In the next round, Yan Mingqiu faced Zhang Yuande. Though they shared no private acquaintance, they were familiar enough with one another. They exchanged bows without the need for formal introductions. Yan Mingqiu summoned his red-tasseled spear but did not rush to strike. He waited for Zhang Yuande to complete his Spirit Descent before flicking his spear tip to initiate a move.
This was my first time witnessing the true power of the Ink Feather technique. Zhang Yuande sat cross-legged at the far edge of the arena, his body wreathed in a surge of ink-black aura. From within that darkness, a thread of white light drifted upward—that was his divine soul.
In an instant, the overcast sky seemed to split open. Brilliant golden light poured down as if a divine melody were descending from the heavens. A tall, handsome celestial general gradually took form, merging with Zhang Yuande’s soul as it drifted into the sky. Elegant yet unrestrained, lofty and true, he held a halberd in one hand and a pagoda in the other. It was none other than the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King, Li Jing... and behind him, amidst the clouds, stood countless celestial soldiers, armed and ready!
I was so stunned I couldn't speak for a long moment. I turned to Wei Qingming and asked weakly, "Is this real... or just an illusion?"
"It is no illusion," Wei Qingming replied. "It is indeed the descent of a celestial deity."
The sight of those dense, flickering ranks of celestial soldiers in the clouds made my scalp tingle with dread. With a wave of Li Jing’s hand, the soldiers surged down from the clouds like a tide, swarming toward Yan Mingqiu. Yet, Yan Mingqiu showed no fear. Instead, he let out a boisterous laugh and leaped into the air, meeting them head-on. As a mere mortal, he began to do battle with an innumerable host of celestial soldiers in mid-air!
Yan Mingqiu possessed the pure, unbridled spirit of a youth. When he fought, he fought until his strength was spent; when he won, he won decisively. He was not like a brute who only knew how to throw his weight around; the moment he stepped onto the battlefield, his entire being was consumed by the fight. The world faded, gods and men vanished, and eventually, he even forgot himself. All that remained was the calculation of every strike and every form, manifesting them in reality with perfection. This was the true state of martial transcendence. In this regard, Lord Wei fell short—she had too many schemes and methods... though she was better as she was now. If she truly devoted herself to such things and became some sort of Saint of the Blade or Sword, where would be the romance and charm she possessed today?
Once my initial shock and fear passed, I began to find the situation amusing. I leaned in and whispered into Wei Qingming’s ear, stifling a laugh, "Do you think Senior Brother Zhang is teasing 'Yan the Bold' on purpose? Nezha uses a spear, and Yan uses a spear, so Senior Brother Zhang turns into his father..."
Wei Qingming smiled, coughing lightly into her fist. "This 'son' may lack three heads and six arms, but he won't be easy to trap in a pagoda."
Thinking of it that way, the usually taciturn Senior Brother Zhang—who wouldn't say a word even if you poked him with an awl—suddenly seemed quite funny. He was a "black-bellied" one, harboring a hidden streak of mischief!
"Nezha" Yan fought valiantly within the sea of celestial soldiers, cutting down one after another. It was impossible to tell if the blood on him was his own or the divine blood of his foes. Eventually, his strength began to fail. He was pushed further and further toward the edge by the relentless tide of soldiers. Just when I thought he would be worn down to his death, Yan Mingqiu suddenly plummeted from the clouds, falling straight toward the ground.
Yan Xiangjun and Yu Niannian cried out in alarm, covering their eyes, unable to watch.
But Yan was perfectly fine. He performed a smooth roll upon hitting the ground, flicked his wrist, and lunged his spear directly at Zhang Yuande’s physical body, which sat cross-legged on the floor. It turned out he hadn't been pushed to the edge by the soldiers; he had been feigning weakness, waiting for the moment he was directly above Zhang Yuande to solve the problem at its source!
Just as we thought the tables had turned and Yan Mingqiu was about to win, Li Jing’s divine form flickered and appeared in front of Zhang Yuande. With a heavy swing of his halberd, he knocked Yan Mingqiu’s spear aside. It made sense—the physical body lost consciousness during Spirit Descent; if there were no defensive measures, wouldn't the practitioner be at the mercy of any attacker?
The situation shifted again. Yan Mingqiu was struck by the deity and spat out blood, but he wiped it away carelessly and charged again with reckless abandon. Li Jing prepared for him to repeat his old trick, but to everyone's surprise, Yan Mingqiu gave a sly grin. He reached into his robes, pulled out a basin of black dog's blood, and splashed it all over the holy and solemn Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King...
Everyone was dumbfounded. I decided to retract my previous assessment of Yan Mingqiu as "simple-minded."
That filthy substance actually worked. Li Jing’s divine form was defiled and rapidly dissipated, along with the hundred thousand celestial soldiers in the sky. The clouds closed, the golden light retracted, and everything vanished as if it had all been a bizarre dream.
Zhang Yuande’s soul returned to his body. He had just begun to wake when his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, being teleported out by the formation. All that remained was a puddle of filth—the only evidence that a god had ever descended.
I grabbed Wei Qingming’s sleeve and asked in disbelief, "That rogue's tactic actually worked?"
A look of disgust crossed Wei Qingming’s face. After a pause, she spoke with great reluctance, "That wasn't... just ordinary blood..."
Beside us, Feng Baili, who was slamming the table in delight, finished her sentence with a roar of laughter. "Hahaha! I told Old Yan to use some of his own 'prime stock,' and he actually listened! Hahahaha!"
Yu Niannian and Zhu Yixin, who loved a good spectacle, were already doubled over with laughter. Lu Lingfeng and Qiao Songlin remained composed, showing no emotion. The ever-fastidious Bai Yuyu had his brows knit tight, looking as if he might gag. Only the young mistress Yan Xiangjun was purple with rage, teeth clenched and unable to say a word. For the first time in her life, she seemed unwilling to acknowledge her own brother.
The various Masters of the Wujing Sect on the Observation Peak were worthy of their experience; their expressions remained unchanged as they chatted and laughed. Only Old Man Zhong Shikuang, Yan Mingqiu’s master, clapped his hands and laughed loudly. "Regardless of the method, a win is a win! Well done, disciple! Let that Ink Feather brat play at being a god! Can't put on a show now, can he? Hahaha!"
The arena was quickly cleaned by attendants, and we took a moment to settle our "defiled" spirits. It was time for the final pair: Yi Fei and the monk Zhiding.
The sisters were all worried for Yi Fei in this match. Zhiding was at the late-stage Perfection realm and hailed from Daji Temple, one of the Three Sacred Temples. He was very young, possessed a natural Buddha Heart, and his combat skills were superb. Currently, the Three Sacred Temples were Dajue, Daji, and Dahui. Dajue specialized in various weapons and had the strongest martial tradition, with the Great Compassion Sword Technique as its crowning jewel. Daji focused on the cultivation of one's Buddha-nature, with extremely rigorous tests of character and enlightenment. Dahui revered Buddhist doctrine above all; its members were all profoundly knowledgeable and eloquent, peerless in debating sutras but a step behind in actual combat. Only two monks had made it into the top sixteen this time, with Dahui Temple being the one unrepresented.
Zhiding entered the arena first, sat cross-legged, and began to chant sutras with his eyes closed. Yi Fei walked onto the stage with a graceful, slightly timid air. We cheered loudly to encourage her. She gave us a small smile before turning to softly announce her name to her opponent. Only then did Zhiding stand, pressing his palms together in greeting. He kept his eyes lowered, strictly observing his precepts and not casting even a glance at her.
Yi Fei’s expression turned solemn as she began the Spirit Descent. The ink-black aura around her suddenly surged and churned with an eerie intensity. she tilted her head back sharply, her eyes rolling back to show only the whites. Her beautiful, delicate face began to contort into a series of terrifying expressions, shifting constantly as if countless deities were flickering through her body in no particular order.
Finally, with a sharp "crack" of her neck, Yi Fei lowered her head. Her already tall stature grew another foot, transforming her into a majestic goddess. Unlike Zhang Yuande, she did not merge a detached soul with the deity; she invited the deity to descend directly into her physical flesh. This goddess radiated a righteous, formidable aura, her brows sharp and eyes fierce. It was the Nine Heavens Xuannü!
Zhiding chanted a Buddhist invocation and unleashed a grand, upright Buddhist technique to meet the goddess’s golden talismans.
As the goddess of war and justice, Xuannü’s divine arts were peerless. Under her overwhelming power, even Zhiding began to lose his rhythm. His protective golden light flickered repeatedly, vibrating as if it were about to shatter. The goddess’s momentum was too strong; the match was entirely one-sided. Finally, Zhiding’s protective light failed and shattered with a roar. Yet, he seemed oblivious to the danger, simply lowering his head and pressing his palms together, quietly awaiting the goddess’s blade to pierce his chest.
Xuannü’s sword reached the monk’s heart but stopped. It was as if she had struck something too hard to break, or perhaps she had grown soft-hearted and unwilling to strike.
A cluster of warm, dazzling golden light rose from the monk’s chest. That was Zhiding’s innate Buddha Heart. It cast a glow upon him, making him look merciful and compassionate, like a Buddha reborn.
If the heavens are blind and the one to be slain is not a villain but a pure embodiment of great benevolence and wisdom, then death is accepted with joy. This was the compassion of the Buddha.
Tears fell from the eyes of the Xuannü. Wherever the tears traced, the divine form began to fade. She reached out a hand, as if to gently stroke that shining Buddha Heart with infinite longing and nostalgia, but she remained an inch short as she vanished into mist.
Yi Fei’s face gradually returned to normal, and her stature reverted to its original size.
Just as we thought Zhiding would take the opportunity to counterattack, Yi Fei let out a wild shriek toward the sky. In a state half-mad and half-pained, she hooked her fingers into claws and lunged violently at that soft, infant-like Buddha Heart, as if she meant to tear it out by force. At the last moment, however, she stayed her hand and instead delivered a flat, heavy palm strike.
Until the moment he fell from the stage and lost consciousness, Zhiding maintained a gentle, serene smile, like a Buddha holding a flower.
A faint, sorrowful atmosphere, as if a thousand memories were surging back, spread through the crowd. This match left everyone speechless and bewildered. Standing on the stage, her back looked so crazed and resolute, yet so profoundly lonely—as if she were being crushed and haunted by some inexplicable sorrow and pain.
Yi Fei finally lost consciousness and collapsed on the stage. The thick, black ink-aura enveloping her surged violently, boiling and churning like ten thousand writhing serpents.
Wei Qingming, who had been sitting calmly and sifting fine tea powder to brew the Purple Bamboo Shoot tea I loved, looked up slightly. She paused her hand and gazed thoughtfully at the unconscious Yi Fei.
Yi Fei remained unconscious for an entire day. Zhiding’s Buddha Heart was damaged, nearly shattered completely. Skilled physicians from both the Buddhist and Daoist sects worked together to save him; even Daoist Tan Cun, the Head of Changchun Hall, personally intervened to preserve his life. When Yi Fei woke and heard the news, she was overcome with panic and guilt. She immediately dragged her weakened, sickly body to the Daji Temple encampment and knelt in tears to beg for forgiveness.
Supported by others, Zhiding managed to prop himself up on his couch. His expression was peaceful as he told her it did not matter.
"The Buddha's law is broad and forgiving, but I am truly ashamed," she said, bowing deeply once more.
A slight look of joy appeared on Zhiding’s usually stern face. "I too gained insights from this encounter; perhaps I have made some small progress. Who is to say this was not a blessing? You need not blame yourself, fellow cultivator."
As was the custom, there was a gathering after the matches. During the banquet, Yan Mingqiu hadn't even finished two taels of wine before he drunkenly draped an arm over Wei Qingming’s shoulder. With a hiccup, he said, "I'm tired of waiting. Why don't the two of us just settle it here? Whoever loses won't have to show up for the finals."
"Very well," Wei Qingming said, squinting as she sipped her wine. "I'm sure that would suit He Hong perfectly."
As expected, the fool Yan got excited the moment he heard that. He scrambled to his feet, intending to grab his spear and hunt down He Hong for a battle of three days and nights. The others scrambled to hold him down, resulting in a chaotic mess of overturned plates and general bedlam. Lord Wei remained as steady as a rock, sitting there drinking her wine. She even managed to snag a whole plate of Osmanthus Crabmeat Pastries for me—the kind that usually disappears the moment they hit the table.
Word has it that even after Yan the Bold sobered up, he still remembered the challenge. He stood outside Wei Qingming’s room shouting provocations for half the day, only to find the room empty when he finally pushed the door open. There was only a short note stating that she was accompanying the ladies of Gumeng Mountain to enjoy the red leaves on the West Peak and would not return before the match. Fuming and cursing, Yan trekked all the way to the Tianjun Sect encampment to ask around, only to find that He Hong didn't even stay there, and no one knew where she was. Now only Yi Fei was left, and he couldn't bring himself to raise a hand against a beauty. Besides, he didn't actually care about the title of "Number One of this Generation"; he was simply itching for a good fight with someone who knew how to hit back.
Zhu Yixin dragged Qiao Songlin to the mountain peak first, with Qiao following quietly behind her, holding up her cumbersome long skirt. Lu Kaifeng found a deep pool to fish and read by, while watching his sister catch water ghouls. Only Wei Qingming and I were seriously admiring the red leaves. Lord Wei had uncharacteristically brought a qin. A-Wan brewed tea with practiced hands, and Honglu rhythmically struck a clay pot as accompaniment. Wei played a rendition of "Mountain Dwelling Chant" for me. The preface to the score described the piece: "Its charm lies in the scholar who nests among the clouds and pines of the valleys, indifferently forgetting the world, unburdened by the dusty net of society. With great mountains as a screen and clear streams as a sash, the heavens and earth are his home, and the plants his raiment; pillowed by the stream and rinsing with stones, he wanders at leisure."
The piece was played with a vast, profound, and tranquil air. While it suited her temperament, it was worlds apart from the mundane affairs she handled every day. I listened with my chin in my hands, smiling. When the final notes faded into the air, I teased her with a grin. "To hide from a powerful foe, you've fled into the mountains and even had to resort to performing. You've been truly wronged, Martial Aunt Wei!"
She glanced at me and gave a faint smile. "I simply have no patience for him throwing a tantrum after he loses. It would be a waste of my strength."
***
