By the edge of the jade-green pool, the great beast—the Water Qilin, which had long been deep in slumber—suddenly jolted awake. It whipped its massive head around with savage fury, its enormous eyes blazing with boundless ferocity. The fur along its spine bristled on end as it wrenched open its cavernous maw, baring two long and razor-sharp fangs, falling into an unmistakable posture of attack. And its target was none other than the disciples of Qingyu Sect standing upon the stone steps.
The Water Qilin was a primordial spirit-beast of the Ancient Wilderness, a creature of the oldest age. The moment its divine might unfurled, the sky itself seemed to answer — the clear blue heavens darkened in an instant. As it planted its first step upon the stone stairs, the mountain breeze that had lain still transformed into a howling gale, shrieking and sharp, sweeping across the entire summit. In the jade-green pool nearest to the Water Qilin, the surface began to change: from mirror-calm it trembled, then abruptly spun into violent motion, the whole body of water churning in a great spiral, carving a deep whirlpool at its center. From the depths of that whirlpool came a low, rolling thunder. A moment later, a tremendous boom rang out. A column of water erupted from the heart of the whirlpool — thick enough to require three men with arms outstretched to encircle it — and yet it held its shape, refusing to scatter. It spiraled once through the air, then bent downward in a graceful arc, drawn as if by some irresistible summons, and descended before the Water Qilin. There it coiled and danced, sinuous as a soaring dragon, crystalline and luminous, wheeling through the sky.
At that moment, every member of Qingyu Sect standing on the steps—Qi Hao and the others whose Cultivation ran deepest included—could no longer hold themselves steady. Every face had changed color; some had gone outright pale, their bodies trembling faintly.
The reason the Water Qilin could serve as Patriarch Qingye's capable right arm in subduing demons and vanquishing evil a thousand years past—and why it has been held in the utmost reverence by Qingyun Sect across those thousand years—was made fully manifest in this moment. Among the Five Elements, the Water Qilin stands as a supreme spirit creature of the water element. One need only observe its command of water conjured from thin air, drawing on no external force whatsoever: the water columns it summoned were thick and dense, holding their form without scattering, spiraling and coursing through the air without the slightest sign of strain. Its Spiritual Energy ran deep, its mental force pure beyond measure—long since surpassing that of ordinary mortal cultivators by a vast margin. Even within Qingyun Sect, where masters were plentiful, there were scarcely any who could achieve such a feat through mental force alone—let alone match this standard even with the aid of an Artifact.
In that instant, the earth dimmed and clouds churned as the disciples of the Qingyun Sect looked on in stunned disbelief — for they had never once, in over a thousand years, witnessed the Spirit Sovereign Water Qilin erupt in such thunderous wrath. One and all were struck dumb, rooted to the spot, utterly at a loss. Then, in the blink of an eye, the Water Qilin let out a ceaseless roar, its eyes wide and bulging, the wild fury and hatred within them growing ever more intense — as though it had sensed something it despised with every fiber of its being, some deep and unforgivable enemy against which it would fight to the last, until one side lay dead and still. And the great coiling pillar of water churning before the titanic beast moved faster and faster, until with a single earth-shaking crash, the massive column, carrying with it a force of boundless and terrible momentum, swept down like a curtain of destruction upon the Qingyun disciples standing on the steps below.
Just at this critical moment, a cry rang out from mid-air: "Spirit Venerable, stay your wrath!"
A dark-green figure appeared as if from nowhere, materializing suddenly in midair between the Water Qilin and the Qingyun disciples — it was True Person Daoxuan, sect master of Qingyun Sect. Five years had passed, yet he remained unchanged, crane-boned and immortal in bearing; his brow was deeply furrowed now, however, clearly as baffled as anyone by the Water Qilin's sudden ferocity. But the situation was critical: behind him stood dozens of Qingyun Sect's finest young disciples, while before them a roaring column of water surged forward, its interior shimmering with churning light, within which the shadowy forms of hideous beasts could dimly be made out. These were plainly the souls of vicious beasts the Water Qilin had slain in days past — their spirits devoured and imprisoned within it after death, denied passage to rebirth, and now driven forth inside the watery column to multiply its terrible power. Even True Person Daoxuan, with his all-penetrating mastery of heaven and earth, could not help but feel his heart clench with dread.
With the water column bearing down and no room to dodge, True Person Daoxuan had no choice but to draw a deep breath and intone, "Boundless Venerable!" He raised both hands and cupped an invisible sphere in the void, his left and right hands forming sword-finger seal mudras—unhurried in appearance yet swift in execution—and traced a Taiji diagram in the air before him. In moments the pattern blazed to life in midair, wave upon wave of white radiance pulsing outward, auspicious qi rising in billowing clouds. Then True Person Daoxuan spun around; the ink-green Daoist robe on his body billowed without wind and swept free of him of its own accord. The Taiji diagram floating overhead instantly responded as though commanded, surging onto the robe and branding itself upon it in that very instant. That ink-green Daoist robe was evidently an immortal treasure in its own right—upon receiving the Taiji diagram, it gave a resounding boom and expanded with the wind, swelling to more than ten times its original size in moments and stretching athwart the empty sky.
A thunderous boom rang out as the Water Qilin's commanded pillar of water crashed into the enlarged dark green Daoist robe. Within the surging column came a torrent of snarls and shrieks—as though the souls of the demonic beasts were roaring in furious protest—yet beneath the robe's heavy counterblow, the water pillar was immediately driven back several zhang. At the very point where the column had struck, the robe bulged inward in a deep dent, betraying the immensity of the force it had received.
The young Qingyun disciples standing on the steps were nearly dumbstruck when a tremendous gust of wind suddenly surged toward them, throwing every one of them off balance. Save for a handful whose cultivation ran deep enough to barely hold their ground, most were sent stumbling and tumbling in all directions. The color drained from every face—had True Person Daoxuan not stepped forward to intercept the Water Qilin's thunderous strike, none could say what catastrophe might have followed.
Zhang Fan's face had gone ashen; unable to keep his footing, he began to topple sideways. Lin Jingyu caught it from the corner of his eye and was just about to reach out and steady him, when his own body lurched—and he fell the other way instead, too busy saving himself to help anyone else.
Zhang Fan's face drained of color. Instinctively, he let go of the "fire-stoker stick" he had been clutching inside his robe and frantically reached out to grab something for support—not noticing at all that the moment his hand left the stick, that icy sensation vanished without a trace.
In the air, True Person Daoxuan wore a solemn expression, fully arrayed and ready for battle. Behind him came a series of rushing sounds, and more than ten figures appeared, hovering in midair at his back. At their fore stood True Person Cangsong; the rest were the seat-holders of the Six Meridians and the elders of each branch — Tian Buyi and Su Ru among them — every face grave and unsmiling.
All the masters of Qing Yun Sect were assembled here at this very moment. Looking across the whole world, anyone who faced such a formation would already be seven parts frightened. Yet this Water Qilin, ringed by the watchful eyes of Qing Yun Sect's most senior elders and sect leaders—men of profound cultivation—showed not the slightest trace of fear. But under the collective gaze of the crowd, the Water Qilin's eyes, which had been blazing with fury, suddenly grew calm, and a peculiar expression crossed its face, as though it were utterly baffled. The mighty water column rearing before it shrank accordingly, slowly contracting until it finally lost all momentum and collapsed to the ground with a rushing splash, leaving the earth thoroughly drenched.
The Water Qilin had lost all its fearsome aura, yet its massive body still loomed in place, remaining a terrifying sight nonetheless. It paid not the slightest heed to the gathered elders hovering in mid-air; its eyes swept back and forth over the young disciples on the steps instead, and it sniffed at the air with its snout—seemingly unable to catch any scent of interest. After a long while, with these strange antics repeated many times over, the Water Qilin appeared to give up at last. It shook its enormous head, turned around, and lumbered in its swaying gait to another open patch of ground, where it lay down, rested its head upon its forelegs, and half-closed its eyes. Before long, the sound of snoring rose once more.
The disciples of Qingyun Sect looked at one another in stunned silence, every last one of them utterly dumbstruck.
Daoist Cangsong was the quickest to regain his senses. He quietly moved to True Person Daoxuan's side and murmured, "Senior Brother Sect Master, it would be unwise to let the disciples linger here any longer."
Daoxuan came to his senses, glanced at Cangsong, and nodded. "Take the disciples up first—I'll go see what's happening with the Spirit Venerable." With that, he folded his body in midair and flew off toward the Water Qilin.
Cang Song turned around and called out in a clear voice: "That was merely the Spirit Lord playing a joke on everyone. There is no need to be alarmed. Now, all disciples participating in the Grand Martial Assembly, please make your way to the Jade Purity Hall in order."
The disciples answered in unison, restored their order, and continued up the path. Yet in their hearts, having witnessed that breathtaking strike from the Water Qilin just moments ago, there were probably few among them who could truly believe it had been nothing more than a joke.
※※※
Following behind the others, Zhang Fan and Lin Jingyu walked into the grand and spacious Hall of Jade Clarity. Standing within this great hall, Zhang Fan suddenly felt the memories of five years rise up before him, scene after scene.
"Jingyu," Zhang Fan said suddenly in a low voice.
"What?" Lin Jingyu looked toward Zhang Fan.
Zhang Fan's voice dropped low as something suddenly came to mind. "In these past few years—have you seen Second Uncle Wang?"
Lin Jingyu's expression immediately fell. He shook his head and said: "No, this is also my first time returning to Tongfeng. Three years ago I asked Senior Brother Qi Hao about Second Uncle Wang's condition — from what he said, he was still the same as ever, raving and wandering, running back and forth across Tongfeng all day long. But with the senior brothers of Changmen looking after him, there should be no problem."
Zhang Fan was silent for a moment. "Once this match is over, I want to go see him. Will you come?"
Lin Jingyu nodded. "I want to see him too."
At that moment, a flash of green swept through the great hall — True Person Daoxuan had slipped in from outside. The eyes of the Qingyun Sect's elders all fell upon him, and Daoist Cangsong stepped forward to ask: "Senior Brother Sect Master, the Spirit Venerable…"
True Person Daoxuan raised a hand to stop him and shot a meaningful glance his way. Daoist Cangsong caught on at once and fell silent. Then, as if nothing had happened, True Person Daoxuan turned around and addressed the dozens of young Qingyun Sect disciples standing in the great hall with a warm smile: "Everyone is here, I take it?"
All the disciples bowed together in salute to the Perfected Sect Master."
True Person Daoxuan smiled faintly, walked back to his seat, and glanced at Daoist Cangsong. Daoist Cangsong immediately stepped forward and spoke in a clear, resonant voice: "Fellow disciples, you are all the finest of Qingyun Sect's younger generation. Our Qingyun lineage has stood for over two thousand years since its founding — a true bastion of orthodox Daoism and the foremost leader of the righteous path. Yet the ancients have said: achievement flourishes through diligence and withers through indolence. And further: a boat sailing against the current must press forward, or be swept back. To admonish those who come after and to nurture the younger disciples, the founding masters of our sect established the grand gathering known as the Seven Peaks Martial Assembly — and today marks its twentieth convening."
A wave of gasps spread through the disciples of Yun Men. Twenty sessions — reckoned at once every sixty years — amounted to twelve hundred years in all.
Daoist Cangsong surveyed the reactions of those present with satisfaction, then spoke again: "To this day, our Qingyun Sect has thrived and prospered under the guidance of Senior Brother Sect Master True Person Daoxuan, surpassing all previous eras by far. Among the younger generation, those who stand out as exceptional talents are too numerous to count. Therefore, after Senior Brother the Sect Master conferred with the elders of each branch, it was specially decided to expand the number of participants in the Grand Trial to sixty-four, so that no hidden gem might be left undiscovered."
Hearing this, Zhang Fan couldn't help but glance toward Tian Buyi. He saw Tian Buyi seated below True Person Daoxuan, his face expressionless, yet his eyes betrayed unmistakable impatience. After all, the matter of increasing the number of competitors had been discussed with the heads of each branch — and in the end, was it not True Person Daoxuan and True Person Cangsong who truly had the final word?
Then Daoist Cangsong continued, "The number of participants this time has doubled, so there will be some changes to the lot-drawing as well. Please look over here." As he spoke, he pointed toward the open space to the right of the main hall. Everyone turned to look, and there they saw a large red wooden box, perfectly square, with a single opening cut into its top—just wide enough for one arm to reach inside.
"Within that rosewood box are sixty-three wax pellets, each containing a slip of paper inscribed with a number from one to sixty-three." The disciples suddenly broke into an uproar, which Daoist Cangsong paid no heed to, continuing: "Once the drawing of lots is complete, matches shall be arranged according to the numbers drawn—number one against sixty-four, two against sixty-three, three against sixty-two, and so on. In the second round, the winner of the bout between number one and sixty-four shall face the winner of the bout between number two and sixty-three, and so on in like fashion, all the way to the final decisive match. Is that clear to everyone?"
The disciples of Qingyu Sect standing below the hall fell silent for a moment. Then suddenly someone called out loudly: "Martial Uncle Cangsong, there are clearly sixty-four of us—why are there only sixty-three wax pellets?"
Daoist Cangsong seemed to have prepared for this question well in advance. He cleared his throat and said: "The rules of this competition originally called for nine disciples from each of the Seven Veins of Qingyun Sect, with the senior lineage contributing one additional participant. However—ahem—as one of the veins could only muster eight disciples in total, they fell one short. Hence there are only sixty-three competitors."
In an instant, every gaze fell upon Tian Buyi, the seated elder of Grand Bamboo Peak. A flash of fury crossed his face, yet he remained in his seat, utterly motionless. Below, the disciples of Qingyun Sect broke into an uproar, murmuring and whispering among themselves.
Once the clamor had quieted somewhat, True Person Cangsong spoke with a grave expression: "But this is no great hardship either. Among those sixty-three wax pellets, any disciple who draws number one will be exceedingly fortunate — for there is no sixty-fourth opponent, and so they receive a bye in every single round."
As soon as these words were spoken, another stir of commotion broke out among the disciples of Qingyun Sect. However, Qingyun Sect was after all a prestigious and distinguished sect with strict discipline—though this method appeared rather absurd, no one raised any objection.
True Person Daoxuan rose to his feet and swept his gaze around the hall. As Sect Master, his mere presence commanded instant silence on all sides. True Person Daoxuan gave a single nod. "So be it — let everyone go draw lots."
In the great hall, all eyes fell upon that redwood box. Nine disciples of the Changmen lineage stepped forward one by one, each drawing a wax pellet from the box. Then it was the turn of the Longfeng lineage's disciples.
Lin Jingyu gave Zhang Fan a brief nod and walked out as well. Zhang Fan watched his retreating figure for a moment, then shifted his gaze toward those seated in the Upper Seven Seats and the assembled elders. Among them, he had already met all the branch-seat holders five years ago — from True Person Daoxuan on down: Daoist Cangsong, Daoist Yun, and seat-holders such as Shang Zhengliang and Zeng Shuchang. The only one he had never encountered was a female Daoist occupying the last chair on the right — though by all appearances, she was most likely none other than the renowned Master Shuiyue of Bamboo Peak.
Zhang Fan had often heard his senior brothers speak of this martial aunt. Bamboo Peak was the only lineage within the Qingyun Sect that accepted female disciples exclusively, and Master Shuiyue herself possessed exceptionally profound cultivation, earning her great renown throughout the sect. Over the years, the disciples Bamboo Peak had produced also turned in impressive performances at the Seven Peaks Grand Tournament time and again.
Zhang Fan stole a few extra glances at Master Shuiyue. She appeared to be around thirty, much like his master's wife Su Ru — an oval face, fine brows, a smooth nose, and a pair of bright, keen almond eyes. She wore a moon-white Daoist robe, and her bearing was graceful and elegant. Behind her stood no one of the elder generation; instead, a single female disciple attended her. The young woman was clad in robes as white as snow and possessed a remarkable beauty. On her back rested a longsword, its scabbard and hilt rendered entirely in vivid blue, the color so lustrous that faint ripples of light seemed to drift across its surface — unmistakably an immortal treasure at first glance.
He was staring, lost in a daze, when the young woman seemed to sense his gaze. She turned her head abruptly, eyes sharp as lightning, and fixed Zhang Fan with a cold, piercing stare. His heart lurched as though struck by electricity, and his eyes ached as if they had been jabbed. Startled, he felt heat rise to his face. The woman's expression remained utterly blank, yet a trace of contempt flickered unmistakably in her eyes. He dropped his gaze at once. At that awkward moment, someone beside him reached out and tugged his sleeve. Tian Ling'er's voice rang out: "Fan, what are you spacing out for? It's our turn to draw lots."
Zhang Fan hurriedly spoke, not daring to glance toward Master Shuiyue again, and turned to follow Tian Ling'er toward the rosewood chest. By now, only the two lineages of Grand Bamboo Peak and Bamboo Peak had yet to draw their lots. Led by Song Daren, the disciples of Grand Bamboo Peak approached the chest one by one, drew out their wax pellets, and returned to their places below the hall. Afterward, as everyone began checking what numbers they had drawn, eight female disciples stepped forward from the Bamboo Peak lineage—Wenmin among them—while the white-robed woman standing behind Master Shuiyue leaned close and murmured a word to her. Master Shuiyue nodded. "Go as well."
The woman in white gave a soft acknowledgment, walked among the women of Bamboo Peak, exchanged a smile with Wenmin and the others, and together they made their way to the rosewood box, drawing out the last nine wax pills.
At this moment, throughout the great hall, the disciples were each examining their wax pellets, while the elders of the various lineages seated in their positions above could not help but grow tense as well, their gazes fixed upon the disciples of their own branches, earnestly hoping that their disciples would draw a favorable lot—for if one were to draw the slip bearing written characters, that would naturally be the best possible outcome.
As if echoing the mood of the assembled elders, the young disciples of Qingyu Sect gathered in the hall began to speak up, one after another:
"It's twenty-six."
"What does thirty-three amount to, by my reckoning?"
"It's forty-seven. I don't know what number my opponent is — let me work it out…"
……
Just watching as the disciples drew lots for half the time, yet not a single one had drawn that precious number-one slip themselves.
Daoist Cangsong furrowed his brow, coughed twice, and called out in a clear voice: "Who drew lot number one?"
His voice rang out loud and resonant, silencing all others in an instant. A hush fell over the great hall, and for a long while no one made a sound. Then, from somewhere deep within the crowd, a voice suddenly broke the silence—laced with a trace of surprise and something unspoken, as though even the speaker himself could scarce believe his own words—"Senior Uncle Cangsong... it is here with me."
Everyone looked over, startled. Zhang Fan stood among the crowd, a slip of paper in hand, rooted to the spot, yet his gaze drifted toward Tian Buyi as he spoke in a small, timid voice.