Blades Gleamed Beneath the Setting Sun; Let the Defeated Never Look Back

The Mystic Pearl seemed quite brittle. The yellow-robed cultivator squeezed it, and it cracked sharply.

Pop!

Almost at that very instant, the examiner on the platform gave a light cough.

Though he made no visible move, the three short blades that had reached within three inches of the yellow-robed cultivator's face seemed to strike an invisible iron wall.

Clang, clang, clang!

Three sharp rings burst out in succession.

As though slapped out of the air by an unseen palm, the short blades rebounded and fell to the ground, their blades still humming.

Meanwhile, the protective barrier around the platform slowly dissipated, revealing the scene within.

"Thank you for saving my life, Senior."

Still badly shaken, the yellow-robed cultivator bowed deeply to the examiner, cold sweat covering his forehead.

The examiner said expressionlessly, "First match of Mingyi. The victor is the yang-side contestant, number one of the Mingyi group."

With that, the examiner cast a spell on the two Contest Tokens floating before him. One glowed orange and slowly drifted toward the cultivator on the yang side.

The other shattered with a crack into countless wood chips, which fluttered down.

"Since you have been defeated, this opportunity is now forfeited. Please leave. May you find the Dao elsewhere, fellow cultivator."

The examiner's words sounded polite, but held not a trace of warmth.

The blue-robed cultivator accepted the orange-glowing Contest Token, his face wreathed in smiles.

Rather than putting it away inside his robes, he pinned it straight to his waist, deliberately letting everyone see that he had won his first match.

The sight reminded Mo Chen of his childhood days back in the village.

Old Zhang at the village entrance had looked exactly like that whenever he caught a big fish.

He would not even go home, instead carrying the fish from one end of the village to the other, then back again, as though he had lost his way.

The crowd watched the defeated contestant leave dejectedly, each privately calculating their chances and hoping their own opponent would be a pushover.

Mo Chen had not expected the first match to end so quickly.

But thinking back over the yellow-robed cultivator's response, opening with an earth spell to lock down his opponent's magic artifact was indeed a move worth remembering.

Could he have handled that blue short blade with such composure himself?

The next several matches followed one of two patterns.

Either they ended swiftly, with someone crushing their Mystic Pearl within three to five breaths, or both sides traded blows and settled into a battle of attrition, hammering the barrier until it hummed without producing a winner for ages.

There was enough time to go and eat a meal.

Mo Chen retreated beneath a tree's shade and sat cross-legged.

He regulated his breathing while keeping part of his attention on the matches.

Then the shen hour passed.

"Number one hundred and twenty, number two hundred and seventy-seven."

Mo Chen's eyes snapped open.

The Mingyi group's examiner hovered in midair, his corpulent body casting an enormous shadow in the setting sun.

The examiner yawned and announced, "It is getting late. This will be today's final match. Those whose numbers were called, come up at once!"

The final match?

Mo Chen relaxed inwardly.

Lucky me. I can eat right after the match, and I won't have to come tomorrow either. I'll only need to wait in my cave abode for the next round.

Mo Chen stood and walked toward the platform at an unhurried pace.

Hearing that this was the day's final match, the spectators below, already bored, began preparing to leave in twos and threes.

Just then, a figure flipped onto the platform.

A sudden burst of cheers erupted from the crowd!

The cultivators who had already turned to leave looked back and gathered around again, a hum of conversation rising among them.

Mo Chen's steps faltered.

Is that really necessary? All this fanfare for a preliminary match?

Mo Chen studied the burly cultivator on the platform.

The man stood half a head taller than him, with arms broad enough for horses to gallop across. Standing there, he looked like a door guardian.

Fuck.

I've run into a tough one.

Mo Chen stopped and asked a nearby cultivator, "Fellow cultivator, may I ask you something?"

The cultivator turned and looked Mo Chen up and down. "What is it?"

"That man on the platform—what's his background?"

"Oh? You must be from out of town. Around Emerging Cloud Peak's gates, the Wu Household's name rings louder than thunder."

The cultivator smacked his lips. "I almost feel sorry for whoever faces someone from the Wu Household. Losing is fine, but if they win, the Wu Household might hold a grudge against them for the rest of their life."

"The Wu Household can't be crossed?"

"It's not really a question of whether they can be crossed. There are lineages more powerful than the Wu Household... it's just... their disciples always avenge even the smallest slight. Their family precept of a tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye is famous around here. You'd better not..."

"Number one hundred and twenty!"

The examiner abruptly raised his voice, cutting off the whispers below.

"Any further delay will be treated as forfeiture."

Several Wu Household supporters immediately joined in the jeering. "Look, he heard the Wu Household's name and lost the nerve to show up." "The mighty Wu Household! That brat's legs must have gone weak with fear."

Mo Chen cupped his hands toward the cultivator. "Thank you for telling me. I still have to go up, so I'll take my leave."

The cultivator froze, then watched Mo Chen turn toward the platform, struck speechless.

Hovering in midair, the examiner swept his gaze over the crowd. Seeing no one come up, he was about to announce, "Cultivator number one hundred and twenty has failed to arrive in time..."

"Here, here! I'm coming, Senior."

Mo Chen hurriedly leaped onto the platform, his soles brushing lightly against the stone slabs as he landed and steadied himself.

The examiner frowned, his tone unfriendly. "If you arrive late again, you will be disqualified immediately."

"It will never happen again." Mo Chen bowed with cupped hands, his smile respectful.

Oh, fuck off.

Don't the rules say we have half an hour to arrive?

You clearly just want to finish early and find somewhere to amuse yourself.

Mo Chen was inwardly speechless.

"Enough pleasantries. Present your Contest Token at once so I can verify your identity." The examiner impatiently waved his thick palm.

Mo Chen took out his Contest Token for inspection.

Once the cultivators below got a good look at Mo Chen, they burst into laughter.

"Well, well, Brother Wen's opponent is just a greenhorn."

"Look at that build. Has he even had his coming-of-age ceremony?"

"He's not short, but he's so skinny. Brother Wen could knock him flat with one punch without using any Dharma Power."

"Boring. Utterly boring."

"I wondered who had the guts to challenge the Wu Household. Turns out it's a fledgling who doesn't know how high the heavens are or how deep the earth is."

Mo Chen heard every word from below, his expression unchanged.

If loud voices could win matches, you wouldn't be standing down there.

"Prepare to begin!"

The examiner tossed the two Contest Tokens into the air. "Number one hundred and twenty, take the yang position. Number two hundred and seventy-seven, take the yin position."

He swept his corpulent palm, and light flared around the platform. A translucent barrier closed like flower petals, enclosing the entire arena.

Mo Chen walked slowly to the eye of the yang fish in the taiji diagram and stood still, then cupped his hands toward the burly man opposite him. "I am Mo Chen. How should I address you, fellow cultivator?"

The burly man returned the salute, his voice rumbling like muffled thunder. "Wu Wen, courtesy name Shu."

As Wu Wen looked Mo Chen over, he made no attempt to conceal the contempt in his eyes.

He even gave a crooked smile. "I won't hold back during this match. Let me advise you, fellow cultivator: if you feel you can't take it, crush your Mystic Pearl and get off early, lest you meet your end here."

"Please enlighten me, fellow cultivator," Mo Chen replied mildly, without the slightest ripple in his expression.

Mo Chen had never wanted to compete over this or that.

Had that strange old man not planted a secret-art mark inside him, Mo Chen would never have entered this tournament, not even if someone beat him to death.

Wouldn't it be better to find somewhere to stay and learn cultivation methods on the sly?

But he had no choice now. He could only get serious.

You even dare give me that crooked grin?

In a moment, I'll beat you until your mouth stays crooked.

Mo Chen met every change by remaining unchanged, quietly holding still.

Seeing that Mo Chen neither moved nor responded, Wu Wen cursed loudly and unleashed the Wind-Riding Technique, soaring into the air to attack him.