Chapter 72

Chapter 72: Schemes on Both Sides

The Chang Yuan Sect’s leading figure hovered in the air—a mid-stage Essence Condensation Stage cultivator, robes snapping in the wind.

Li Shu knew him well. Huo Zi Xun had seen him before too.

The two drifted out together and faced him head-on. Li Shu spoke first, voice calm and familiar. “Shi Tong. It’s been 10 years since we last parted at the Tun Qi Pool, hasn’t it?”

Shi Tong’s gaze tightened. He had not realized Li Shu had advanced to late-stage. He weighed him in silence, then noticed the man beside him—Huo Zi Xun—also standing in the air.

Able to fly. Essence Condensation Stage.

Shi Tong’s expression cooled into a sneer. “So the Ling Zhen Sect hides in the Secluded Valley, good news pouring out one after another, yet you never inform the outside world. We didn’t even have time to prepare proper gifts. We came empty-handed.”

In the past, Li Shu might have bristled. Today his mood was too good for petty sparring. He went straight to the point.

“What you sent was a challenge letter, not a congratulatory visit,” Li Shu said. “If you’ve come to debate the Dao, then words are useless. Send your disciples down to the arena. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Huo Zi Xun stood beside him, face set and cold. The hostility ran deeper than a few sharp phrases. Between the two sects lay old blood.

Among the Southern Domain’s major sects, the Chang Yuan Sect had once been the lowest tier. But the Ling Zhen Sect had truly weakened. In the last gathering’s Foundation Establishment Stage matches, it had been crushed by Chang Yuan.

Of the 10 Ling Zhen fighters, only Huo Zi Xun—one of the three late-stage disciples—had won. Of the remaining seven mid-stage disciples, only two had managed victories.

The one consolation was that Shi Tong’s personal disciple, Geng Tian Qin—the top Chang Yuan Sect Foundation Establishment Stage disciple that year—had lost to Huo Zi Xun.

Now 10 years had passed. Huo Zi Xun had entered the Essence Condensation Stage. Geng Tian Qin still lingered at the Foundation Establishment Stage. In the end, Huo Zi Xun had outstripped him once again.

Shi Tong’s eyes flickered with resentment, but he forced a smile. “Naturally we came to fight. Our sect has several disciples capable of battle. We’ve long admired the great sect’s bearing—so we’ve come to debate the Dao.”

With that, he turned back toward the glazed ship behind him. A wave of young disciples crossed the cloud bridge connecting the two vessels. Most were at the eighth or ninth level of the Qi Refining Stage, and they gathered like stars around the moon, circling a saber-wielding girl.

In the past, the Ling Zhen Sect’s Qi Refining Stage attendants had been handpicked by elders, and there were usually only 11 or 12. Now, after the selection tournament, they had a full roster of 20—every one an elite, posture proud, aura sharp.

That pride did not come from whose elder they stood under. It came from their own strength.

The moment the two groups faced each other, the Chang Yuan disciples faltered under the pressure.

These were junior battles. Essence Condensation Stage cultivators only watched; they did not intervene.

Zheng Chen Qing, leader of the 20 Qi Refining Stage disciples, stepped forward and cupped his hands. “Ling Zhen Sect, Zheng Chen Qing.”

A Chang Yuan disciple stepped out and returned the salute. “Chang Yuan Sect, Meng Yuan.”

Since the duel would be held on the Ling Zhen Sect’s vessel, Zheng Chen Qing carried the host’s responsibility. “How does your sect wish to debate the Dao?” he asked evenly. “We’ll accompany you, whatever the format.”

Meng Yuan lifted a brow. “Simple. We also brought 20 Qi Refining Stage disciples—equal to yours.”

He spoke clearly, like a man reciting rules he’d already rehearsed. “We’ll set five arena rounds, four fighters per round. The loser steps down; the winner holds the arena. Whoever remains standing wins that round for their sect. Best of five, first to three. Fellow Daoist—how does that sound?”

Fair enough.

Zheng Chen Qing nodded once. “Agreed.”

Both sides began assigning their fighters.

Over the past year and a half, six of the Ling Zhen Sect’s 20 had broken through. That left 14 at the ninth level of the Qi Refining Stage and six at the eighth. Zhao Chun’s advance meant she was no longer near the bottom.

The Chang Yuan Sect’s lineup was similarly selected through combat. They had 13 ninth-level disciples—only one fewer than Ling Zhen.

But Chang Yuan did not understand what those numbers really meant. At a glance, the last group on Ling Zhen’s side seemed to have only two ninth-level disciples. It looked like the weakest team.

When the matchups were finalized, several Ling Zhen disciples sneered openly.

Chang Yuan had stacked their 13 ninth-level disciples into three full groups. In a best-of-five format, it was a clear play: seize three rounds fast, claim victory, and leave no room for recovery.

The remaining two groups each had only one ninth-level disciple. The rest were all eighth-level.

Zhao Chun watched their arrangement and understood at once. A Tian Ji-style gambit—sacrifice the weaker teams to let the strongest win three straight.

Fine, she thought. Try it.

When the strongest horses fall, what will you do then?

It was not noble. But Chang Yuan did not care about nobility today. They cared about winning.

Meng Yuan raised his chin slightly, satisfied. “Looks like both sides are ready. Shall we begin?”

“Of course,” Zheng Chen Qing said. “We’re the host; you’re the guest. The first round—our side will send the first fighter.”

He drifted onto the arena platform, robes settling as his feet touched down. Then he extended one hand, palm open, inviting.

The Chang Yuan fighter who answered was none other than Meng Yuan.

Zheng Chen Qing cultivated one of the Ling Zhen Sect’s highest-grade methods, belonging to the Sect Master line. He was a water-attribute spell cultivator, and the moment his aura rose it rolled outward like a dark tide gathering beneath the surface.

He’s improved again, Zhao Chun thought, judging him with a clearer eye than before.

When your own strength rose, so did your judgment. Watching now, she could almost see the outcome before the first exchange landed.

No one here was ordinary. These were elites. Zheng Chen Qing made a single move, and everyone knew Meng Yuan was outmatched.

Meng Yuan felt it too. But in an arena battle, even a loss could serve a purpose. If you could not win, you forced the opponent to spend true qi.

He dodged, circled, slipped away again and again, stretching out the exchange. Zheng Chen Qing understood exactly what he was doing and pressed harder for a swift end. Even so, it took dozens of moves before Meng Yuan finally ran out of strength and conceded.

In theory, a single fighter could defeat four opponents and hold the platform through an entire round. In practice, even the strongest could be worn down if the other side fought purely to exhaust them.

Zheng Chen Qing proved himself worthy of the Sect Master’s personal disciple. He defeated three opponents in succession before, in the fourth match, his strength finally faltered and he stepped down.

The record turned heads across the gathered ships. On the Chang Yuan side, the saber-wielding girl’s eyes burned with interest, fixed on Zheng Chen Qing like she’d spotted a rival—yet she was not placed in the first group, and she could only watch.

With Zheng Chen Qing cutting down three, Ling Zhen took the first round cleanly.

The next two rounds, however, were strangled by Chang Yuan’s tactic. Four ninth-level Qi Refining Stage cultivators cycled onto the platform in succession. Zhuang Kun and Fang Cai Ran could each fight two and still hold their ground, but the lone eighth-level disciple assigned to those rounds could not keep up and was taken down. Chang Yuan seized two rounds in a row.

By the fourth round, Chang Yuan’s team was composed entirely of eighth-level disciples. Ling Zhen won it without difficulty.

Two rounds each.

The score was tied, and everything came down to the fifth.

Zhao Chun’s group included two ninth-level disciples who were not in the same tier as Zheng Chen Qing or Zhuang Kun, but their foundations were solid. Against Chang Yuan’s remaining ninth-level disciple, it should have been manageable.

And yet, at this decisive moment, the Chang Yuan side did not look tense at all.

Not even a little.