He took a slow breath. The air here wasn't air at all—it was clarity, pure and light, carrying the hum of his own soul. The calm here was deceptive, he realized; beneath it, power thrummed like a heartbeat.
At the center of the ocean, the Soul-Nurturing Lotus floated in quiet perfection. Its petals glowed with a golden-white radiance, each layered bloom emanating warmth that melted seamlessly into the vast sea around it. Fine roots stretched beneath the surface, threading through the spiritual waters like golden veins, reaching far and deep into the endless blue.
The lotus's light wasn't overwhelming—it was gentle, soothing, yet absolute. Wherever its glow touched, the water shimmered with serenity, the waves settling into stillness.
Lao Xie took a few slow steps forward across the surface of the sea—each footstep leaving ripples that spread outward before vanishing again. His gaze lingered on the lotus for a long time, quiet and contemplative.
"So this is what my Knowledge Sea looks like now…" he murmured softly. "Complete."
The lotus responded with a faint pulse—its petals shifting slightly, sending thin ripples of light across the waters as if acknowledging his words.
He closed his eyes again and felt it—the rhythm of the lotus intertwined with his own heartbeat, every pulse threading through his soul, calming and vast.
"...Not bad," he muttered with a small, content smirk. "At least the pain wasn't for nothing."
A faint breeze stirred across the sea, carrying with it a whispering hum that almost sounded like laughter—the sound of the lotus resonating faintly within the vast stillness.
Lao Xie let the calm wash over him for a moment longer before withdrawing his consciousness, letting the boundless sea fade from view.
When he opened his eyes again, the quiet of his hut returned—the morning light spilling softly across the floor. But the faint golden gleam still lingered in his gaze, like starlight reflected on deep water.
Three days passed in quiet stillness.
The world outside his hut moved, but Lao Xie did not.
Since the moment the Soul-Nurturing Lotus had taken root within him, he hadn't stepped outside once. The door remained closed, the lanterns burned down, and silence lingered — broken only by the faint hum of Qi flowing through the air.
He spent the days in cultivation — sinking deep into the rhythm of his own body, feeling the harmony between soul and meridian. The lotus within his Knowledge Sea pulsed softly, drawing in spiritual energy from the world beyond and refining it into something purer, cleaner, infinitely calm.
Every breath he took felt heavier, more grounded — as if the air itself had weight. His cultivation hadn't advanced again, but the foundation beneath it had become unshakably solid. His divine sense stretched farther each day, now reaching beyond the walls of his hut, brushing faintly against the flow of life throughout the outer sect.
He could feel everything — the rushing of disciples' Qi, the chatter from the training grounds, even the faint echoes of distant duels.
The second semi-final had already concluded by the time dusk brushed its colors across the peaks.
Not long after Lao Xie's match with Shen Yun ended, another roar swept through the Martial Hall — the next battle had begun.
Zhang Weiren of Iron Ring Peak stood at the center of the stage, his broad frame casting a shadow beneath the fading light. The faint tremor in the air around him carried the weight of his Dao — raw, grounded, and unshakable. His fists gleamed faintly with the sheen of refined spiritual metal, each movement balanced and deliberate, like a mountain waiting to move.
Mei Yan, in contrast, carried herself with the grace of flowing wind. Her carefully crafted hanfu fluttered softly around her as she took her stance, the faint chime of her jade ornament ringing against the evening air. But unlike her usual self, she carried no guzheng this time — only a slender sword that gleamed faintly beneath the fading light.
The officiating elder gave the signal, and the arena stirred to life.
Zhang Weiren moved first — a heavy step, a burst of Qi, and the ground cracked beneath his feet as his fist tore through the air like rolling thunder. Mei Yan's sword flickered in response, meeting the blow with a clean, fluid arc that split the sound of impact into a ringing note.
For a while, they traded blows — fist and blade colliding again and again, sparks scattering like stars in the twilight. The crowd erupted with every clash, their cheers blending into the roar of Qi that filled the stage.
Zhang Weiren's strikes came like storms, his movements heavy but never crude. There was rhythm to his power — measured, precise, carrying the echo of experience.
Mei Yan's swordwork was light, elegant, and unpredictable. Each swing seemed to follow an invisible melody, her movements flowing like the strings of her guzheng come alive. Yet even as her strikes held grace, her expression was calm, focused — untouchable.
Zhang Weiren blocked another slash and smiled faintly, his voice cutting through the noise.
"You really don't plan to use your guzheng, huh?"
Mei Yan's steps didn't falter. "I don't need it," she said simply, her tone clear and resolute.
Zhang Weiren exhaled softly, half a laugh under his breath. "You say that every time." His voice wasn't mocking — it carried something gentler, almost fond. "But you fight like someone trying to prove something. You don't have to, you know."
Mei Yan's eyes flicked toward him, sharp as her blade. "Then maybe I just don't want to lose to someone who pities me."
Her next strike came faster — three arcs in a blink, slicing through his defense like a melody without pause. Zhang Weiren grinned despite himself, blocking with both forearms. Sparks burst between them, Qi colliding in rippling waves.
The match continued, fierce yet strangely intimate — their movements carrying an unspoken familiarity, a rhythm that spoke of years spent watching each other from afar.
But even so, the difference in their Daos began to show. Mei Yan's sword, graceful as it was, lacked the weight of her guzheng's resonance. Zhang Weiren's strength built with every exchange, each strike heavier than the last, until finally, her rhythm faltered for just an instant — and that was enough.
His final punch struck the stage with a deafening crack. The shockwave shattered the air itself, and Mei Yan's blade fractured under the force, splintering into silver shards that scattered like petals.
She stumbled back several steps before catching herself. Her chest rose and fell, her sword hand trembling slightly as she steadied her breath.
The officiating elder raised his hand, announcing the result.
Zhang Weiren stood victorious.
The cheers rolled through the arena like thunder — but he didn't raise his arms, didn't smile in triumph. He simply watched Mei Yan for a moment, his gaze soft despite the crowd roaring his name.
"Your sword's good," he said quietly, his voice low enough that only those near the stage could hear. "But your music… is better."
Mei Yan looked up, meeting his eyes for just a moment before turning away, her expression unreadable.
The cheers continued long after she'd stepped off the stage.
Zhang Weiren of Iron Ring Peak — the outer sect's immovable mountain — had claimed his place in the final match.
And while the entire sect buzzed with excitement, one man's name drifted on everyone's lips — the other finalist who had vanished the moment his fight ended.
Lao Xie.
He hadn't appeared again that day.
While the sect celebrated and whispered about who would win the coming final, his world had grown quiet — sealed behind closed doors and drawn curtains.
"Three days had passed, so it's finally the time for the final," he murmured softly. "Let's see what the mountain has prepared for me this time."