After a round of discussion, the dozen or so legion commanders and their many advisers finally decided:
The magical contest still had to go ahead.
What if the one who came wasn't Wang Quan?
Even if he came, he wouldn't necessarily act!
Even if he acted, he wouldn't necessarily unleash a Sky Patrol strike!
Even if he unleashed a Sky Patrol strike, it wouldn't necessarily kill them!
After all... they were all human... Wang Quan probably wouldn't be that savage!
Besides, there was a clever fellow among them who claimed there were plenty of ways to stop Wang Quan from unleashing a Sky Patrol strike.
At that thought, everyone's spirits lifted.
"Today, we drink and make merry; tomorrow, we fight pleasantly tipsy."
"If we win, we were celebrating in advance; if we lose, blame the drinking!"
Some quick-witted fellow found everyone an excuse.
Soon, they laid out a grand feast and drank and made merry.
Up in the mulberry tree, Ying Jiaren gazed into the distance. Watching their revelry, her heart remained without a ripple.
At times, she chanted Dao Language, casting spells to bolster the mulberry tree's growth; at others, she studied the many Fundamental Methods and spells.
At still others, she sank into thought, working through the arrangements for tomorrow's magical contest.
Two hours...
Ten hours...
Twenty hours...
The sky over Bitter Cold City in the Far North remained gray, a great sun hanging listlessly overhead.
Toot! Toot! Toot!
Some Ox Spirits pulled off their horns, ground holes into them, and sounded them.
The horn calls carried desolation and pain as they swept through Bitter Cold City.
Some Spirit Monsters stripped off ox hides, tanned them, and made them into great hide drums, then yanked two leg bones from their little companions' thighs, twirled them in their hands,