Zou Ming drew his sword in a single fluid motion.
Steel flashed free of its scabbard as he lunged forward like a streak of lightning, his body cutting through the air with explosive force. His stance shifted mid-stride; the blade descended in a sweeping arc, and from that arc surged a visible ripple of sword qi that tore across the ground in a crescent wake, closing the distance to Wu Ming in the blink of an eye.
Wu Ming retreated with unhurried steps.
Each slash that should have cleaved flesh instead brushed past empty space. His movements were natural, almost effortless-yet uncannily precise. It was as though he could read the trajectory of every strike before it was born.
A flicker of surprise crossed Zou Ming's eyes. Few had ever evaded his speed so cleanly.
He did not allow himself complacency. Instead, he infused his blade with the rudimentary Sword Intent he had already grasped. The air around him grew sharper, heavier-each swing no longer merely steel, but will made manifest.
Shff-
The blade grazed past Wu Ming's cheek, slicing through a strand of hair -only to twist midair and recoil like a living serpent, lunging at his back from an impossible angle.
Wu Ming's reaction was instantaneous. His gaze sharpened; his perception expanded. Rather than retreat, he surged forward-straight toward Zou Ming.
His palm shot out.
Zou Ming crossed both forearms to block. The collision thundered across the arena like a muted explosion. Both were forced apart.
Wu Ming slid back three steps.
Zou Ming staggered thirteen.
A hush fell.
The spectators stared in disbelief. A young man who had already comprehended the basics of Sword Intent had been repelled-by a bare palm.
Shock rippled outward, drawing even the attention of the high-seated figures who had thus far observed with detached indifference.
Excitement erupted soon after.
At the edge of the arena, a man stepped forward, voice ringing clear:
"Why not make it interesting? Let us place wagers-victory and defeat. Lose, and you forfeit your stake. Win, and you claim double. What say you?"
Agreement spread swiftly. Silver, spirit stones, rare items-bets were laid without hesitation.
Most sided with Zou Ming.
The reasoning seemed obvious: though Wu Ming had created distance with a palm strike, if this battle dragged on, his energy would inevitably wane. Against freely wielded Sword Intent, exhaustion meant certain defeat.
Yet two individuals placed their wagers on Wu Ming.
Murmurs rose-calling them fools destined for ruin.
Among the elevated seats, Gu Chen Wei cast a sideways glance at his son.
"So this is the Wu Ming you mentioned within the clan? You still covet the treasure in his possession, do you not? From this exchange, can you judge whether he is worthy to contend with you-or whether that treasure shall inevitably fall into your hands?"
Gu Fei Yi narrowed his eyes, calculating silently.
By his assessment, Zou Ming's mastery of Sword Intent was genuine, albeit foundational. Wu Ming could maintain distance for a time, yes-but prolonged evasion would bleed him dry. Eventually, Sword Intent would overwhelm him.
Unless-
Unless he possessed something unseen.
"If he wins," Gu Fei Yi murmured at last, "it will not be easily."
Before further speculation could take root, another voice cut in.
"Do not conclude too soon."
Xuan Yue spoke calmly, her tone steady yet faintly amused.
"Your analysis, Young Master Gu, is rational and grounded in martial theory. Yet to judge an opponent before witnessing the entirety of his strength-that is no different from underestimating him. Watch carefully. Your calculations may yet falter."
Kong Hai scoffed.
"Overseer of the Sovereign Pavilion, do you truly believe that boy-who bears neither aura nor distinction-can defeat someone who has grasped Sword Intent?"
Her smile curved, sly and luminous.
"Shall we wager, then? If I lose, I will accept either of the heirs into my Imperial Commerce Hall as a core member."
The surrounding figures inhaled sharply.
Even the upper echelon could not remain indifferent at such a stake. Agreements were struck immediately.
Kong Hai committed without hesitation-staking high-grade weapons, tens of thousands of supreme-tier universal pills, and two million spirit stones upon Zou Ming's victory.
Privately, others followed suit. If fortune favored them, their descendants might gain entry into the Sovereign Pavilion-an opportunity capable of reshaping a family's destiny.
Then the unexpected unfolded.
Zou Ming unleashed a condensation technique, multiplying the presence of his blade. Each strike tremored through the arena, the ground quivering beneath the surging waves of sword qi. Though the surrounding formations-laid by high-level experts-shielded the audience from harm, the oppressive force was undeniable.
Seeing this, Wu Ming ceased concealing himself.
His spiritual sense unfurled outward, mapping trajectories, distances, angles-every fluctuation of killing intent. The storm of blades seemed to slow within his perception.
He evaded with ease.
Then-
He vanished.
Like lightning splitting the horizon, Wu Ming reappeared directly before Zou Ming. His palm descended without hesitation, striking the latter's dantian with merciless precision.
A sharp crack echoed.
Zou Ming coughed blood, his body hurled from the platform, crashing beyond its edge.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even combatants on neighboring stages faltered, their focus stolen by the decisive blow. Faces blanched among those who had wagered heavily against Wu Ming. None had foreseen such a reversal.
At the arena's edge, despairing cries erupted. Those who had backed Wu Ming hastily gathered their winnings-spirit stones glittering in abundance-before slipping away, wary of opportunistic retaliation.
The high-seated figures remained stunned.
A man wielding no weapon had defeated one who comprehended Sword Intent.
Though only at a foundational level, such a feat defied conventional understanding.
Kong Hai and the others who had wagered lavishly felt regret coil within their chests.
At first, he had witnessed Wu Ming withstand three exchanges against an imperial general. Later, he had seemed unable even to counter someone at the initial stage of Sword Intent. Now he overturned expectations entirely.
The inconsistency made him dangerous.
It made him unreadable.
Xuan Yue laughed softly, delight undisguised.
"I told you. To pass judgment before seeing one's full strength is to court humiliation. In this round, first or second place will belong either to that boy-Wu Ming-or to Chen Ye."
Her gaze lingered on the arena, bright with anticipation.
The winds of this competition had shifted.
Wu Ming descended from the platform with measured composure.
There was no triumph in his expression, no trace of arrogance in his stride. The murmurs of the crowd swelled and receded behind him like distant waves, yet he walked as though none of it concerned him.
Chen Ye watched him closely.
He had never overestimated Wu Ming-nor had he thought too highly of him. From what he had sensed before, Wu Ming's cultivation had merely rested at the eighth level of the Qi Condensation Realm. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing that warranted alarm.
And yet-
The battle just now had overturned that quiet assumption.
"Brother Wu Ming," Chen Ye called out, stepping forward and clasping his hands in a respectful salute, "you have made me feel somewhat ashamed. It seems I underestimated you earlier. For that, I offer my apology."
His tone was sincere, devoid of pride.
Wu Ming regarded him calmly.
"Is such a matter truly worth an apology?" he replied lightly. "I think not."
He continued walking, voice steady.
"All of us tread a difficult road toward our chosen destination. Some will reach their limits. Some will fall short. And one day, you will inevitably leave those behind who cannot keep pace-because your goal lies higher still."
The words were neither boastful nor cold.
They were simply true.
Chen Ye fell silent for a brief moment, absorbing the meaning layered beneath the surface. Then a faint chuckle escaped him.
"It seems Brother Wu Ming understands the ways of the world far more deeply than I expected," he said. "I, too, have some interest in worldly discourse. After this tournament concludes-if time permits-would you be willing to share a drink and converse at leisure?"
Wu Ming smiled, natural and unforced.
"I shall await that time."
...
.......
Several hours slipped by, and dusk gradually draped the sky in amber and violet hues.
As the last rays of sunlight faded beyond the horizon, a resonant voice echoed throughout the arena.
"The preliminary selection matches have now concluded successfully. From among the vast multitude who first entered the arena, one thousand remain standing. These one thousand are hereby recognized as qualified and are granted the right to register for the Official Tournament of the Talented."
Attendants stepped forward, distributing small wooden plaques to each surviving contender.
"Each of you will receive this wooden insignia. Drip your blood upon it to bind it as your own. It will record your identity, your progress through each stage, and the points you accumulate. All achievements will be transmitted automatically through this token. This measure exists to prevent fraud and the theft of another's merits."
A faint murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Today's proceedings are concluded. All qualified talents are to prepare themselves. In two days' time, the Official Tournament shall commence."
In the high-seated section, Gu Chen Wei turned to his son.
"Fei Yi."
Gu Fei Yi inclined his head. "Yes, Father?"
"When the tournament begins, do you believe you can secure a place within the top three?"
Gu Chen Wei fell into contemplation before nodding slowly.
"For now, we cannot thoroughly investigate him. There remains an imperial directive from General Mu Chen. To act rashly may result in disciplinary action-even demotion of our clan."
Gu Fei Yi's gaze sharpened.
"And what of Gu Yi Fan? Does he not intend to participate?"
At that, Gu Chen Wei replied calmly, "Your elder brother is currently in closed-door cultivation, attempting to break through to the next realm."
Gu Fei Yi's eyes widened slightly. "He is attempting a breakthrough now?"
"Yes. And once he succeeds, he will certainly participate. The benefits of passing this Tournament of the Talented are immense. The same applies to you."
Gu Chen Wei's tone grew solemn.
"The Empire has issued a decree: any individual who passes this tournament may be considered for elevation as a recognized talent across all imperial territories. The implications are far-reaching."
Gu Fei Yi exhaled softly.
"So that is the case... I understand."
Unbeknownst to them, their entire exchange had been observed-and overheard-with careful attention.
From not far away, Xuan Yue's lips curved into a knowing smile.
"It seems," she murmured lightly to herself, "something rather interesting is about to unfold."
Night descended upon the city of Quan Dian, yet the streets were brighter than day.
Celebration surged through every avenue. Lanterns swayed beneath tiled eaves, casting ripples of amber light across the stone-paved roads. Merchants shouted, musicians played, and countless faces-strangers bound by the same anticipation-ate and drank in exuberant spirits.
Within a modest tavern tucked between two bustling streets, Wu Ming and Chen Ye sat opposite one another at a wooden table worn smooth by years of patrons. Cups of wine stood between them, their fragrance mellow and deep.
They spoke not of trivialities, but of cultivation-of paths, of comprehension, of the unseen principles that governed life and death.
Chen Ye had already emptied several bottles.
The more he listened, the more astonished he became. Many of the insights Wu Ming shared were things he had never once heard in his years of practice-concepts that pierced beyond common understanding. Each sentence seemed simple, yet when contemplated carefully, it opened into layers upon layers of depth.
"Brother Wu Ming," Chen Ye said, his voice tinged with admiration, "I truly did not expect you to possess such profound understanding of the paths of cultivation. Whether it be life and death, or the refinement of one's heart... all of it surpasses the limits of my own comprehension. It feels as though I alone have gained from this exchange. I am ashamed."
Wu Ming waved a hand dismissively, his expression calm.
"There is no need to think so," he replied. "Since we have met and become companions, that alone is fate upon the road of cultivation. Though we may tread different paths, our destinations are not so different. So long as our hearts align, we remain companions-even if heaven and earth themselves attempt to divide us."
Those words struck Chen Ye like a tremor through his very bones.
Excitement. Gratitude. A strange warmth.
Rarely had he encountered someone who understood him so clearly-who could not only perceive his inner conflict, but gently guide him toward a clearer direction. In that moment, the boundary between friend and mentor blurred.
He exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward the open window.
Outside, the sky stretched vast and star-strewn, constellations shimmering above the lively city. The commotion below felt distant compared to the silent brilliance of the heavens.
This Tournament of the Talented had stirred the entire realm. Those selected were no mere participants-they were potential faces of the kingdom itself.
Wu Ming watched him quietly before breaking the silence.
"You are still preoccupied with something, are you not?"
Chen Ye's eyes widened for a brief instant, startled that his thoughts had been seen through so easily. He soon regained composure.
"It is nothing worth your concern," he replied after a pause. "Merely something from the past that I would rather forget. To dwell on it would only hinder my resolve upon the path of the sword."
Wu Ming regarded him steadily.
"If you intend to walk the path of the sword in solitude-abandoning all things behind you-that will never succeed."
Chen Ye frowned slightly.
"Why?"
"Is not the sword path one of relinquishment?" Chen Ye pressed. "To cast aside emotions, sever attachments, purge distractions-so that the sword-heart remains unwavering? In doing so, one strengthens the will and resists temptation. Only then may one hope to comprehend Sword Intent at a deeper level."
Wu Ming's voice cooled.
"You think too narrowly."
Chen Ye stiffened.
"Your understanding of the sword remains shallow. That belief is merely the fragmentary view of one who has yet to grasp the true heart and will of the sword."
Chen Ye shook his head faintly, unconvinced.
"You may think my words absurd," Wu Ming continued evenly. "Yet tonight, I will point out a direction for you. How much you comprehend depends on yourself."
He leaned back slightly, eyes steady as tempered steel.
"On the path of the sword, to abandon one's emotions, to bury the past -even to discard one's own wounds-will not grant true attainment of the sword-heart. At best, it creates someone who hides shame, humiliation, and weakness beneath a cold façade."
"If you refuse to confront your past, then your resolve is not truly firm. Your sword path will be riddled with flaws and unseen cracks."
He continued without pause.
"The sword-heart and Sword Intent are intertwined. They cannot be severed from one another. To believe there is only a single path toward enlightenment-that is a grave mistake."
"The true sword-heart is pure-not because it is empty, but because it is unbound. It does not cling, nor does it flee. It is gentle and simple... yet within that simplicity lies an edge that cannot be shaken."
Silence fell.
Chen Ye's expression darkened, a faint shadow of sorrow passing across his features.
Slowly, he rose from his seat.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the tavern, disappearing into the night beneath the endless stars.
Upon witnessing Chen Ye's departure, Wu Ming did not immediately follow.
He remained seated within the tavern, the cup of wine still warm in his hand. The lantern light flickered softly across his calm features as laughter and drunken chatter drifted through the air. He sipped unhurriedly, as though the world beyond the rim of his cup held no urgency worth chasing.
Only after a measured span of time did he rise.
Without haste, he stepped out and traced the path Chen Ye had taken.
The bustling streets gradually thinned. The glow of tavern lights faded behind him, replaced by the cool hush of the outskirts. Night wind brushed against his robes as he walked, unanchored and drifting, until the distant roar of water reached his ears.
Soon, the scenery opened before him.
A waterfall cascaded from a jagged cliff, its waters gleaming beneath the silver wash of moonlight. Mist rose like drifting silk, and the surrounding forest stood tranquil and untouched. The atmosphere was serene-almost sacred-perfect for meditation and quiet contemplation beneath the vast canopy of stars.
Then-
From across the flowing river came a sound.
A sharp cry.
Another.
And another-rhythmic, forceful, like a battle shout cutting through the roar of water.
Wu Ming stepped closer to the riverbank and gazed across the current.
On the opposite side stood Chen Ye.
He was practicing his sword.
Each slash split the air with explosive force. The blade carved arcs of pale light beneath the moon, stirring wind and water alike. His movements were fierce and dangerous-filled with speed and raw power. Yet despite the intensity, something was lacking.
His strikes were strong.
But they were not fluid.
There was a rigidity beneath the force, a faint disruption in the flow between intent and execution.
Chen Ye suddenly stopped.
He had sensed the gaze upon him.
Turning slowly, his face was calm and expressionless. Across the river, their eyes met. No hostility. No warmth. Only the quiet acknowledgment of two cultivators standing upon intersecting paths.
Then Chen Ye raised his voice, shouting over the river's roar:
"Wu Ming! In two days, the Tournament of the Talented shall commence! I wish to measure against you-just how profound your understanding of the sword truly is!"
Wu Ming understood instantly.
This was not merely a duel of blades.
It was a confrontation of conviction.
He smiled faintly and shook his head, almost helplessly amused.
"Very well. I shall be waiting to see whether your sword techniques and your so-called Path of the Sword are truly worthy of that name."
Having spoken, Wu Ming turned without hesitation and walked away, never once glancing back.
Chen Ye watched his retreating figure for a long moment.
Then he said nothing further.
His grip tightened around the hilt.
And he resumed training-unceasing, relentless, his blade carving through the night air again and again.
By the next morning, a new wave of commotion erupted throughout the city.
Cultivators and commoners alike gathered in clusters, whispering fervently. The streets buzzed with anticipation.
An announcement had been made.
"The Sovereign Pavilion hereby declares that whoever secures first place in this Tournament of the Talented shall be accepted directly as a member of the Imperial Commerce Hall!"
The proclamation struck like thunder.
Within a secluded courtyard stood a demon cultivator.
He was not large in stature, resembling an ordinary young man at first glance. Yet his appearance bore distinctive traits-one elegant horn curved from his head, and his bearing carried an unmistakable nobility, as though he were born into rank and privilege.
His name was Mo Li.
He was the son of a powerful demon lord who wielded immense influence within the imperial capital. Though born into such authority, Mo Li had been sent to this city as an infant and had grown up here. He understood the local factions and hidden powers intimately.
Though the announcement had been issued directly by the Sovereign Pavilion, doubt lingered in his thoughts.
Humans and demons now coexisted in relative peace-but coexistence did not equate to complete acceptance. Not every human welcomed every demon, just as demons did not fully trust mankind.
Mo Li turned to his personal guard.
"Is this news authentic? Or merely a fabrication meant to stir excitement and manipulate public fervor?"
His guard, Mo Zheng, bowed respectfully.
"It is absolutely genuine, Young Master. The declaration clearly states that race holds no restriction. Whoever attains first place proves their capability and shall receive the right to enter the Sovereign Pavilion. There are no limitations."
Mo Li nodded slowly, contemplation flickering across his eyes.
With a simple wave of his hand, he ordered his attendants to prepare his direct registration for the Tournament of the Talented.
Those of recognized lineage and acknowledged talent were not required to undergo the preliminary selection. They could register directly for the official competition. Mo Li was one such individual-renowned among demonkind, and shielded by the immense authority of his father within the empire. Certain factions would not dare provoke him lightly.
He lifted his gaze toward the distant skyline.
"So tomorrow is the true trial."
His voice lowered, contemplative.
"The opportunity to become a member of the Sovereign Pavilion is exceedingly rare-nearly impossible under ordinary circumstances. Even someone of City Lord Gu Chen Wei's status cannot attain even an ordinary membership."
That alone revealed the Pavilion's magnitude-its authority towering beyond even city lords.
"In that case... this tournament shall determine someone's future."
A faint smile curved across his lips.
"How intriguing."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"I can scarcely restrain myself any longer."
A low, resonant laugh echoed softly within the courtyard.
"Ha... ha ha..."