The three-day deadline arrived in the blink of an eye.
The Azure Mystic Sect's martial arena stood at the center of the sect, surrounded by mountains on all four sides.
In the middle of the grounds rose an enormous platform of dark stone.
Formation patterns were carved into its four corners, their spiritual light interlinking, enough to withstand an all-out clash between Spirit Martial Realm cultivators.
By now, the spectator stands all around were already packed.
Inner disciples sat in the front rows, while outer disciples crowded the back.
Servant disciples who arrived late had no seats and could only climb distant treetops and rooftops, craning their necks to look at the platform.
News of this contest had spread throughout the Azure Mystic Sect three days earlier.
Someone in the Qi Condensation Realm was going to compete against eight direct disciples for the Giant Que Sword.
That alone was enough to draw half the sect over to watch the spectacle.
"Is Chu Yunfei really going up there?"
"The news has been going around for three days. How could it be false?"
"Qi Condensation Realm against Spirit Martial Realm? Isn't he just going up there to get beaten?"
"He used to be a peak lord's son, after all. He's plenty arrogant. Back when Peak Lord Chu was alive, there were hardly any people he took seriously."
Someone lowered his voice, his tone brimming with delight at another's misfortune.
"Too bad his father's already dead."
"I heard from someone in the inner sect that Chu Yunfei has recovered quickly over the past half month. He's already at the eighth level of Qi Condensation."
"So what if he's at the eighth level of Qi Condensation?"
A disciple beside him scoffed.
"The weakest direct disciple taking the stage today is at the second level of the Spirit Martial Realm. There's an entire major realm between them. What could he possibly fight them with?"
"True."
"That's the Giant Que Sword, at least upper earth-grade. The elders have had their eyes on it for so long. How could they really let him take it away?"
Discussion continued all around.
Occasionally, someone spoke a word in Chu Yunfei's defense, only to be quickly drowned out by the surrounding jeers.
In the eyes of the vast majority of disciples, the outcome of this contest was already beyond doubt.
They had come here only to see how miserably Chu Yunfei would lose.
On the raised dais, the elders' seats were already full.
Zhou Huanzhang sat third from the left, dressed in black robes, his temples slightly graying and a genial smile never leaving his face.
He lifted his teacup and leisurely took a sip.
The elders beside him occasionally exchanged glances. None spelled anything out, but each knew perfectly well what the others were scheming.
The contest had not even begun, yet they had nearly finished dividing up the Giant Que Sword's eventual ownership.
It was a spiritual artifact of at least upper earth-grade.
How could they truly hand it to a junior in the Qi Condensation Realm?
When Chu Batian had been alive, he had been the lord of Tiger Roar Peak and an expert renowned throughout Qingyang City. Back then, countless people in the sect had wanted to cultivate ties with him.
But Chu Batian was dead.
Once a man died, his prestige scattered, and old ties turned cold.
All that remained now was a son starting his cultivation anew and a fine sword without a master.
Zhou Huanzhang set down his teacup, swept his gaze over the direct disciples in the waiting area, then rested it on his own disciple, Xu Changqing.
As though sensing it, Xu Changqing gave him a slight nod.
The smile on Zhou Huanzhang's face deepened.
Whoever won in the end, the Giant Que Sword could not bypass the Elders' Council.
As long as the sword did not fall into Chu Yunfei's hands, what followed would be easy to handle.
At the end of the elders' seating, Lin Wanyin sat quietly.
She wore a pale purple dress, her hands folded over her knees, her raven hair pinned high with a white jade hairpin. Her expression was as cool and distant as ever.
She had the least seniority among the elders and seldom associated with others, so naturally no one around her took the initiative to speak to her.
Lin Wanyin glanced at the entrance to the martial arena.
There was still no sign of Chu Yunfei there.
Her hand gripped her sword tightly.
No one noticed that slight movement.
She quickly withdrew her gaze, her face betraying nothing unusual.
In the guest seats, Situ Shuang'er sat one seat apart from a young man in dark robes.
The young man was tall and straight, his handsome features cold and stern, his ink-black hair bound with a golden crown. His brow carried the arrogance of someone long accustomed to standing above others.
He was none other than the Heavenly Sword Sect's Holy Son, Nangong Wuhen.
He lounged against the back of his chair, propping his chin on his right hand, not even bothering to spare the contestants' roster another glance.
Three days earlier, he had casually sent Chu Yunfei, then at the eighth level of Qi Condensation, flying twice.
Now, the man actually still dared take the stage and contend for a sword against a group of Spirit Martial Realm direct disciples.
Was he stupid, or arrogant?
To Nangong Wuhen, there was little difference.
This so-called direct disciple contest was merely a show to pass the time before he left the Azure Mystic Sect.
His gaze drifted idly across the dais.
The next instant, it stopped.
At the center of the dais, a pitch-black ancient sword lay quietly on a specially made sword stand.
Its blade was plain and heavy, with no ornate decorations or strong fluctuations of spiritual power. Judging by its appearance alone, it could at most be considered an ancient sword of decent quality.
But Nangong Wuhen cultivated the sword.
When his divine sense swept over the Giant Que Sword's surface, a patch of rust at the end of its hilt caught his attention.
Beneath the black rust lay an ancient rune almost worn away by the years. Only one corner of the rune was exposed, yet it made his breath catch for half a beat.
He had seen this rune before.
In the deepest recesses of the Heavenly Sword Sect's secret repository lay an incomplete ancient tome.
That tome recorded a name from the distant past.
The Heaven-Slaying Sword Emperor.
The strongest sword cultivator of all time, without equal.
Legend had it that before disappearing, the Heaven-Slaying Sword Emperor had left his lifetime's legacy on the continent.
Opening the place where that legacy lay required gathering three keys.
All three keys had been forged into swords and scattered across the True Martial Continent. They looked ordinary; their only true identifying mark was the Heaven-Slaying Ancient Rune at the end of each hilt.
The Giant Que Sword before him was very likely one of those three keys.
Nangong Wuhen's fingers slowly tightened on the armrest.
Did these people from the Azure Mystic Sect know the Giant Que Sword's true origins?
If they did not, they were merely fighting over an earth-grade spiritual sword.
If they did...
Nangong Wuhen's gaze passed over Sect Master Zhang Qingfeng, then swept across the elders' seats in turn.
Everyone's attention was on the platform and the participating disciples. No one was paying attention to the ancient rune concealed beneath the rust.
It seemed they most likely did not know.
Nangong Wuhen slowly relaxed his hand and leaned back in his chair again.
The surprise on his face had vanished.
In its place was the same nonchalant expression as before.
But from that moment onward, the result of this contest no longer mattered to him.
Whoever obtained the Giant Que Sword, he had ways to make them hand it over.
He would have this sword.
"Holy Son Nangong, is something amiss?"
Noticing something unusual about him, Situ Shuang'er spoke in a calm voice.
"Nothing."
Nangong Wuhen smiled, his tone casual.
"That sword is of decent quality. I gave it another look."
Situ Shuang'er followed his gaze.
The Giant Que Sword lay quietly across its stand, pitch-black and heavy.
It was a keepsake left by Chu Yunfei's father.
She had once seen Chu Batian entering and leaving the sect with that sword on his back. Back then, Chu Yunfei had still been the Azure Mystic Sect's most celebrated genius, and everyone had been certain he would inherit Tiger Roar Peak.
Now, not even Chu Batian's bones remained.
And Chu Yunfei had to contend with others for his own father's sword.
Situ Shuang'er lowered her eyes and reached up to smooth the loose strands of hair beside her temple.
It had nothing to do with her.
She had already awakened a special constitution and would soon enter the Heavenly Sword Sect.
And however quickly Chu Yunfei recovered, he was still only in the Qi Condensation Realm now.
Their paths had long since diverged.
She repeated these words in her heart, yet her gaze still shifted half an inch toward the entrance against her will.
The next instant, a figure appeared at the end of the stone steps.
Blue-gray robes, an ink-black longsword hanging at his waist.
His pace was not quick, but every step landed steadily.
Chu Yunfei had arrived.
The noise in the martial arena abruptly rose a notch.
Countless gazes fell on him in unison.
Then the comments and jeers dropped again, merging into a humming murmur.
"He's here. He really dared to come."
"He walks steadily enough. Let's see how many moves he lasts onstage."
"I bet ten moves."
"Ten? You think far too highly of him."
Chu Yunfei walked through the crowd without the slightest pause.
He did not look at the disciples mocking him, nor did he pay attention to the elders on the dais.
His gaze passed over the crowd and settled on that pitch-black ancient sword.
The Giant Que Sword.
His father's most treasured sword in life.
After his father's misfortune, the sect had said they would temporarily keep it safe for him.
Later, temporary safekeeping had become sealing it away in the sword tomb.
Now, it had become a prize for whoever proved capable.
Layer after layer of rules had pressed down, until things had become what they were today.
Eight direct disciples were competing for the Giant Que Sword.
Yet he, the sword owner's son, had to take the stage as an outsider to fight for his own family's possession.
Chu Yunfei looked at the Giant Que Sword for a moment, with neither anger nor grievance in his eyes.
Some truths only needed to be spoken once.
Since no one was willing to listen, he would let his sword speak.
He withdrew his gaze, came to the waiting area, and sat down on a stone bench.
The other direct disciples turned to look at him.
Some looked contemptuous, some rested with their eyes closed, and others made no attempt to conceal the hostility in their eyes.
Chu Yunfei paid none of them any attention.
He closed his eyes, his breathing gradually settling.
Within his body, the spiritual power of the ninth level of Qi Condensation slowly circulated through his meridians, his presence deep and powerful, his foundation stable.
Over those three days, he had not only stabilized his new realm but also cultivated the Divine Movement Art from the introductory stage to minor accomplishment.
Those outside were still discussing how many moves he, an eighth-level Qi Condensation cultivator, could last.
No one knew how much he had changed over those three days.