Chương 61: Chapter 60: Intervention

The third round of the tournament began with a bang.

"Fu Zhan vs. Fairy Yun!" the announcer called, only for his shout to vanish beneath a tidal wave of noise as the crowd erupted. The roars rolled through the cloud ring overhead, shaking the very air. From her private box, Bai Ning could see the spectators clearly enough. Without using qi to sharpen her vision, the inner curve of the cloud ring resembled a canvas painted in shifting stripes, with bands of color made of bodies jostling, waving, shouting, and leaping as excitement rippled through them.

If nothing else, she was grateful that every participant who had made it to the third round had been granted a private box: a simple wooden structure floating to the side of the white stone stage. Twelve in total, evenly spaced, and all identical. No one else was allowed near the arena. Even her master, who was serving as one of the judges under Ancestor Qing, watched from the cloud ring above. She wondered how the spectators were viewing the fights. Surely not with pure eyesight alone. That seemed unlikely.

More likely, the organizers had set up a mechanism to project images into the hollow center of the ring, letting the crowd watch from afar. There would be three fights today. All six matchups, along with the order they would occur in, had been announced yesterday. It was why Bai Ning felt so at ease; her own fight would take place tomorrow, against Jin Shihan, the body cultivator who was, unfortunately, a crowd favorite.

Today, among the people she cared for, only Yue Shuangyi would be fighting, pitted against Shen Xian the puppeteer. The remaining match would be between the monk Fahai Sattavadeva and the demonic cultivator Hei Lian. That one, at the very least, promised to be interesting. Unfortunately, no one was allowed into her private box, which meant she would be watching the fights alone rather than sharing the excitement with her friends, as was true of the vibrant sea of spectators overhead.

A mixed blessing: she appreciated the peace and privacy, but it came at the cost of having someone else beside her to enjoy the spectacle. The organizers had spared no effort in preparing the arena for the third round. The pale white stone of the stage looked the same as ever, but the shimmering, multicolored dome enclosing it was new. The formation bristled with spiritual energy, so dense that it hummed faintly, like a pulse or a heartbeat.

The weather was pleasant as well, though with so many powerful cultivators in attendance, it would scarcely have mattered if it weren't; they could have simply forced it to behave. The sky was a pane of bright blue, the occasional cloud drifting jauntily across, and the sun glowed like a merry golden coin; warm and inviting, but not harsh.

Scents drifted on the breeze: roasted chestnuts, sweet berries, spiced meat, and beneath them all lay the island's own perfume; low shrubs, shy clusters of white flowers, and the unmistakable smell of iron, lobster, and sea-salt. The waters beyond were calm and fair, the sort that made one wonder what lay beyond the horizon, and whether they ought to try and find out. All in all, it was a wonderful day. Fu Zhan stepped into the ring from one side, descending from his own box, his robes fluttering in the wind.

His clothes were still pink, which was a color he obviously favored, but this time edged with deep red, like tongues of deeper scarlet flames licking at their borders. He had once again left them loose and open at the front, so a portion of his muscled chest was clearly visible, smooth and hairless. His prominent nose had been powdered, very clearly so, and his lips were tinted red with rouge. Bai Ning had no idea how he pulled it off, but somehow he did, managing to look handsome and striking instead of foolish.

He was openly grinning, his Sanguine Blood Banner already in hand and lazily propped against his shoulder. Opposite him, Fairy Yun – whose full name, Yun Hanyue, Bai Ning had only learned last night – descended onto the ring. Compared to Fu Zhan, she was dressed far more modestly, in sea-foam green robes clasped at the throat with a pin of silver. Her face was solemn, though the expression couldn't quite hide her sharp, fox-like eyes. Bai Ning drew in a breath. She absolutely had to be related to Island Master Yun.

The resemblance was far too uncanny to be a coincidence. The two fighters took their positions at opposite ends of the ring, the formation parting to admit them without so much as a ripple. Yun Hanyue held a small screen in hand, likely cloth or perhaps canvas stretched between two wooden slats. A moon peeked through clouds painted upon it, rendered in shifting shades of argent and sable. Compared to the Sanguine Blood Banner, it was unquestionably the more aesthetically pleasing magic tool.

"Begin," came the announcer's voice. Immediately, Fu Zhan spun the banner in his hand, releasing vast clouds of red mist onto the arena floor. The mist spread with astonishing speed, taking less than a single breath to flood the entire stage and surge upward until it pressed against the inner curve of the dome. It looked as if someone had lowered a gigantic bowl over the arena, trapping the crimson fog within a shimmering hemisphere. Just like last time, the light behaved strangely.

It wasn't absorbed or dimmed; instead, the red clouds magnified it in unsettling ways. The arena floor, what little of it remained visible, gleamed like the first hint of white in a world of darkness, pure and serene. The multicolored dome overhead turned iridescent, colors sliding across its surface with almost unwholesome vibrancy. Even the unremarkable wooden boxes the contestants occupied took on richer hues, as if someone had applied a fresh coat of polish to reveal the depth of their grain and texture.

Yun Hanyue activated her own magic treasure in the same instant Fu Zhan did; a flash of silver that warped into something pearly, almost lunar, before the rolling crimson mist swallowed her from view. Bai Ning pressed herself against the edge of her viewing platform, watching with bated breath. Would Yun Hanyue manage what almost no one expected and deliver a major upset and defeat Fu Zhan? Apparently not. The red mist drifted and churned untouched, as if whatever was happening inside it made no difference at all.

Bai Ning already knew what came next. Barely had the thought formed before a low growl rippled out from within, reverberating across the stadium. A tiger, sculpted from carmine clouds, prowled along the edges of the ring, growling softly before dissolving into the mist. A flock of spiritual sharks, also shaped from that same red vapor, took flight near the top of the scarlet hemisphere, diving in and out just inches from the formation that kept them contained.

No sound came from the fighters themselves, and the cloud that had swallowed the arena blocked everything. Even spiritual sense was completely suppressed. She had checked with Master Mo Jian, and he had told her that even he could only faintly sense within the territory created by the Sanguine Blood Banner. That was still far better than her own complete blindness. But since Yun Hanyue had made no headway so far, this fight was inevitably headed toward Fu Zhan's victory as well.

Still, that didn't mean there was no opportunity here. Bai Ning inhaled, then exhaled slowly, letting her thoughts settle. I can cut anything, she reminded herself, honing that conviction like a blade drawn over a whetstone. So, she continued, I need to understand where to strike. The world sharpened. Her senses didn't suddenly improve, rather, she could focus them with far greater control.

The cloud ring, the green belt beyond the arena, even the boxes housing the other participants all faded from view as the world darkened little by little. Paradoxically, the arena grew clearer. The red mist, once nearly opaque to her, came alive with whorls and currents: entire corridors of sanguine vapor twisting, trailing, and sliding past one another. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

It was no longer a single cloud at all, but an entire world of them woven together, revealing a tapestry only she could see. She exhaled again, holding on to that fragile precision. She still couldn't sense anything inside the cloud, but- There. Just for an instant, so brief her hand twitched toward her sword before she could stop it, she had felt it: the cold clarity that revealed where her strike should land.

Fu Zhan had dispersed himself into the mist like a demon shaped from its essence, but he was not truly invincible. If she could pinpoint him, she was certain her technique could wound him. The challenge would be surviving long enough inside his domain to deliver the blow. As if on cue, a bloodcurdling scream tore out of the cloud. The fragile web of concentration Bai Ning had woven snapped apart, leaving her blinking and disoriented for a heartbeat.

She had improved her technique greatly, but not enough for it to be effortless. More importantly, the scream clearly belonged to Yun Hanyue, and because the red clouds of the Sanguine Blood Banner blocked sound, Fu Zhan must have deliberately forced it through, playing with his prey so the entire arena could hear. Bai Ning pressed her lips together. That was cruel. Unnecessarily so. Surely the announcers would call the match. But no one said a word.

Another scream, this one cut off sharply before it could fully form, like driving an animal into a trap and listening to it flail and shriek. And another. And another. Whatever Yun Hanyue was doing, it clearly wasn't working. The only reason she wasn't already dead was because Fu Zhan was taking pleasure in dragging it out. Should she…

Before Bai Ning could step in, foolishly, perhaps, given how many deaths she had witnessed in this tournament, a comet of blue light hurtled down from the cloud ring above, stopping at the very boundary of the formation dome enclosing the white-stone arena. The force of its descent stirred powerful winds, and its abrupt halt sent a circular blast of rippling air rolling outward. Bai Ning knew that qi as well as she knew her own. Her heart leapt to her throat.

"Master," she breathed, eyes wide. Mo Jian looked thunderous, brows drawn tight, displeasure sparking across his face like lightning across storm clouds. He swept his hand, and the Heaven Enshrouding Ding swelled forth in a burst of cerulean light, emerging from his fingertip as a mote before expanding until its shadow draped over the entire ring. It shone with a deep azure radiance, its surface alive with swirling power.

Then its lid flew open with a resounding clang, revealing what she knew lay within: an ocean of churning blue flames, threaded with silver lightning. Immediately, the red clouds conjured by the Sanguine Blood Banner darkened, with scarlet deepening to black as though ink were pouring through them. Silver lightning traced through the darkness, leaping from one edge of the dome to the other, striking and dispersing any cloud-beast that emerged.

Within seconds the entire mass of mist was riddled with holes, and seconds later it was unmistakably unraveling. The pale white stone floor of the arena emerged once more. Fu Zhan stood at its center, banner in hand, a deep scowl carved across his face as he glared up at Mo Jian hovering above. At the farthest edge of the ring, nearly pressed against the boundary of the formation dome, was Yun Hanyue. She looked utterly wretched. Her fine green robes were soaked in blood, and her skin was pale and clammy.

Her hair, once neatly bound with silver threads, hung in disarray, clumps torn out in uneven patches. Her left leg was mangled; there was no gentler way to put it. It looked as if some beast had clamped its jaws around it and shaken her like a rag doll. That it remained attached at all was a miracle. She breathed in shallow, ragged gasps, her expression a confused mixture of pain and disbelief, as though she couldn't quite believe her own good fortune in still being alive.

"What is the meaning of this?" Fu Zhan demanded, fury roughening his voice. It wasn't mere anger; he was livid, the words coming out fast and clipped, as if he were restraining himself from flying up and tearing Mo Jian's face off. Mo Jian did not back down an inch.

"As one of the judges of this round, I declare this fight over. Winner: Fu Zhan. Now leave the stage so that we may prepare for the next match." Fu Zhan spat to the side, his previously refined bearing crumbling the moment he was thwarted.

"What judge? My grandfather is one of the only four judges that matter, and I didn't hear him say a word. The match was ongoing before you interfered. This should be punished by the actual judges." Mo Jian snorted, clearly not backing down even at the mention of Old Devil Fu.

"This is not your grandfather's personal territory. The rules are different here. Yun Hanyue offered her surrender multiple times, only for you to ignore it. Look around you, Fu Zhan. Do you see anyone stopping me? A surrender, honorably given, must be respected. I have Ancestor Qing's backing on this." He straightened, voice turning icily formal before Fu Zhan could interrupt.

"Now, a judge of the tournament has ordered you to step off the stage. Do you intend not to listen?" There was a beat of silence. Even the roaring crowd above in the cloud ring went quiet for that single, suspended moment. Then Fu Zhan forced a smile onto his face, running a hand through his hair as if smoothing down his long curls.

"Ah, my apologies. My temper got the better of me. Sure, I'll step off." He flashed another charming smile, and the crowd, previously hushed, surged with approval, cheers and triumphant shouts exploding from above. Bai Ning had to fight the urge to curl her lip. They were cheering for him? Yun Hanyue, pale-faced and hobbling, offered a salute to Mo Jian before limping off the stage. Her master gave only a simple nod in return, retreating back up to the cloud ring and vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

Bai Ning watched him go, a strange, unnamed feeling stirring in her chest. In a way, it reminded her of a memory etched deep in her mind from long ago: Mo Jian driving off Chao Qinzi and saving her sect.

"Second fight of the day," the announcer's voice rang out, shaking her from her thoughts.

"Yue Shuangyi versus Shen Xian." Yue Shuangyi descended from her floating box atop a crystalline phoenix carved from ice. Coupled with her snow-white robes, the ice lotus she cradled in her cupped hands, and the delicate ice hairpins threaded through her hair, she could not have looked more like an icy beauty if she had tried. The crowd seemed to agree. Their cheers carried an unmistakable note of admiration, with more than a few compliments on Yue Shuangyi's grace and elegance.

Her opponent, by contrast, was as unremarkable as ever. Shrouded in layers of thick robes, with a cloak and mask firmly in place, nothing of him could be discerned. Bai Ning had no memory of him from the second round; he might as well have been invisible. Clearly, he was a master of slipping by unnoticed. The two of them took their positions; Yue Shuangyi serene and ready, Shen Xian perfectly still.

"Begin," came the announcer's voice. Yue Shuangyi wasted no time. She blew on the ice lotus in her hand – the Ever-Frozen Silkworm Lotus – and it shattered in a swirl of icy petals. Each petal spun gracefully through the air, tracing delicate, shimmering patterns before expanding into razor-sharp blades that shot toward Shen Xian. His response was unimpressive. The man leapt backward, then to the side, rolling and jumping to dodge the razor-thin ice blades. He didn't even deploy a magic tool.

One sword nicked his leg, another caught his shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. Yet there was not a sound, nor a drop of blood. Calmly, Shen Xian rose, the blades still embedded in his body, refusing to melt. He snapped his arms upward, and from the center of his gloved palms emerged two thin swords. In a single fluid motion, he spun and leapt, aiming to impale Yue Shuangyi straight through the middle. Yue Shuangyi offered a look of disdain, clearly unconcerned. She blew again.

A second layer of petals, even more delicate than before, erupted into bulky shards of ice, forming a protective barrier between the two. Shen Xian struck the first layer of shields and rebounded, unable to pierce through them. Moments later, a rain of ice swords descended from the heavens above, skewering him straight down the center. A stunned silence fell. The crowd, who had been cheering moments before, froze in disbelief. This was it? He fell so easily? Then the illusion shattered.

Shen Xian's body in the ring collapsed into a cloud of wooden splinters. A whole arm rolled away, clearly carved from wood. The rest of the body fell apart as well, revealing polished joints and hinges beneath the dark cloth. At the edge of the stage, a shimmer appeared, and another Shen Xian stepped forward, completely identical to the one now lying in pieces on the arena floor. Yue Shuangyi's expression darkened, though the crowd above seemed to have recovered its voice, if not surpassed it.

The roar of approval that accompanied Shen Xian's trick was so loud that Bai Ning instinctively clapped her hands over her ears. Still, she had to admit: it was an impressive trick. He had sent a puppet to fight, hiding himself in plain sight. And if her suspicions were correct… Yue Shuangyi did not hesitate. A storm of ice swords, the same delicate, razor-sharp creations she always wielded, rained down from all directions, curving through the air to strike from every conceivable angle.

The revealed "Shen Xian" tried to leap and roll, but it was futile. It unfolded swords from its shoulders, but could only block two of the dozens aimed at it. In an instant, it was skewered. The puppet shattered once more, pieces of wood rolling across the stadium floor. Before anyone could recover, another shimmer appeared, this time from the opposite edge of the arena. Another Shen Xian stepped forward.