Making a Move

The news of the sparring match spread quickly across the Training Ground, and everyone was itching for a fight.

Here in Bright Martial Hall, aside from the Lesser Violet Sun Technique, they all trained in top-tier martial arts suited to their own strengths, each possessing unique skills.

In terms of cultivation, Chu Zhiting and Chu Zhichuan were the strongest, followed by the Eighteenth Prince, Chu Mingxuan, and now perhaps Chu Zhiyuan could be added to that list.

But all were in the Postnatal Realm, with no realm-based crushing advantage—victory depended on performance in the moment, and sometimes a single misstep decided the outcome.

One time you might win, the next time I might; everyone had a shot at taking first place, and few ever retained the title consecutively.

So none truly conceded to the others, all eager to show their skill and seize the top spot.

Chu Zhiyuan held a book, shaking his head with a faint smile.

He had already figured out the temperaments of these princes and heirs.

Though born into wealth and stationed in the imperial palace—the world's greatest arena of fame and fortune—they weren't as scheming and backstabbing as he had imagined.

After all, they were young, hot-blooded, and in the prime of their competitive years; such nature couldn't be suppressed.

Especially the Eighteenth Prince, Chu Mingxuan, who loved excitement most of all.

This time, he wanted to gauge his own measure, and everyone else felt the same—they all wanted to see what they were truly made of.

This would also determine how they treated him from now on.

So it was best to overwhelm them into submission.

After flipping through some of the top-tier and second-tier secret manuals, Chu Zhiyuan stopped reading and instead focused on martial arts notes.

To others, these notes seemed profound to the point of nonsense, even gibberish.

But thanks to Super Sensation, his perception of heaven and earth was clear and deep, his observation of his own body meticulous, and his insight into the martial notes was utterly different.

In just half a day, he felt he had opened a great door, glimpsing a new world.

He gained an unprecedented and profound understanding of martial arts, of heaven and earth, and of himself.

These were depths he could hardly have reached alone—without the accumulated wisdom of tens of thousands of years, one person's cognition could never achieve such heights.

Once cognition changed, the state of mind shifted, and heaven and earth became different.

With the same technique, the deeper the understanding, the more fully one could grasp the subtleties of each move, executing them with greater flexibility and ease, hitting the mark with perfect precision.

Cultivation also became twice the result with half the effort, advancing by leaps and bounds.

In a short time, he gained new insights into the Lesser Violet Sun Technique, the Jade Lock Golden Pass Technique, the Within Reach, Yet Worlds Apart Step, and the Great Avalanche Sword Art.

A calm sense of commanding from a high vantage point and knowing it all like the back of his hand arose within him.

Knock knock. A knock sounded at the door.

Chu Zhiyuan looked up.

The Eighteenth Prince, Chu Mingxuan, stood at the door, his Bright Yellow Training Suit wrapped around his sturdy frame, a grin on his face: "Fourth Son, the sparring's about to start! Hurry up!"

Chu Zhiyuan set down the martial notes of the previous generation's Grandmaster, Hu Jing.

Chu Mingxuan said, "Fourth Son, you ready?"

Chu Zhiyuan walked up to him: "Eighteenth Uncle, I think I'll sit this one out. I won't make a fool of myself for now."

"Don't be like that!... Training can't just be burying your head in practice—you need to spar often. There are plenty of benefits! This is a rare chance!"

"..." Chu Zhiyuan smiled without a word.

"Fourth Son, don't you want to get my sword?" Chu Mingxuan laughed. "It came from a Cave Mansion—pretty special."

"Eighteenth Uncle, haven't you figured out its origin?"

"I like saber arts, I don't have the patience to study that sword. But it's definitely not ordinary—there's something mysterious about it."

"The secret arts and techniques of Bright Martial Hall are enough for us to train in."

"Hey, you Fourth Son, you're like a little old man—no curiosity, no energy. Come on, less talk!" Chu Mingxuan waved a hand. "Let's go, let's go."

As they spoke, everyone was watching them.

"Eighteenth Son!" Chu Qingfeng snorted.

Chu Mingxuan chuckled: "Thirteenth Uncle, you can't be too biased! We all want to know just how strong Fourth Son really is!"

"Yeah, yeah, let's see."

"Paternal Granduncle can't play favorites too much."

The crowd chimed in one after another.

Chu Zhiyuan stepped onto the platform and cupped his fists with a smile: "Since that's the case, I'll make a fool of myself then."

"That's more like it!" Chu Mingxuan slapped Chu Zhiyuan hard on the shoulder. "Let's go!"

Chu Zhiyuan followed Chu Mingxuan down the steps and stood among the crowd.

Counting Chu Zhiyuan, Bright Martial Hall had thirteen people in total.

Three princes and ten heirs apparent.

Among the three princes, the Eighteenth Prince, Chu Mingxuan, was the oldest. The remaining two were younger, with utterly unremarkable aptitudes—practically invisible.

Among the ten heirs apparent, aside from Chu Zhiyuan, two stood out from the other nine: Chu Zhiting and Chu Zhichuan. The rest were likewise nearly invisible.

Such was the law of this world: the strong reigned supreme, and no one listened to the weak.

This sparring session was the best chance to display themselves and strengthen their presence. Everyone was raring to go, excitement brimming.

With so few participants, there was little ceremony. They paired off, and the victors advanced to the next round.

Round after round, until a single winner emerged.

This time, Chu Zhiyuan's addition made it thirteen people. Chu Mingxuan suggested that one person be singled out to only face the final victor for the top spot.

"Ninth Son has taken first place several times already. Let it be him." Chu Mingxuan pointed at Chu Zhiting, then looked at Chu Zhichuan. "It's a shame for you, Tenth Son."

Chu Zhiting's handsome face was taut, but the corner of his mouth lifted, unable to hide his smugness.

Chu Zhichuan was tall and straight, handsome and aloof. "Eighteenth Uncle, how about Ninth Brother and I have a match first? Whoever loses sits out."

Chu Zhiting's burly frame stepped forward, glaring at Chu Zhichuan. "Tenth Brother, come on!"

Chu Zhichuan's hand rested on his sword hilt.

Chu Zhiting narrowed his tiger eyes.

The two were on the verge of erupting.

Chu Qingfeng waved a hand. "Enough. Let's do a round-robin instead. Everyone fights everyone. The four with the most wins then pair off for a decisive match."

"That's good," Chu Mingxuan clapped with a laugh. "Let's do as Thirteenth Uncle says!"

He looked at Chu Zhiyuan. "Fourth Son, how about we start?"

"Eighteenth Uncle, please instruct me."

Chu Zhiyuan withdrew his gaze from Chu Zhiting and Chu Zhichuan, who were still glaring at each other, their fighting spirit blazing.

"I won't go easy on you. Be careful!"

Chu Mingxuan grinned and walked to the center of the Training Ground.

"Eighteenth Uncle, catch!" A youth lifted a Wooden Saber from the weapon rack and tossed it to Chu Mingxuan.

Chu Mingxuan reached out and caught it, twirling it with a flourish, then smiled at Chu Zhiyuan.

Chu Zhiyuan first went to the weapon rack and picked out a wooden sword.

The wooden sword was heavy, its weight identical to a real blade. By feel alone, it could have passed for a genuine sword—like an Azure Edge Sword wrapped in a wooden sheath.

The others immediately made room, eyes fixed on the field without blinking.

They all wanted to see Chu Zhiyuan's true quality—whether he was as formidable as Chu Qingfeng claimed, or merely had cultivation without Martial Skill.

They guessed his Martial Skill was ordinary.

Because they'd heard Chu Zhiyuan say he needed to find a footwork technique, which meant his current one wasn't top-tier.

Even if he found a top-tier footwork, he might not have time to master it, so he certainly couldn't use it.

They speculated he'd been toiling away in a prisoner-like environment, single-mindedly cultivating the Lesser Violet Sun Technique to reach Perfected Houtian.

Chu Zhiyuan formed a sword seal with his left hand, lightly stroking the wooden sword's guard, its blade, all the way to the tip, feeling its grain, weight, and sensation. He smiled. "Eighteenth Uncle, I practice a swift sword style. If I offend, please don't take it amiss."

"Fourth Son, you've got a big mouth. Enough talk—make your move!"

Chu Mingxuan shook his long saber, his eyes snapping wide, and his aura transformed utterly.

The smiling Maitreya had transformed into a wrathful Vajra, exuding a savage and ferocious presence, as if a single slash could split mountains and rivers.

Countless manuals flashed through Chu Zhiyuan's mind, but he couldn't immediately identify the saber style. So he extended his five senses.

The next moment, every move of everyone around him was vividly imprinted in his mind, especially Chu Mingxuan's expressions and actions.

He clearly sensed the changes in Chu Mingxuan's muscles, the tension in his legs beneath his training clothes, the faint gathering of qi at his Yongquan acupoints, the subtle shifts in his leg muscles, and the slight rotation of his saber-wielding hand—one tendon on his wrist bulging, the other tightening.

Chu Zhiyuan understood intuitively: He's going to lunge right, then strike left.

"Ha! Watch the saber!"

Chu Mingxuan roared and slashed forward, the blade like a bolt of white silk across the sky.

"A fine Demon Subduing Saber!"

"Excellent technique!"

The crowd cheered, marveling at the perfectly executed strike.

"Bam!"

With a sudden dull thud, the saber's shadow vanished.

Chu Mingxuan's forward charge halted abruptly. His body tilted, stumbling two steps forward. He planted his saber with one hand and clutched his chest with the other, coughing violently.

"Cough, cough, cough, cough..."

His face flushed red like a drunkard's, as if brought on by the coughing—but not entirely caused by it.

Chu Zhiyuan sheathed his sword and held it reversed behind his elbow, clasping his fists apologetically. "Eighteenth Uncle, my apologies. Are you alright?"

The onlookers stood stunned, blinking hard.

They strained to recall what they had just witnessed, trying to make sense of how Zhiyuan had drawn his sword—yet none of them could see it clearly.

That single, awe-inspiring slash had seized everyone's attention, making them overlook Chu Zhiyuan's blade.

Chu Zhiyuan's right hand seemed to twitch.

The sword appeared to move only slightly, or perhaps it thrust and withdrew in one motion.

Too fast. Unseeable.

Chu Mingxuan's coughing gradually subsided. His plump face slowly returned to its normal color as he exhaled a mouthful of turbid breath, straightened his back, and glared at Chu Zhiyuan.

"Eighteenth Uncle..." Chu Zhiyuan clasped his fists again, looking sheepish.

Chu Mingxuan lowered the hand that had been clutching his chest, displeasure coloring his voice. "Fourth Son, quite impressive!"

Chu Zhiyuan smiled. "Eighteenth Uncle wasn't on guard. I just took advantage of the moment."

"Spare me. I wasn't underestimating you!"

Chu Mingxuan touched the spot just above his Tanzhong acupoint, still aching faintly. A mere hair's breadth away from a direct strike to the acupoint itself—that would have knocked him out cold. Clearly, the blow had been pulled.

He turned his head and said, "Ninth Son, your turn!"