Why Not Just Call Me by My Codename?

Sure enough, the Great Soul Arena was easy to find.

It was midday, and quite a few people were already coming and going through the entrance.

Some came in groups of three or five, chatting and laughing; others were alone, their faces solemn.

Most of them were Soul Masters. It was obvious from their clothes and bearing.

Those who could receive subsidies from Spirit Hall would not be dressed worse than commoners, no matter what.

Zhou Qiubai stepped inside.

At the center stood a huge notice board displaying the day's schedule and matchups. More than a dozen windows surrounded it, handling registration, betting, prize collection, and other services.

There were seven or eight people queued up before the "New Soul Master Registration" window.

As he waited in line, Zhou Qiubai observed his surroundings.

At the window to the left, a burly man with injuries on his face accepted a bag of coins as prize money. At the window to the right, people were placing bets, while several young men in fine clothes argued over which match was a sure win.

At last, it was his turn.

Behind the window sat a man in his thirties, his hair slicked back with oil as he flipped through a booklet with his head lowered.

Hearing footsteps, the man did not even look up. "Name, Martial Soul."

"Zhou Qiubai. Sword Martial Soul."

The middle-aged man wrote it down. "Soul Power Level?"

"Twenty-one."

"Want a codename?"

Zhou Qiubai thought for a moment. "White-Clothed Guest."

The middle-aged man took an iron badge from a drawer. The words "White-Clothed Guest" were engraved in small characters beneath it.

He pushed the badge and a form toward Zhou Qiubai. "Fill this out. Registration costs ten Gold Soul Coins."

Ten Gold Soul Coins. Zhou Qiubai frowned. "That expensive?"

The middle-aged man finally raised his head, his face expressionless. "That's the price at the Great Soul Arena. Fight if you want to fight. Leave if you don't."

"Can't it be cheaper?"

"You think this is a market?" The middle-aged man sneered. "Kid, I deal with dozens of Soul Masters every day, and every last one of them wants to haggle. Let me tell you, this place is backed by the seven most famous Soul Master families on the continent. We don't need your business. Pay up and take the badge, or don't pay and head for the door."

He was blunt, even somewhat harsh.

But the matter-of-factness in his tone left no room for argument, nor did anyone dare to argue.

People who worked at the Great Soul Arena had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of Soul Masters.

A level twenty-one Soul Grandmaster was truly nothing special here.

A few chuckles sounded behind Zhou Qiubai.

He turned and saw several newly arrived Soul Masters watching him with mocking looks in their eyes.

One yellow-haired youth snorted. "First time here, kid? The Soul Fighting Arena's rules have never included discounts. If you've got no money, don't come here pretending to be important."

Zhou Qiubai ignored him, took out ten gold coins, and placed them on the counter.

The man counted them and put them away.

His tone remained cold. "You can only participate in one wager-type Soul Fight per day. Win, and you get ten Gold Soul Coins. Lose, and you get nothing. If you want to fight other types of matches, go to the window over there to form a team. Any other questions?"

"No. Then step aside."

Zhou Qiubai put away his badge and turned from the window.

The yellow-haired youth was still laughing. "You begrudge even ten gold coins, and you came to the Soul Fighting Arena? Go home and farm, kid!"

Another round of laughter erupted around them.

Without slowing, Zhou Qiubai headed straight for the notice board.

He could not be bothered to argue with people like that.

In a place like the Soul Fighting Arena, strength did the talking.

Win, and they would naturally shut up. Lose, and nothing he said would matter.

The matchup information for Iron Soul Fighters flashed rapidly across the notice board. Most were one-on-one wagers, with a small number of two-on-two and team battles, though those required teams to be formed in advance.

After watching for a while, Zhou Qiubai walked over to a small desk marked "Match Registration."

A young girl in uniform sat behind it. She looked no older than fifteen or sixteen and idly fiddled with a pen.

"One-on-one wager." Zhou Qiubai handed over his badge.

The girl took it and recorded its number in a booklet.

She glanced at the water clock on the wall. "It should be your turn in about half an hour. Wait in the rest area over there. Go up when your number is called."

She pointed toward the eastern side of the hall, where dozens of benches had been placed and quite a few people were already seated.

Zhou Qiubai thanked her and went over to find a seat in a corner.

The moment he sat down, a bald, burly man darted over from beside him. Leaning close, the man smiled. "First time here, little brother?"

The man looked to be in his early thirties. A scar ran from his brow to the corner of his mouth, making him look rather fierce, though his eyes were fairly friendly.

Zhou Qiubai looked up at him and nodded. "First time."

"I could tell." The burly man grinned, showing several slightly yellowed teeth. "You clashed with that yellow-haired guy at the window just now, right? Liu San's a local thug who specializes in picking on newcomers. Ignore him. Guys like him only know how to talk tough. When it comes to a real fight, he's a coward."

"Thanks for the warning." Zhou Qiubai was grateful.

"No need to be polite! I'm Wang Meng, a level twenty-seven assault-type Soul Master. My Martial Soul is the Iron-Back Bear. I've been hanging around here for three years, so ask me anything you don't understand." Wang Meng patted his chest, exceptionally forthright.

Zhou Qiubai sized him up and asked, "Brother Wang, you said Liu San isn't very strong?"

"Not just not strong—he's complete trash!" Wang Meng lowered his voice, sounding quite indignant. "He's only level twenty-five, and his Martial Soul is a fire poker. He got lucky and awakened Soul Power, then his family paid someone to help him get a hundred-year Soul Ring. His soul skill is garbage too. But that brat knows how to curry favor with people. He sucked up to a few managers at the Soul Fighting Arena, usually picks on easy targets, and has made quite a bit of money. Whenever it's time for a promotion match, he just admits defeat outright. You're young and just arrived today. He'll definitely set his sights on you."

"Set his sights on me?" Zhou Qiubai was somewhat confused.

"On the surface, the Soul Fighting Arena's matchmaking looks random, but there's plenty of manipulation behind the scenes." Wang Meng gave a cold laugh. "Especially for newcomers. Their first match is often assigned an 'appropriate' opponent—either someone especially weak, so you win easily and get a taste of victory, or someone especially strong, to put you in your place. Liu San is on good terms with Old Zhao, the one in charge of matchmaking. He often has him arrange easy newcomers for him so he can earn winning-streak bonuses."

Saying there was no shady dealing in the Great Soul Arena was only true from the perspective of those watching the matches.

Zhou Qiubai suddenly understood. No wonder that yellow-haired guy had been so arrogant—he had backing.

"Thank you for telling me, Brother Wang." He expressed his gratitude sincerely.

"It's nothing." Wang Meng waved a hand. "By the way, your Martial Soul is a sword? What kind of sword? A heavy sword, a longsword, or..."

"A flexible sword."

Wang Meng froze. "A flexible sword? That's rare. That thing requires an extremely high level of skill. I've tried the ones made by blacksmiths, but I couldn't handle them. Not many people can use one well."

"I'll give it a try." Zhou Qiubai smiled faintly.

They chatted for a while longer. Most of the time, Wang Meng explained the rules and tricks of the Soul Fighting Arena while Zhou Qiubai listened quietly, occasionally asking a question or two.

Half an hour passed in the blink of an eye, and the bronze bell on the wall rang out.

A middle-aged man in a black uniform walked to the center of the rest area, holding a booklet. In a deep voice, he called out, "Next round, Iron Soul Fighter wager match. Calling numbers now. Number 438. Is number 438 here?"

Zhou Qiubai rose to his feet. "Here."

Couldn't you just call me by my codename?