To his left and right, other elders sat in neat rows, their gazes sharp as they swept over the arena.
Meanwhile, on another side.
On the outer disciple stands, two figures drew more attention than they intended to.
Ling Ruxin sat quietly, her guqin case resting beside her, while beside her—surprisingly—sat Elder Yao.
A few glances from nearby disciples flickered their way, curiosity written all over their faces. It wasn't every day an elder chose to sit among the outer disciples.
Ling Ruxin shifted slightly, her expression caught somewhere between helpless and awkward.
"Why are you sitting here with me, Elder Yao?" she asked, voice light but edged with unease.
Elder Yao didn't seem bothered in the least. She crossed one leg over the other, her tone relaxed, almost playful. "And why are you here too?"
Ling Ruxin blinked, caught off guard. "I'm at least still a disciple…" she said, her lips curling into a faint, strained smile. "You're an elder. Your seat's over there." She pointed toward the elevated section reserved for elders, where the sect's senior figures sat in neat rows.
Elder Yao followed her gesture with her gaze, then turned back, the corners of her lips lifting. "And yet, I'd rather sit here."
Ling Ruxin sighed softly, lowering her voice. "Geez… I can't understand you. Can't you see how many people are staring at us?"
Elder Yao chuckled, her tone amused. "Same goes for you. You're an inner disciple, and yet you still chose to sit here with the outer ones. Can't you see how the inner disciples have been looking your way since earlier?"
Ling Ruxin froze for a moment before looking away, a faint blush brushing her cheeks. "That's… different," she muttered under her breath.
Elder Yao only smiled again, eyes glinting faintly as she turned her attention back to the arena. "Different, huh? Let's see if your little 'different' will show up soon."
Elder Yao's gaze drifted briefly, her eyes narrowing with a faint, knowing smile.
"…What a nice hairpin you've got there."
Ling Ruxin blinked, fingers instinctively brushing the delicate silver pin nestled in her hair. For a brief second, her composure faltered. "Haha… I had this long ago," she said, her smile turning a little awkward. "I just… decided to wear it today."
"Oh?" Elder Yao arched a brow, amusement dancing in her tone. "On this specific day, of all times? How amusing."
Ling Ruxin's cheeks tinged faintly pink. She turned her face away, pretending to look toward the arena. "He's late again?" she muttered quickly, her voice barely above a whisper—as if hoping to steer the topic elsewhere.
Elder Yao chuckled softly, clearly entertained by her reaction. "Yes," she said, her tone low but teasing. "It seems he enjoys making an entrance."
"...He's late again?" Ling Ruxin muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Elder Yao gave a faint, teasing smile. "Seems to be his habit, doesn't it?"
Ling Ruxin tried to laugh it off, but her gaze wandered toward the empty platform below. Her fingers brushed the hairpin resting above her ear — the one she had chosen to wear today.
Below, the restless crowd began to stir.
"Where is he?" one of the outer disciples muttered, craning his neck toward the entrance. "Don't tell me he's really skipping this round?"
Another scoffed lightly, "No way he's late—it's the semi-final!"
A third cut in, "You clearly haven't heard. He's always late. Shows up when the referee's about to call his name, like he enjoys the attention."
"Yeah? Maybe he just wants to make everyone nervous."
"The referee's already raising his hand—he's about to start!"
"Bet you he'll walk in at the last second again," someone laughed, though the sound carried a faint edge of doubt.
The murmurs spread like ripples in a pond—mocking, curious, restless. Every whisper added to the tension building in the air, until the noise swelled loud enough to drown out even the wind.
And then, it stopped.
A gust swept through the arena, carrying dust and silence in its wake. Heads turned almost in unison.
From the far entrance, a figure finally appeared.
The sun caught his outstanding hanfu as he stepped forward, calm and unhurried. The faint gleam of light along the hem seemed to draw the world's attention toward him.
The noise faded to stillness. Even the flags around the stage hung motionless.
"…He's really coming," someone whispered, almost breathless.
"There he is—Lao Xie."
A few of the previously sneering disciples fell quiet, their eyes following him as if unwillingly pulled.
On the stage, Shen Yun lifted his gaze, expression steady but a faint crease formed between his brows.
When Lao Xie stepped onto the platform, the referee gave a short nod, signaling the start.
Shen Yun clasped his hands and bowed slightly. "Lao Xie, I've been waiting." His tone was polite, but his eyes glinted with restrained pressure.
He added with a faint chuckle, "I've heard the rumors that you're always late. I thought they were exaggerated."
Lao Xie met his gaze calmly, returning the bow. "I was cultivating earlier. Pardon me for being late."
The crowd rippled with reactions.
"Look at that—he's still so calm despite facing Shen Yun!"
"Does he not feel any pressure at all?"
Above, in the elders' stands, Elder Mu leaned back slightly, a small grin tugging at his mouth.
Beside him, a bulky elder with a broad jaw and fierce eyes crossed his arms, studying the youth below.
"So that's the kid you've been talking about?" he rumbled, his voice deep and rough like gravel.
"Indeed, that's him," Elder Mu said with a small grin.
"He doesn't look like much," the bulky elder snorted. "Thin as a reed. Azure Edge Peak's disciple won't have trouble breaking him."
"Perhaps," Elder Mu replied, tone light but eyes sharp. "But do you know what's more frightening than a strong youth?"
The bulky elder arched a brow. "What?"
"A calm one."
Below, Lao Xie and Shen Yun stood facing each other, the air between them beginning to shift—like two tides meeting in silence.
Shen Yun studied the calm figure before him. There was nothing overtly intimidating about Lao Xie—his posture was relaxed, his eyes half-lidded. Yet something about that stillness gnawed at the edges of Shen Yun's focus.
"It's like standing before a lake… but I can't see the bottom," he thought quietly.
"Zhang Weiren was right—there really is something strange about him." said inwardly.
Meanwhile, As Shen Yun's aura began to stir, his eyes narrowed faintly. His spiritual sense swept the platform like a silent tide.
"Body Tempering Ninth Stage. His qi flow is steady, not bad at all…" he thought.
A faint smile ghosted across his lips "As expected of a peak body tempering stage cultivator, his body has been solidly tempered."