After a long moment, it was the white-bearded old man who recovered his wits first. With a flash of his body, he leaped onto the fighting stage and came to Chu Yuhong's side. After a careful examination, he found the man's body wholly intact, with no signs of poisoning — it appeared, rather, that he had been gravely wounded by an immortal Artifact, the violent concussion having devastated his internal organs.
He furrowed his brows and rose to his feet, looking toward Zhang Fan. He couldn't help but see the young man in a new light, and his gaze drifted to the black fire poker Zhang Fan clutched tightly in his hand.
"You have won." The white-bearded old man suppressed the doubt welling in his heart and said calmly.
The disciples of Chaoyang Peak in the audience broke into an uproar. But with the facts laid bare before their eyes, there was nothing to be said—only that Chu Yuhong had lost in such a baffling, inexplicable manner. Victory had clearly been within his grasp, yet a single roar had undone him in an instant. It was simply impossible to accept.
At that moment, Zeng Shushu was equally dumbstruck. But upon hearing those three words from the white-bearded old man, he too charged forward, ran up to Zhang Fan's side, gave him a firm slap on the shoulder, and laughed loudly: "You sly dog — so you've been hiding your true abilities all along!"
Zhang Fan spun around abruptly, his expression cold as frost, staring at him with icy eyes.
Those icy cold, yet jet-black eyes!
Zeng Shu: "Fan, what's wrong?"
Zhang Fan gave a slight jolt at the question, as though something had just come to mind. The look in his eyes softened at once, and that strange, icy quality vanished without a trace, returning to its usual warmth — though tinged now with a hint of confusion. "Nothing, I'm fine — what's wrong?"
"You're still asking me what's wrong? Why don't you ask yourself — don't you know you've won this round?"
Zhang Fan was startled, blurting out in disbelief, "What, I won? I actually won?"
Zeng Shushu was frightened even more severely by him — her face went pale, and she hastily reached out to feel his forehead. "You couldn't possibly have been addled by that burst of flame just now, could you?"
Zhang Fan scratched his head, then looked over to see several disciples from Zhaoyang Peak carrying the unconscious Chu Yuhong down from the distant platform, a few of them shooting hateful glares in his direction as they went.
Watching those figures grow smaller in the distance, the scenes of the spell-battle just fought replayed themselves vividly in Zhang Fan's mind, one after another. On instinct, he lowered his gaze to the black fire-poker in his hand. The ugly little rod lay still and silent against his palm, yet in Zhang Fan's eyes, this fire-poker that had been his companion for two years had never felt so alien—as though he had been carried back to that secluded valley of years past, and the old nightmare had come again.
It was Zeng Shushu, standing to one side and watching Zhang Fan stare blankly into space, who rapped him on the head with the folding fan in her hand. "What are you thinking about?"
Zhang Fan shook his head, let out a sigh, and tucked the fire-stoking rod into his robes. "Alright, let's go. By the way, what brought you here to watch my match?"
Zeng Shushu glanced at the fire stick he had tucked against his chest. "The match hasn't even started yet—I had nothing to do, so I came over to watch you compete. Didn't expect to catch such a good show. That three-eyed spirit monkey of yours—what did you call it again?"
Zhang Fan added, "Gray."
"Hui, how come I haven't seen Hui today?"
Zhang Fan shook his head. "Haven't seen a trace of it since early morning. It probably slipped off somewhere to play with Dahuang again."
Zeng Shushu let out an "aiya," her face full of disappointment. Zhang Fan caught the look and couldn't help wondering — had this person come to watch his match, or was she actually just here to see Ash?
"Whoosh!"
From the distance, a great uproar suddenly erupted. Even standing so far away, the two could hear it with perfect clarity. They looked up to find a throng of Qingyun Sect disciples gathered in a ring at the center of the commotion, their cries of astonishment rising one after another without end.
Before Zhang Fan could even register what was happening— "This is bad! I was so caught up looking at you that I forgot the most important thing!" With that, she grabbed Zhang Fan by the arm and bolted.
Zhang Fan had no idea what was going on. He kept running as he called out, "What is it?"
"Inside, it's Xueqi competing!"
Zhang Fan couldn't help but smile, yet at the same time a quiet warmth stirred in his heart. He lifted his eyes toward this friend he had known for only two short days—there beneath that desolate stage, not a single sect elder or senior brother of his own stood in the crowd, yet among all those disciples of Chaoyang Peak, this one person had chosen to stand alone on his side.
A warmth slowly rose from within.
"Zeng Shishu, thank you for coming to see me just now."
The sprinting Zeng Shushu froze for a moment, slowing her pace. She glanced back at Zhang Fan, then broke into a grin. "Heh, Shishi, if you're *that* touched, you might as well just take the ash—"
"Let's get out of here, quick!"
Zeng Shushu leaned to one side, shook her head, and ran after Zhang Fan, who was already tearing ahead like the wind, muttering a few indistinct words under her breath.
※※※
The two of them ran closer, only to find groups of Qingyun disciples already dispersed, most wearing expressions of considerable excitement as they argued fiercely with one another. They looked up toward the platform, and saw it was empty, yet the wooden stage bore countless scars and gashes—it seemed the contest had already come to an end.
Zeng Shushu's eyes darted about. She grabbed Zhang Fan and began pulling him this way and that, weaving through the crowd. In no time at all, he had spotted his target—that cluster of disciples from Feng Hui Peak.
Zeng Shushu hurried over to join them. The Wind Return Peak disciples recognized him at once and burst into laughter. One tall fellow whom Zhang Fan vaguely remembered grinned and said, "Junior Brother, weren't you glued to watching Lü Xueqi? How did you disappear without a trace?"
"Isn't it because something came up? Oh right, how did things turn out quickly?"
A nearby man with thick eyebrows said: "No need to wonder — everyone already knows. With Ya here, even Senior Brother Duan Lei from Changmen Tongfeng Peak is no match!"
"Even Senior Brother Duan was defeated by her?"
Zhang Fan asked from the side, "Is that Senior Brother Duan Lei very powerful?"
"Duan Lei has been one of the most outstanding figures in the Long Gate in recent years, and there is considerable expectation that he will take the top spot in this Seven Veins Grand Tournament."
The tall man shook his head. "What good would that do? Didn't you see it—the Evil God Sword was simply too powerful. A few flashes of blue light, a few resounding cracks, and Senior Brother Duan Lei was already defeated." He seemed to have more to say, and let out a sigh. "And you won't believe it—in the end, Lu Xueqi still never drew the Evil God Sword from its scabbard."
"What is there left to compete for? Who could possibly be her match now?"
The tall man shook his head and said: "That's not entirely so. A divine artifact like Ye — even without being drawn from its sheath, its power is much the same. But that Lu Xueqi's Cultivation and Taoist attainment are truly something else entirely."
"Senior Brother, how did you know?"
Zhang Fan glanced at the tall fellow, thinking to himself that the man's surname was truly apt. He heard Senior Brother Gao say, "I'm only following Master's orders."
"Father?"
Senior Brother Gao said: "Just before you arrived, Master was also here watching. When he finished, he muttered something under his breath — that this woman has most likely cultivated the Taiji Xuanqing Dao to the eighth level of the Yuqing Realm or above, and may well have reached the ninth."
Zeng Shushu's expression shifted, and she froze in place, momentarily at a loss for words. Zhang Fan found this strange—from the very moment they had met, she had claimed she didn't care about the outcome of the contest, yet no matter how one looked at it, she clearly cared very much.
At that moment, the distant toll of bells and bronze vessels rang out. The disciples of Fenghui Peak, with Senior Brother Gao at their head, seemed to have a sparring match underway, and they all made their way toward the sound. Seeing that Zeng Shushu was still standing rooted to the spot, Zhang Fan walked over and gave him a tug.
…it's all over now. This time, we're completely without hope."
Zhang Fan truly couldn't care less, and that was that. "Oh right, haven't you two had your match yet?"
"It hasn't started yet, but it's about time I headed off. What about you — where are you planning to go?"
Zhang Fan thought it over and decided he should go report to his Master and Master's Wife, even though his victory had been a stroke of luck.
"Come find me whenever you're free."
Zhang Fan gave a nod of acknowledgment, and the two parted ways.
Zhang Fan turned and made his way toward the other end of the crowd, listening as the Qingyun disciples passing by spoke almost exclusively of the earlier battle between Xueqi and Duan Lei. After searching for quite some time, he finally spotted the group from Big Bamboo Peak over on the western side — but even from a distance he could see that Tian Buyi's face was dark with fury, his complexion iron-gray. Zhang Fan had always stood in deep awe of Tian Buyi, and so he crept over quietly. Tian Buyi cast him a single glance, then looked away without so much as asking how he had fared.
Su Ru, Tian Ling'er, and several other disciples of Big Bamboo Peak were all present — only the eldest senior brother, Song Daren, was nowhere to be seen. Zhang Fan swept a glance over the group and saw that Tian Ling'er seemed fine, but the faces of his other senior brothers were filled with dejection. He quietly asked Du Bi beside him, "Sixth Senior Brother, what happened?"
Du Bishu glanced at Tian Buyi, saw that he didn't seem to be looking their way, and whispered, "Just now, everyone except Senior Brother had a match — and Junior Sister was the only one who won. Master is furious."
Zhang Fan was momentarily stunned, at a loss for words.
Su Ru stood to one side. Seeing the disciples all trembling with fear and Tian Buyi's face dark as iron, she shook her head with a sigh and said gently to Zhang Fan, who had just returned, "Fan, you're back — how did it go?"
Zhang Fan hesitated a moment, then said in a low voice, "Mistress won by sheer luck."
Su Ru: "…doesn't matter, a loss is a loss — think of it as broadening my—" Her voice suddenly fell. She stared at Zhang Fan, startled: "What did you just say?"
Everyone, Tian Buyi included, turned around at the same moment to look at Zhang Fan. Zhang Fan's face flushed red, yet for the first time in his life, standing beneath so many watching eyes—especially the surprised gaze of Tian Ling'er at Su Ru's side—he felt a faint surge of vain excitement. Raising his voice ever so slightly, he looked toward Tian Buyi. "Father, Shimu—just now… I won, though only by a stroke of luck."
The crowd broke into an uproar.
※※※
The disciples of Big Bamboo Peak gathered below the stage to watch Song Daren compete in the final bout of the day. On the platform, Song Daren and his opponent were locked in furious battle. The enormous blade of the "Ten Tigers" celestial sword seemed to conjure countless ferocious tigers in midair, its strikes sending out earth-shaking, mountain-rending crashes as it hewed toward his opponent blow after blow, holding every advantage.
Yet below the stage, the disciples of Grand Bamboo Peak, elated as they were, still could not bring themselves to accept the truth of what Zhang Fan had said.
"Junior Brother, during the match just now, you were on the verge of defeat — only for that fellow named Chu Yuhong to suddenly fall gravely ill, blood streaming all over his face before he collapsed unconscious?"
"Yes, Fourth Senior Brother—you, Second Senior Brother, Third Senior Brother, and Fifth Senior Brother have all asked me twenty-two times already. Why are you still asking? Sixth Senior Brother, please talk some sense into them. I really am telling the truth."
Du Bishu: "Junior Brother, in that match just now — you were on the verge of losing, when that fellow called Chu Yuhong suddenly fell gravely ill, blood pouring down his face, and collapsed unconscious?"
Zhang Fan buried his face in his hands and groaned, "Yeah, that's the twenty-third time."
Tian Linger at the side huffed, "Why are you all pressing him like this? Fan won't panic." Yet even as the words left her mouth, she found herself shaking her head. "Fan, your luck is just so absurdly good—isn't that a little over the top? No wonder no one believes it."
Zhang Fan was left speechless.
Listening to the incessant chatter of the disciples behind them, Tian Buyi and Su Ru kept their eyes fixed on the stage. After a moment, Su Ru suddenly said in a low voice: "What do you think?"
Tian Buyi furrowed his brow and retorted, "He won on his own merit — do you believe that?"
Su Ru smiled. "Our disciple really has extraordinary luck!"
Tian Buyi let out a derisive snort.
**BOOM!** A thunderous crash rang out. On the stage, Song Daren let out a great roar — the Ten Tiger Immortal Sword erupted in a blaze of golden light so blinding that onlookers could barely keep their eyes open. With an unstoppable momentum like splitting mountains and cleaving seas, it came crashing down in an irresistible assault. His opponent finally buckled under the overwhelming force, spewing a mouthful of blood as he was blasted backward off his feet.
The disciples of Big Bamboo Peak erupted in thunderous cheers, and at last, even Tian Buyi's face broke into a faint smile.
Song Daren stepped down from the arena and rejoined the crowd, first paying his respects to Tian Buyi and Su Ru, after which came the warm and enthusiastic congratulations from all.
"Haha, just lucky, just lucky! Sixth Junior Brother, there's no need to be so sentimental— Junior Brother, you're back as well. How did it go today? You weren't hurt anywhere, were you? Sigh, look at you. Take your Senior Brother's word for it: you've only been on the cultivation path a short while, and there will be no shortage of chances ahead. Don't let a single win or loss weigh on your mind— Uh… why are you all staring at me like that?"
Tian Buyi turned and walked away first. Su Ru smiled at this senior disciple and followed after him. Song Daren was left completely baffled, and he turned to the others, asking, "What's going on?"
Tian Linger walked over to his side and repeated it to him. Song Daren turned his head in disbelief. Zhang Fan shrank back nervously. "Senior Brother, I know having too much luck isn't a good thing — but that's just how it is. There's nothing I can do about it."
Song Daren's eyes went wide. "Junior Brother, you're saying that during the match just now — when you were about to lose — that fellow called Chu Yuhong suddenly took ill, blood pouring all over his face, and collapsed unconscious?"
Zhang Fan collapsed in despair.
※※※
By the end of that day, only sixteen disciples remained in contention at Qingyun Sect's Seven Veins Martial Competition. To the surprise of many, Big Bamboo Peak — long considered the weakest of the peaks — had claimed three of those spots, far outstripping its showing in years past. Whatever tensions might simmer within, Tian Buyi had every reason to hold his head high in public; he went about the entire day wreathed in smiles, a sight that set the other disciples whispering among themselves.
Du Bishu: "Look how happy Master is — we can finally hold our heads high."
Wu Dayi: "Who isn't? Senior Brother and Junior Sister have truly done the old man proud."
He Dazhi: "Truly, I'm ashamed — though Junior Sister is young in years, she puts me, her Fourth Senior Brother, to shame. Her future prospects are boundless."
Zheng Dali: "Don't forget about Junior Brother — he made it to the third round as well."
Du Bishu: "How about we open another round of betting—what are the odds that junior brother clears one more stage? Do you dare place your wagers?"
Wu Dayi, He Dazhi, Zheng Dali, and Lü Daxin: "I bet he loses! Double!"
Du Bishu: *cough cough* "Walking along and—where's Senior Brother? Junior Brother? Junior Sister? What's going on, where did everyone go?"
He Dazhi thought for a moment. "As for junior brother and junior sister, I can't say — but senior brother, I think I may have some guesses."
Everyone exchanged a glance and cried out in unison: "Senior Martial Sister Wenmin of Bamboo Peak!"
Song Daren, a man of such towering height, gave an inexplicable shudder out of nowhere. Wen Min caught it and felt thoroughly puzzled. *What was wrong with him?*
Song Daren furrowed his brow. He knew. A sudden chill swept through his body.
Wen Min shot him a sidelong glance and said reproachfully, "Don't tell me you have a guilty conscience!"
Song Daren immediately shook his head like a rattle-drum, repeating over and over, "No such thing, no such thing!"
Wen Min's expression eased, but she still let out a huff. "What are you sneaking over here alone to my Bamboo Peak female disciple's room for?"
A burst of laughter rang out nearby. Song Daren glanced around in embarrassment — the competition had just ended, and most of the female disciples from Bamboo Peak had returned, each of them wearing a smile as they watched him with undisguised amusement. Song Daren's face flushed slightly, and he hastily changed the subject. "Say, where's my junior sister? I don't see her anywhere."
Wen Min smiled and said, "That junior sister of yours is beautiful and full of life — of course someone would have asked her out long ago."
Song Daren was startled, exclaiming in surprise, "What? Someone asked them out?"
Wen Min shook her head in silence, then said, "If you happen to see your junior sister Ling'er, do persuade her to be more careful from now on."
Song Daren helped Tian Ling'er to her feet, and was no longer as awkward facing Wen Min alone; his words came somewhat more easily. He furrowed his brow and said: "I know that Junior Sister must compete against Junior Sister Lu Xueqi of your Bamboo Peak tomorrow. The elders of our two lineages have always been on good terms, so there should be nothing to worry about. Besides, the Seven Veins Grand Tournament is nothing more than a friendly exchange of skills."
Wen Min glanced at him and said coolly, "Your master's wife, Martial Uncle Su, naturally gets along very well with my master—but my master has never been able to stand your master. I dare say she still blames your master to this day for spiriting our Martial Uncle Su away!"
Song Daren faltered, on the verge of saying more, but then he saw Wenmin glance around at the female disciples of Bamboo Peak nearby — every one of them had gone quiet, eyes turned toward this spot. "What's wrong?" Song Daren asked, surprised.
Wen Min looked at him, seeming to hesitate for a moment before saying: "Senior Brother Song, Sixth Junior Sister is different from us. She has a rather peculiar temperament, but Master dotes on her greatly. Once she steps onto the arena, nothing good will come of it."
Song Daren's expression changed?
Wen Min closed her mouth and said no more.