Chapter 57: Hexagram Li, Top Nine—Winning by Pure Luck

Inside the Pot-Heaven Palace, upon the arena, Changqingzi and Daoist Cijiu exchanged formal greetings.

Although the latter hailed from a lineage of rogue cultivators, he was a direct disciple of True Person Sanhuan. He had performed admirably in the literary examinations and had cut through the martial trials like a bamboo cleaved by a splitting blade. Currently, his overall ranking was slightly superior to that of Changqingzi, placing him among the elite of the rogue cultivators.

Daoist Cijiu parted his lips, just about to offer some courteous remarks, when he saw Changqingzi striding forward with his sword drawn, bearing a cold expression and executing ruthless strikes.

His eyelids twitched, and the corners of his mouth pulled back into a tight line. Reacting with swift agility, he tipped his toes against the ground, retreating at high speed while flicking his wrists.

The iron rings on his wrists flew outward, a pair of rotating hoops soaring through the air. Iron sword and flying hoops collided, sending sparks cascading in all directions and causing magical energies to surge tumultuously.

Sword qi crisscrossed the space while the iron rings wreaked havoc.

The two exchanged dozens of blows, locked in an evenly matched struggle.

Up in the spectators' gallery, Xuanyang clung to the railing, leaning his upper body forward with an expression of rich emotional fluctuation. When his disciple gained the upper hand, his face blossomed into a wide smile; when his disciple fell into a disadvantageous position, his brows knitted tightly together; and when his disciple found himself in harrowing narrow escapes, he gasped sharply, his mood rising and falling violently with the rhythm of the combat.

Xuanxu and the others also stood before the railing, though their reactions were not as exaggerated as Xuanyang's; nevertheless, their gazes remained fixed without wavering.

On the second-tier viewing platform of the Lingze Palace, the chubby-cheeked female Daoist Bichuan similarly clung to the railing, staring with absolute concentration at Changqingzi while muttering under her breath, "You absolutely cannot lose! You must not lose!"

The more formidable this fellow proved to be, the more honorable her own defeat would appear. Whether she could salvage her dignity depended entirely on this stinky Daoist.

In the arena, the two Daoists traded blows back and forth, having already crossed swords for fifty rounds. Daoist Cijiu's brows furrowed slightly. Though he appeared to hold the upper hand, his opponent was like a green bamboo rooted in the mountain, refusing to fall; the greater the pressure, the fiercer the rebound; the more wounds he sustained, the more exhilarated he became; and the heavier the attacks he suffered, the greater his joy. The sword strikes grew increasingly swift, and he fought with escalating valor.

Cijiu smashed one of his rings, and Changqingzi endured the pain to thrust back with a sword.
Cijiu locked him in a ring, and Changqingzi manipulated his blade to hack at his own restraint.
When Cijiu attacked, he attacked.
When Cijiu defended, he still attacked.
When Cijiu advanced, he advanced; when Cijiu retreated, he continued to advance.

He was simply a tireless monster. If this continued any longer, Cijiu truly would not be able to hold out.

Could this be the legendary advance-only, never-retreat stance of a sword cultivator?

Fighting on bitterly until the hundredth round, both Cijiu and Changqingzi were panting heavily, their robes stained with blood as they glared fixedly at each other.

"Fellow Daoist, how about a single decisive strike to settle the victor?"
Changqingzi nodded in agreement.

---

Observing his still taciturn opponent, Daoist Cijiu was speechless. He tipped his toes lightly, suspended himself in the air, and spun around. From his ankles, earlobes, nose, and lips, individual iron rings flew outward one after another. His hair came loose, streaming wildly in the wind, and even his hair rings took flight.

The small rings expanded into large rings; the large rings birthed water and fire. Every ring emanated radiance, each one dazzlingly brilliant. Water and fire echoed one another as they hurtled straight toward his opponent.

Beneath Changqingzi, the Eight Trigrams materialized. He paced out eight rapid steps, ultimately planting his feet upon the Li fire position. He closed his eyes and suddenly snapped them open, deep within his pupils the trigram of Li surged upward. He raised his iron sword high; fire ignited upon the blade, and the fire in turn engendered metal, augmenting the iron sword so that its sword qi grew even more intense, evolving into blinding sword light.

Fiery red sword light surged tumultuously. As Changqingzi lifted his sword and surged upward, his sword intent, sword momentum, and sword light all poured forth without reservation. Nine streams of sword light wreaked havoc, coalescing into a single-zhang-long fiery sword that fiercely pierced upward.

The blazing sword was magnificent and dazzlingly brilliant like the sun, causing the temperature of the arena to rise precipitously, the air itself burning and warping.

In this battle, Changqingzi finally gave voice:
"Slay!"

The upper nine of the Li trigram: The king goes on an expedition; he captures the leader and seizes the unworthy minions, bringing no blame!

The fiery sword collided with the water-and-fire rings. After holding firm for a brief moment, they detonated violently. Both Daoists were blasted backward simultaneously, crashing down near the opposite edges of the arena and nearly tumbling entirely out of bounds.

Daoist Cijiu's hair was scorched clean away, his robes were tattered into shreds, and his entire body bore numerous burns of varying sizes. Squinting his eyes, his consciousness blurred into a state of hazy delirium. His iron rings rebounded from the impact, scattering across the ground; one of them happened to strike squarely upon the forehead of Daoist Cijiu, who was struggling to lift his head. With a roll of his white eyes, he passed out cold.

On the second-tier viewing platform, True Person Sanhuan closed his eyes, unable to bear looking any further. Losing a fight was nothing; he could simply reclaim his face in the next match. But to be plagued by such extraordinary misfortune was truly unheard of.

In stark contrast to the terrible mood of True Person Sanhuan, Xuanyang could not help but burst into loud laughter, even though his own disciple was in scarcely better shape. True Person Qingyi projected him through the water mirror, granting him a close-up shot:

His eyebrows had been burned away, his garments were in rags, and his body was mottled with black and red patches. When his iron sword had rebounded backward, the angle had been perilously subtle, nearly shaving off Changqingzi's root of worldly troubles, startling him so badly that his face had turned ashen white and he had jolted upright in shock. Yet he remained conscious, and consciousness meant victory.

He had broken into the top twenty-five!

Whether he was truly awake or simply frightened back to alertness, he was awake nonetheless, and that was all that mattered.

"Ha ha! That is my disciple! That's my boy!"

Watching Xuanyang prancing about once more, Xuanxu and the others felt a twinge of envy, yet they refrained from uttering any sour remarks. Instead, all of them smiled benignly and said, "Congratulations, Junior Brother."

Xuanyang returned the courtesy: "Shared joy! Shared joy!"

The assembled Daoists exchanged knowing smiles. Changqingzi was Xuanyang's disciple, but he was also a disciple of the Seeking Truth Temple. As for the humiliating spectacle Changqingzi had just made of himself, they automatically embellished it in their minds: even a narrow scrape was still a scrape; this was called being blessed by fortune, whereas Daoist Cijiu's fate was what truly deserved to be called misfortune.

Catching sight of the iron sword within the water mirror, Xuanning remarked, "When divided, power scatters; when concentrated, power is complete. That sword strike just now concentrated the power of the Eight Trigrams entirely upon the Li trigram, abandoning the seven to focus on the one. It was an unconventional approach with formidable might.
Once Changqingzi's cultivation advances further and he gains complete mastery over this sword style, even the likes of us will not easily defeat him. No wonder he later discarded his peach-wood sword and switched to an iron sword.
Fire engenders metal, revealing a sharp edge that greatly benefits swordsmanship.
Junior Brother Xuankong, was this sword technique created after Changqingzi observed the Eight Trigram sword diagram left behind by Senior Brother Xuanming atop the mountain peak?"

Xuanxu and the others all turned their gazes toward Xuanyang.

After the latter nodded in confirmation, complex emotions churned within their hearts. This junior brother of theirs was outspoken and had previously boasted before them about Changqingzi encountering good fortune atop the Hidden Dao Peak.
During that period, he had been insufferably smug.
Now, it seemed, he had every right to be smug.
Pity that matters of serendipity hinged entirely upon luck.

They glanced at Changqingzi lying motionless on the arena floor, thinking to themselves, "This child indeed possesses rather fine fortune."

---

Upon the arena, Changqingzi lay sprawled out like a character, gazing up at the blue sky and white clouds, recalling the scene of encountering serendipity upon Hidden Dao Peak. At this moment, a wave of unprecedented gratitude washed over him toward Senior Uncle Xuanming.
Had it not been for that revered elder, he undoubtedly would have suffered defeat.

"Changqingzi of the Seeking Truth Temple is victorious!"

Upon hearing True Person Qingyi announce his victory, Changqingzi finally allowed himself to relax and close his eyes, slipping into unconsciousness. Though he felt a pang of regret at failing to break into the top ten, he had at least not辜负 (failed to live up to) the expectations of his master and his sect; he had given his all and possessed a clear conscience.

---

When the arena beneath him rapidly elevated, crossing the barrier and carrying Changqingzi's figure into the sanctuary of the protective field, Xuanyang immediately descended from the viewing platform. Clutching the medicine vial given by Xuansu, he sprinted toward his disciple, alternating between weeping and laughing.

"Disciple, Master has arrived!"
"Master is here to tend to your wounds."
"This time, you've won immense face for Master."
"Once you've recovered, Master will definitely petition the Sect Leader to take you to the Immortal's Welcome for a grand feast. We'll use the sect's funds, and the two of us master and disciple will eat and drink to our hearts' content!"

The fists hidden within Xuanxu's sleeves tightened rigidly as he silently memorized those words. Then he raised his head to gaze at the sky; Xuanning lowered his head to study the ground; Xuansu inspected her fingernails; and Xuankong pretended to converse deeply with Daoist Feibai.
At that very moment, they wished with all their hearts that they did not know this fellow.

On the second-tier viewing platform, True Person Sanhuan flicked his sleeve, summoning back his half-roasted, deeply unfortunate disciple. Stroking his goat-like beard as he watched the Daoist named Xuanyang sprinting toward the arena, he observed, "This Daoist is quite amusing."

Over at the viewing platform of the Lingze Sect, Bichuan stared with lingering regret at the iron sword. Why hadn't it pierced further down? She muttered involuntarily, "What a pity!"

The mild-featured middle-aged female Daoist instantly felt her palms itch: *Stinky girl, don't think I don't know what you're plotting!*

Faking a cough, Bichuan instantly stiffened her body. Realizing her exposure, she spun around at once, scurried over to the female Daoist's side, clutched her arm, and began to fawn and coax, "Master!"

The middle-aged female Daoist sighed helplessly, a trace of indulgence surfacing upon her face. "Alright! Stop panicking; Master is about to be made dizzy by your fidgeting. I'll spare you this time, but if there's ever a next time, the punishment will be doubled.
Furthermore, all those romance scripts you've hidden beneath your bed are hereby confiscated, lest you pick up all sorts of unseemly notions and befoul your Daoist heart."

Feigning blindness to her disciple's dejected expression, she pointed toward the empty seat beside her and said, "Sit."

Bichuan obediently took her seat, entirely forgetting that she was currently nursing injuries. The moment she dropped her weight down, a sharp pain caused her to bare her teeth, hissing as she sprang right back up. The middle-aged female Daoist feigned an interest in drinking tea, using her sleeve to conceal the upward twitch of her lips.

*Stinky girl, consider this a minor warning for today.*

The spectators who had witnessed this battle hardly knew how to appraise the match, ultimately attributing the outcome to the notion that luck was also a part of strength—or perhaps it was simply the workings of destiny.

Once Changqingzi was properly settled, the Daoists of the Seeking Truth Temple directed their gazes toward the arena where Chang'anzi was currently engaged in a fierce struggle.