A clear chi echoed through the Coldwind Arena, silencing the crowd like the sudden hush before a storm.
A woman in flowing lavender robes stood at the center of the announcer’s platform.
Her voice, imbued with spiritual resonance, carried effortlessly across the massive coliseum.
"Welco, one and all, to the opening round of the Coldwind City Championship!" she called, her tone bright and commanding.
"Today marks the beginning of a contest between proud heirs and hidden talents, a clash of conviction, cultivation, and destiny!"
The crowd roared in response, cheers rising like crashing waves.
Banners rippled in the wind, and excitent churned the air like a brewing storm.
The host raised one hand and called, "First match, step forward, Cultivator Ma Zhen, outer city rogue practitioner!"
From the waiting area, a young man in brown and faded grey robes stepped onto the stage.
His expression was calm, eyes sharp. Qi flared briefly around him, solid, dense, peaking at the upper end of Qi Condensation realm.
Among the spectators, murmurs followed.
"Rogue cultivator, huh?"
"Still, peak of Qi Condensation... that’s no joke."
"Without one of the great five family backing, making it to this level alone is impressive..."
The host’s voice rang again. "And his opponent... representing the Wu Clan—Wu Min!"
The shift in the crowd was imdiate.
Whispers turned into breathless hush. Even the elders leaned forward.
From the Wu Clan box, a girl stepped forward.
Eighteen. Slender, graceful. Her robes were pale jade embroidered with a subtle lion crest.
She moved with an almost lazy elegance, long sleeves swaying like drifting clouds.
Her expression was serene, almost bored, as if none of this mattered.
She stepped onto the stage and stopped exactly three paces from Ma Zhen.
They stared at each other.
Ma Zhen bowed politely. "I look forward to a good fight."
Wu Min just tilted her head slightly. "You should give up."
Her voice was soft. Almost kind.
Ma Zhen blinked. Then frowned. "I appreciate the concern, but—"
A sigh escaped her lips.
Before he could finish, she raised her hand.
What followed was... strange.
To many, it looked as if she hadn’t moved at all.
And yet—
Pa!
A sharp sound exploded through the air. Ma Zhen’s head snapped violently to the side, his body spinning midair from the sheer force of the strike.
He hit the ground several ters away, sliding like a ragdoll across the marble platform before coming to a stop near the edge, unconscious.
One hit.
The entire stadium fell silent.
Even the announcer stared, mouth open slightly.
In the viewing stand, Zhao Ming winced. "That’s... the Mirage Slap?"
He turned to Wu Shun with narrowed eyes. "You taught that to your junior?"
Wu Shun simply smirked. "She figured out the basics herself. I just corrected the angles."
On stage, Wu Min adjusted her sleeve and turned without fanfare, walking off as if she’d just stretched her legs.
Only after she’d descended the steps did the referee blink back to life.
"Uh... W-Winner! Wu Min of the Wu Clan!"
The crowd erupted.
"What just happened?!"
"Did anyone even see her move?!"
"That was insane—!"
Fang Chen, watching from the Fang box, narrowed his eyes.
"She’s strong," he muttered.
The next match in the arena drew little interest.
The crowd, once roaring, had settled into idle chatter, barely paying attention as two mid-stage Qi Condensation cultivators exchanged sluggish blows that wouldn’t even ruffle a robe.
In the stands, whispers stirred like leaves in a breeze.
"So... this is the match after that Mirage Slap?" soone yawned.
"Bit of a spiritual codown, huh?"
A bearded man in scholar’s robes leaned forward, lowering his voice as he spoke to the rchant beside him.
"You know... I rember the Fang family being quite impressive in the old days."
The rchant snorted, swirling the tea in his cup. "Oh, they were, no doubt. But those days are long gone. They haven’t made a splash in this tournant for nearly a decade."
"Really?" the scholar raised a brow. "You don’t an their younger generation is...?"
"Trash," the rchant said bluntly, sipping his tea. "Absolute trash. Last year, not a single one of their juniors made it into the top ten."
"Oof. That bad?"
"Worse," the rchant leaned in. "One of them fainted before the second round even began."
"Ah," the scholar winced. "That’s rough."
"They were lucky the Fang na still carries weight," the rchant said with a chuckle. "Otherwise, they’d be seated with the outer city sects."
The scholar nodded slowly. "Well, maybe this year will be different?"
The rchant shrugged. "Unless their patriarch personally steps onto the stage, I wouldn’t bet on it."
A younger cultivator nearby piped up. "Wait—weren’t the Fang family once unbeatable? Didn’t they dominate for a while?"
One old auntie turned around, nostrils flaring. "Dominate? Boy, back then we didn’t say ’dominate’—we said obliterate! Fang Yuan was the plague of Coldwind!"
The younger cultivator blinked. "Seriously? Wasn’t he the current clan head?"
"Damn right he is," another added with a knowing nod. "Back then, he was already at Golden Core before his 20th birthday!"
Soone gasped. "That’s so young!"
"He couldn’t even enter anymore after becoming the clan head," the rchant said with a sigh.
"Around here we say he beca clan head just so the rest of the kids could have a chance at breathing."
"I heard the age limit is 25?" the young man asked.
"Exactly," said the scholar, adjusting his sleeves. "If fate hadn’t intervened, Fang Yuan would’ve steamrolled the tournant for five more years. They’d have to rena it the ’Fang Yuan Farewell Festival.’"
That drew laughter.
"Oh! Rember when he joined at age twelve?" another chipped in.
"Qi Condensation back then. And the boy still placed in the top five!"
"Against Qi Transformation cultivators twice his age!" the auntie clapped her hands.
"A little demon, that one."
"By the ti he hit seventeen, he stopped bothering with placents and just started winning. Every year."
"Che—" soone snorted. "I rember watching one of his fights. His opponent tried to give a speech about honor and hard work. He slapped him mid-sentence. Mid-sentence!"
"Oh, the Fang Yuan era," another sighed nostalgically. "Good tis. Broken jaws and shattered pride, getting beaten up by a kid."
As laughter rippled through the stands, the match in the arena finally ended with a half-hearted surrender.
The crowd barely noticed.
All eyes were now on the Fang Clan’s section.
Their juniors hadn’t even fought yet.
But the na Fang Yuan still rang like thunder.
User Comments
0 comments from readers