhunti had surrounded him, weeping and begging, nearly persuading him to surrender his seat. Zhen Yuanzi had been the one to forcibly hold him down.

Thus, Hongyun was under especially great pressure this time.

To his right, Jieyin stood with his palms pressed together, his eyelids drooping as he muttered under his breath. His grief-stricken face made him look as though his mother had just died. Zhunti stood beside him, his eyes already red, his nose twitching as though tears were about to fall at any moment.

On the left, Zhen Yuanzi stood half a step behind Hongyun, one hand resting on his shoulder with considerable force. The Ancestor of Earth Immortals still wore his usual genial smile, but his eyes had darkened as he coldly stared at Jieyin and Zhunti.

Time passed bit by bit.

The hall was terrifyingly quiet. Only the faint hum produced by the rotating Star Chart occasionally drifted down from the vaulted ceiling. The sound was barely there, yet it wormed into their ears and made their hearts itch with unease.

Taiyi silently counted in his heart.

One, two, three...

When he reached seventeen, Zhunti moved.

First, his shoulders trembled lightly, as though he were trying and failing to suppress his tears. Then a stifled sob emerged from his throat. It was not loud, but in such silence, it pierced the ears with startling clarity.

Everyone's eyes turned toward him at once.

Zhunti's eye sockets were crimson, tears swirling in his eyes. He shuffled forward half a step, then another half step, and when he reached three feet before Hongyun's cushion, he dropped to his knees with a thud.

His knees struck the white jade floor tiles with a dull sound.

"Dao Ancestor, have mercy..." Zhunti began, his voice trembling heavily with tears. "This humble monk... this humble monk and his senior brother have come all the way from the West, crossing mountains and rivers, passing through chaos, enduring countless hardships..."

As he spoke, tears began to fall. He did not wail loudly; he merely wept silently, tears running down his cheeks, gathering into droplets at his chin, then falling one by one onto the floor.

"The land of the West is barren and desolate, its spiritual energy thin, its living beings suffering..." Zhunti said as he wiped his tears, his voice so choked that he could barely continue. "This humble monk and his senior brother made a great vow to save all beings of the West and lead them from the sea of suffering... But, but our cultivation is shallow. We cannot even secure a seat to hear the Dao. How can we save others? How can we fulfill our great vow?"

The more he spoke, the more heartbroken he became. His tears fell like pearls from a broken string, soaking even the small patch of floor tiles before him.

Quite a few people in the hall frowned.

Taiyi watched coldly, sneering inwardly. This acting was absolutely worthy of an award-winning performance in his previous life—the tears came at will, and the sobbing tone was measured perfectly. Any more would have seemed fake; any less would not have been pitiful enough. Especially those words about "saving all beings of the West"—they sounded so sincere that anyone ignorant of the truth might truly believe he was a great compassionate man devoted to all living things.

But Taiyi knew exactly what sort of people these two were. He had seen plenty in novels from his previous life about the Western Religion's line of "This object is fated to be mine." Seeing it today, their reputation was indeed well deserved.

He secretly glanced at Hongyun.

That kindly old face of Hongyun's was now filled with struggle. He looked at Zhunti kneeling on the ground, at the two trails of tears on Zhunti's face. His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. The hands resting on his knees loosened, then clenched, then loosened again, his nails nearly digging into his flesh.

Zhen Yuanzi's hand on his shoulder pressed down harder. He bent close and whispered something into Hongyun's ear. Hongyun's body shuddered, and the struggle on his face deepened.

Zhunti continued his tearful plea.

He spoke of how barren the West was and how its beings suffered. He spoke of how he and his senior brother had made their great vows, and how, if they failed to obtain a seat today, they would be too ashamed to return west and face their fellow countrymen... His whole speech was watertight, so emotionally rich it could have moved even a stone to tears.

At the height of his emotion, he suddenly slammed his head three times against the floor before Hongjun's dais.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

His forehead struck the white jade tiles with heavy, forceful thuds. When he raised his head, it was already bruised purple, faint streaks of blood seeping through.

"Please, Dao Ancestor, take pity... Please, fellow Daoists, grant us this..." Zhunti's voice was hoarse, tears mingling with the blood from his forehead as they ran down his face. He looked so miserable that one could barely bear to look at him.

Subtle unrest began to stir in the hall.

Taiyi could hear fragments of the divine-sense exchanges around him—

"Zhunti... he is ruthless enough."

"Those two from the Western Religion have no shame at all for the sake of a seat."

"Hongyun probably cannot hold out much longer..."

"Tch, this is the third time. He did not yield the first two times, but this time looks uncertain."

Taiyi ignored the noise. His attention was wholly fixed on Hongyun, on the violently trembling Karma Thread between Hongyun and the second cushion.

That thread was stretched taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit, ready to snap at any moment. One end connected to Hongyun. The other... should originally have connected to the cushion, yet now a faint strand was splitting away, trembling as it drifted toward Zhunti.

Time passed bit by bit.

Zhunti was still crying. His tears were nearly spent, and his voice was so hoarse that he could barely make a sound. He knelt there with his back hunched, his entire body radiating despair.

At that moment, Jieyin stepped forward and knelt beside Zhunti. He did not cry. He simply pressed his palms together and bowed deeply toward Hongyun.

"Fellow Daoist Hongyun..." Jieyin said in a low, hoarse voice, "Every word my junior brother spoke is true. The West is barren, and its beings suffer. Our cultivation is shallow. If we cannot even obtain seats to hear the Dao, how can we speak of saving all living things? Fellow Daoist, your blessings are profound and your heart compassionate. Could you... could you fulfill the bitter wish of my junior brother and me?"

After speaking, he too kowtowed to Hongyun.

That was the final straw for Hongyun.

He shot to his feet.

The movement was so abrupt that it shifted the cushion half an inch.

Zhen Yuanzi's expression changed. He wanted to pull him back, but his outstretched hand stopped halfway—at a time like this, forcibly stopping him would only invite criticism.

Hongyun stood there, looking at Jieyin and Zhunti kneeling on the ground, at the blood stains on their foreheads and the tear tracks on their faces. His lips trembled for a long while before he finally forced out a sentence.

"Fellow Daoists... please rise quickly."

Zhunti abruptly raised his head, joy flashing through his eyes before tears quickly drowned it again. "Fellow Daoist Hongyun... you, you are willing to yield?"

"I..." Hongyun opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. He looked back at the cushion, his gaze unbearably complicated—there was reluctance, struggle, guilt, and a trace of indescribable relief.

Everyone in the hall held their breath.

Hongyun took a deep breath, as though he had made up his mind. He bent down, gripped the edges of the cushion with both hands, and gently lifted it.

He did not shove it away. He did not throw it.

He carried it.

Holding the woven grass cushion in both hands as though it were some precious, fragile treasure, he walked step by step to Zhunti.

"This seat... I yield it to you, fellow Daoist." Hongyun's voice was soft, so soft it was nearly inaudible.

He gently placed the cushion on the ground before Zhunti, then stepped back two paces.

The entire hall fell deathly silent.

Everyone looked at the cushion before Zhunti, at Hongyun's retreating figure, at the wild delight Zhunti could barely suppress.

Zhen Yuanzi closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He patted Hongyun's shoulder but said nothing.

Zhunti stared at the cushion before him for two breaths. Then he suddenly lunged forward and hugged it tightly, as if terrified it might run away. Tears fell again, but this time they were genuine—tears of overwhelming joy.

"Thank you, fellow Daoist... Thank you for fulfilling my wish..." Zhunti choked out, clutching the cushion as he repeatedly kowtowed to Hongyun.

Jieyin also rose to his feet and bowed deeply to Hongyun. "We will never forget this kindness and virtue for all eternity."

Hongyun gave a bitter smile and shook his head. He retreated to Zhen Yuanzi's side and no longer looked at the cushion.

Clutching the cushion, Zhunti scrambled and crawled back to the position of the fifth cushion. He carefully set it straight, then dropped onto it.

The instant he sat down, the grief-stricken expression vanished from his face, replaced by an almost manic excitement. But he quickly suppressed it, pressed his palms together, bowed toward Hongjun, then bowed again toward Hongyun.

The contest for the cushion had come to an end.

Taiyi stood there, quietly watching the scene.

His gaze rested on Hongyun for a moment, then shifted to Zhunti, before finally returning to the cushion. He could "see" that the thick Karma Thread between Hongyun and the cushion had completely snapped, its broken end slowly fading away. Meanwhile, a new thread—thin but resilient—was extending from Zhunti and firmly connecting to the cushion.

Was this predetermined fate?

Taiyi thought silently. Hongyun yielded his seat, Zhunti obtained it, and Jieyin stood beside him—everything was unfolding according to the records from his previous life.

But now, Taiyi stood here.

He took a deep breath, and the mana within his body began to circulate slowly. It was not an offensive technique, but an auxiliary spell recorded in that ancient secret art, one that distorted the perceptions within three feet of him.

He needed to wait for an opportunity.

He needed to wait for the instant when everyone believed matters had settled and let down their guard.

He needed to wait for the moment Zhunti became fully immersed in the joy of obtaining the cushion and relaxed his vigilance.

He needed to wait for the point when the Karma Thread had stabilized again, yet had not fully solidified.

Now, the opportunity was close.

Taiyi's foot shifted slightly, and his body leaned half a fraction to the left—several great powers watching the spectacle stood in that direction. The crowd was packed together, so a bit of physical jostling was perfectly normal.

His movement was natural, so natural that it seemed he had truly been pushed by the crowd. Even Di Jun beside him merely reached out instinctively to steady him, noticing nothing unusual.

He staggered half a step forward.

His left hand stretched out "instinctively," as though seeking something to brace himself against.

The direction of that outstretched hand was precisely where Zhunti's newly claimed cushion lay.

Now—

Taiyi murmured inwardly.

But at that very moment, Hongjun on the dais suddenly opened his eyes.

The Dao Ancestor's gaze swept over those below and paused on Taiyi for an instant.

Just one instant.

Taiyi felt his movements suddenly stiffen.

He was not immobilized. He was not restrained. It was simply the pure sensation of being "seen through." It was as though every action he intended to take next had already been foreseen by those eyes.

He forcibly suppressed the alarm in his heart and sharply redirected his left hand in midair, pressing it against a nearby coiling-dragon pillar.

"Hah..."

He let out a long breath, steadied himself, and smiled at Di Jun with an expression of relief. "I nearly fell."

Di Jun frowned at him but said nothing.

Taiyi leaned against the pillar, closed his eyes, and calmed his racing heart.

That instant just now... had been far too dangerous.

Had Hongjun noticed?

He did not know.

But he knew this was not the time to act.

He opened his eyes and looked toward Zhunti. Zhunti was seated securely on the cushion, eyes closed as he regulated his breath and prepared to listen to the Dao. Jieyin stood behind him, the grief on his face much diminished, with a faint smile still visible.

Hongyun and Zhen Yuanzi had retreated to stand in the rear. Hongyun lowered his head, lost in thought. Zhen Yuanzi kept one hand on his shoulder, and whenever his gaze swept over Zhunti, it was cold enough to freeze ice.

The atmosphere in the hall settled once more.

Hongjun slowly spoke, his voice calm and distant.

"Today's teaching shall be the Dao of the Quasi-Saint."

The instant his words fell, the great hall of Zixiao Palace violently trembled.

The dragon patterns on the thirty-six coiling-dragon pillars came alive. Dark golden light flowed across them, and the jewels in the dragons' eyes cast dazzling spiritual radiance. The Star Chart on the vaulted ceiling spun faster, its stellar paths weaving into an unfathomable pattern. Dense spiritual mist surged from the cloud-patterned white jade tiles on the floor, enveloping everyone within.

The sermon had officially begun.

Taiyi stood there, feeling the Karma Threads around him tremble faintly within the Dao resonance.

He closed his eyes and began following the method recorded in that ancient secret art, adjusting his breathing and gathering his mind.

Yet in his heart, he was already calculating the next opportunity.

The cushion had changed hands, but the karma had yet to solidify.

He still had a chance.

He only needed to wait until Zhunti was wholly immersed in the sermon, until Jieyin relaxed his vigilance, until everyone's attention was drawn to Hongjun's teaching...

Then would come the true opportunity.

He opened his eyes and looked at the cushion ahead, at Zhunti seated upon it.

A dark glint flashed deep within his golden eyes.

Just wait.

The real show had only just begun.