Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Tournament Begins

Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Commencement of the Grand Tournament

“Let’s go.”

On this day, after once more checking on the Recluse and Fang Junmei, Fan Lanzhou spoke lightly.

Today, Fan Lanzhou was noticeably colder and more severe than usual. His normally gentle and luminous eyes now seemed to glint with a murderous intent, lending him an air of decisive resolve and ruthlessness.

With those words, Fan Lanzhou strode toward the door.

Linghu Jiu and Yang Xiaoman followed behind him.

Both wore unusually serious and solemn expressions. In truth, this was their first time participating in the sect’s grand tournament—previously, they had either joined too late to be eligible or Dragon Brocade had shouldered the burden alone.

Dragon Brocade’s care for those on Immoveable Peak could not be better spoken of.

...

The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly, bathing the Peach Blossom Spring in radiant beauty, as if everything had been freshly washed.

The three walked upon drifting clouds, flying eastward. Their fluttering robes and ethereal bearing made them seem almost like immortals.

From other directions, too, clouds and sword-light occasionally soared skywards toward the same destination. At the distant sight of the three from Immoveable Peak, some kept their composure, others smiled with meaning, and some whispered quietly among themselves—but none approached to exchange greetings.

Naturally, the three cared little for this.

Beneath their feet, the undulating peaks slipped away behind them.

A gust of wind sounded, and a group of six rose from a bamboo-covered peak below, heading their way. Someone called out, “Lanzhou, wait for us!”

The voice was cultured and gentle, a man’s voice, yet so pleasant that hearing it was itself a rare delight.

The three paused on their cloud and turned toward the newcomers.

Six figures of varying age and gender angled toward them. Their leader was a handsome, refined young man, a match for Fan Lanzhou in temperament. He wore a deep blue robe, a pale sash accentuating his tall frame, and a spring-like smile at his lips.

Upon his back was not a sword, but a black ancient zither exuding the aura of a magic treasure. He looked less like a sword cultivator and more like a wandering musician, his entire bearing dashing and unrestrained.

His name was Xian Qingqiu, chief disciple of the Absolute String Peak—renowned as the “Sword and Zither Immortal” Liu Feibai—and he had attained the middle stage of Dao Embryo.

The five behind Xian Qingqiu, regardless of age or gender, all carried a similar air. If those of Immoveable Peak seemed a touch eccentric, those of Absolute String Peak gave off an aura of detachment, disliking conflict and strife.

Fan Lanzhou and Xian Qingqiu were alike in temperament; indeed, Xian Qingqiu was one of Fan Lanzhou’s few close friends among their peers.

As the two groups drew near, they nodded in greeting, exchanged a few words, and the atmosphere was amiable.

“Lanzhou, where’s that new fellow of yours from Immoveable Peak? Such a rare event in a hundred years—surely he wouldn’t miss it? I heard he signed up as well,” Xian Qingqiu asked casually as they set off together, walking side by side with Fan Lanzhou.

Fan Lanzhou offered a wry smile. “He’s missing it, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? What happened? From what I’ve heard, he’s not the timid sort,” Xian Qingqiu replied in surprise.

Fan Lanzhou sighed lightly. “He assisted Uncle Master Chunyu in testing a medicine, something went awry, and he’s been unconscious ever since.”

Xian Qingqiu nodded, not overly concerned about Fang Junmei’s absence, nor thinking it would much affect Immoveable Peak. With a relaxed air, he teased Fan Lanzhou, “Once word gets out, I bet a slew of disciples will claim he was frightened and is making excuses not to come.”

“Let the shallow-minded say what they will—it won’t trouble me,” Fan Lanzhou replied with a shake of his head and a smile.

Xian Qingqiu nodded approvingly, his gaze sharpening as he said, “If you and I meet in the tournament this time, I will not hold back.”

“Nor should you,” Fan Lanzhou replied. “The position of Immoveable Peak is something to be fought for, not granted by the charity of others.”

Again, Xian Qingqiu nodded.

...

The group chatted as they traveled, and after half an hour, finally arrived at the tournament grounds.

It was a spacious valley in the eastern mountains of Peach Blossom Spring. The area was mostly rocky, sparse with vegetation, spanning several thousand feet—ample space for disciples at or below the Dao Embryo stage to fully display their abilities.

On three sides, sheer cliffs rose skyward, with artificial terraces jutting out as viewing platforms.

At the highest and northernmost point sat the seats for the sect master and inner elders. All but the Recluse had arrived; the familiar Chunyu Qian’s expression remained gloomy, as if the passage of time had not eased his mind—testament to how critical the Blood-Refining Pill was to him.

Besides the nine Sword Immortals, there were three other cultivators seated among them: an elder, a middle-aged man, and a young, beautiful woman.

Well-informed cultivators soon recognized them as elders from the other three great orthodox sects of the Grand River nation.

The elder was Nanguo Cheng of the White Cloud Immortal Sect.

The middle-aged man was Xie Dongliu of Sky Severing Palace.

The beautiful woman was Silverfish Fairy of Immortal Bird Mountain.

The tournament had not yet begun, and the assembled elders chatted freely. Each bore an imposing aura and the bearing of a Sword Immortal, drawing the admiring gazes of countless disciples.

The side platforms were reserved for inner disciples, outer elders, and their disciples, with higher status seats situated further north.

By the time Fan Lanzhou and his companions arrived, seven or eight hundred disciples had already gathered on both sides, a sea of heads—all but a handful outer disciples, since the standards for taking inner disciples were exceedingly strict.

Yet among the outer disciples, there were quite a number in the Dao Embryo stage—those who might one day become inner elders, not to mention the multitude of transient cultivators.

The Peach Blossom Sword Sect’s heritage was deep and ancient; it could never be sustained by a mere handful of elite inner disciples.

However, many of these transient or Dao Embryo stage outer disciples shared a common trait: most appeared middle-aged or elderly. This suggested either lengthy cultivation to reach their current stage, or a wealth of worldly trials—though the former was the likelier case.

Setting aside the outer disciples, among the inner disciples, most of the various peaks had already gathered. At the foremost seats—surrounded like stars arcing around the moon—were Gu Xijin and seven or eight outstanding cultivators, previously unseen. It was clear these were the disciples brought by the three guest elders.

Aside from the now-destroyed Luofu Sword Sect, the four great orthodox sects of Grand River had always maintained close relations. At such grand events, it was customary to invite other sects to observe, fostering exchange on cultivation matters and inspiring the younger generation.

This time, the juniors accompanying those three elders were all exceptionally outstanding, and so, Gu Xijin—the sect’s heir apparent—personally received them.

The particulars of those guests may be left aside for now.

...

As for Fan Lanzhou, Xian Qingqiu, and their group, upon entering the valley, they immediately drew the collective gaze of nearly all the assembled cultivators.