Chapter Eighty-Four: Entangled Affections, Wisdom Falters to Sever

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As Yaxin Yi departed into the distance, Mute stood silently halfway up the mountain. He drew deep breaths, striving to banish her shadow from his mind. Yet the harder he tried, the more indelibly it became etched within him, until in the quiet of the night his heart thudded wildly, and a subtle tremor arose from its depths—a sensation he thought himself incapable of feeling again, that so-called “love.”

“How could it be?” Mute muttered inwardly. “I’ve just met her, I don’t even know what she looks like. How could I possibly be infatuated already?”

He clenched his teeth and slowly descended the mountain, his thoughts more chaotic than before: I always believed I’d achieved a state of tranquil indifference, that I’d never again be moved by a woman. How could she…

A nameless sense of dread welled up within him.

“No, I don’t want these feelings. The taste of love is so painful…”

He could not deny it: Mute was no longer a naive youth. He had experienced two women, both beautiful—Qiao’er and Mu Siyu. He liked them, but the affection was tinged more with desire than love, and they had offered themselves in exchange for his protection. In his heart, they were his private treasures. He relished the sense of control, the power to command every aspect of their lives.

His thoughts drifted. Once, when he was still a pure-hearted young man, he had poured all his passion and devotion into loving a girl—though it was only a secret crush; she might never have noticed him. That feeling had sprung from some inexplicable trembling, a flutter ignited by a tender glance, a caring word, or a letter of consolation, enough to make his heart quiver and every pore cry out in ecstasy.

Yet, as a thoroughly unremarkable man in today’s society, Mute had ultimately swallowed the bitter fruit of unrequited love, experiencing more sorrow, disappointment, and bitterness than joy. The pain in his soul far exceeded any physical torment. He had secretly warned himself never to endure such suffering again, though it was a kind of blissful agony.

Yet tonight, his long-shuttered heart trembled once more, moved by a woman with whom he had only spent half a day.

“Ah…” Mute cried to the heavens, his figure flashing like lightning and vanishing atop Chaotian Peak. In the sky, thunder rumbled, shaking the vault of heaven!

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Two days later, at the Chaotian Peak tournament.

“Brother Xiaoyao, why hasn’t Amu appeared yet?” Master Zhengyi asked, his expression tinged with anxiety. The tournament was about to begin, and every sect’s disciples needed to draw lots to determine their opponents.

Xiaoyao hastily replied, “Don’t worry, Master! I’ve already sent word to him using Daoist arts. Chaotian Peak isn’t large; he should arrive soon!”

At that moment, a tall Daoist approached, saluted, and said, “Master Zhengyi, it’s been many years—the elegance of your presence remains unchanged. An auspicious meeting!”

Master Zhengyi quickly rose and returned the gesture. “Ah, it’s Master Tianxin of Lingyun Sect. Greetings!”

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“Hahaha… Master Zhengyi, you’re still as refined and courteous as ever.” Master Tianxin laughed heartily, a straightforward man. “Though this is the grand cultivation tournament, the top four every year are always taken by Lingyun Sect, Taixu Sect, and Shuiyue Sect. Other sects rarely produce outstanding disciples.”

He suddenly continued, “By the way, I hear your Wuya Peak has produced a genius disciple. I suppose you’ll be stealing the spotlight again this year!” He scanned the Taixu Sect crowd, but unfamiliar with their young disciples, he couldn’t discern who stood out, and asked, “Would you introduce me?”

Master Zhengyi didn’t answer, his gaze fixed outside. Master Tianxin followed his eyes and saw several Taixu Sect disciples rushing in, whispering to Zhengyi, “Master, we’ve searched all over Chaotian Peak and found no sign of Brother Mu. We don’t know where he’s gone!”

Master Zhengyi frowned. “Never mind, time’s up. Let the alternate disciple, Cang—” Just then, a clear whistle echoed. Xiaoyao exclaimed with delight, “Ah! That boy’s finally back!”

Master Zhengyi was struck by the sound, stood up, and looked where Xiaoyao pointed. He saw a streak of azure sword-light slicing through the sea of clouds, the sword-rider soaring forward, clouds billowing like waves to either side, amplifying the sword’s majesty. The rider was Mute.

Master Zhengyi listened to Mute’s sustained, resonant whistle, brimming with confidence, and said with joy, “Immeasurable Heavenly Lord! Amu’s cultivation seems to have advanced again!”

Master Tianxin’s expression grew solemn. “This is your legendary genius disciple. Remarkable cultivation—comparable to my Sword’s. With Shuiyue Sect’s Yaxin Yi as well, this tournament will surely be a clash of titans!”

Mute, riding his sword, landed before the Taixu Sect, Xiaoyao both pleased and annoyed. “Where have you been? The tournament’s about to start, and you vanished without a word.”

Mute replied, “I apologize for troubling Master and Sect Leader. Two days ago, I was moved by a sudden insight and found a quiet place to meditate, unable to inform you in time.”

Master Zhengyi said, “No matter. On the path of cultivation, sudden enlightenment can be more valuable than ten years’ practice. You’re not to blame.” He introduced Master Tianxin, “This is Lingyun Sect’s leader, a venerable figure in the cultivation world, renowned for mentoring young disciples. He just mentioned you—come and pay your respects!”

Mute bowed, and Tianxin raised his hands in greeting, asking curiously, “You’re Chen Mu, Taixu Sect’s Wuya Peak prodigy? How is your cultivation…” Master Tianxin noticed signs of Mute approaching the Foundation Establishment stage. Though impressive among young disciples, he should be far behind his own Bai Yijian. Why did Shuiyue Sect praise him as a reincarnated celestial talent?

Master Zhengyi changed the subject with a laugh, “Time’s up, Master Tianxin. It’s your turn to preside over the tournament—everyone’s waiting!”

Indeed, though there were many cultivation sects, Lingyun, Taixu, and Shuiyue were foremost. The Chaotian Peak tournament had always been hosted by the leaders of these three sects in turn, and this fiftieth-year tournament fell to Lingyun Sect.

Master Tianxin glanced at Zhengyi, strode to the platform, and surveyed the assembled cultivators, declaring, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Chaotian Peak tournament, held every fifty years, is about to begin. Since our Daoist forebears founded the path of cultivation, it has endured for millennia. Our ancestors, moved by the arduous journey of defying heaven to seek immortality—thriving through diligence, declining through frivolity—established this grand event to caution and nurture younger disciples. Thus the Chaotian Peak tournament has continued for a thousand years.”

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Master Tianxin paused, gauging the crowd’s reaction, then continued, “Today, the cultivation world boasts dozens of sects. This Chaotian Peak tournament features twenty-three sects, each sending four disciples.”

He clapped his hands, and two Lingyun Sect disciples brought forth a large wooden chest draped with red cloth. “To ensure fairness, all matchups will be determined by drawing lots. From one to ninety-two, every number is represented in this box.”

“After the drawing, matches are decided by number: odd versus odd, even versus even—one against ninety-one, two against ninety-two, and so forth. Each round, new lots are drawn until the final showdown.”

The cultivators glanced toward the viewing platform, where Taixu and Shuiyue Sect leaders sat together, voicing no objection. Clearly, the three major sects had coordinated in advance, and the system was indeed fair; everyone approved and sent their disciples up to draw lots.

Mute joined his fellow Taixu Sect disciples on stage. As soon as he stepped up, he felt a gaze upon him—looking up, he met Yaxin Yi’s eyes. Though she wore a veil, he could always sense her attention.

Meanwhile, disciples who had drawn their numbers whispered among themselves:

“I’m number six—who’s my opponent?”

“Ah! Feng Wuwang of Cangwu Sect is truly unlucky. With his cultivation he might have reached the top four, but he’s drawn Bai Yijian in the first round. He’ll barely stand before falling—no chance for the championship. His name ‘Wuwang’ truly suits him!”

Indeed, while the draw was fair, luck played a significant role. An average disciple might advance if he drew weaker opponents, but if unlucky enough to face Bai Yijian, defeat was inevitable.

When the drawing was done, matches proceeded by number. Perhaps the Temporal Administration Bureau had rewarded Mute’s luck—he drew number one, the first to compete. Number ninety-one belonged to a short, stout disciple from Cangwu Sect. After exchanging names and saluting, both summoned their flying swords and prepared for battle.

The stout disciple, seeing Mute from Taixu Sect, dared not be careless. His sword soared, trailing a blaze of fire—he’d mastered the fire element of the five phases. Yet he was unfortunate to face Mute. Mute didn’t even unsheathe his sword; he simply flicked his finger, sending the opponent’s blade spinning back.

The disciple’s expression changed as he realized Mute’s superior cultivation. He caught his sword, preparing to cast a spell, but suddenly felt a force push him forward, and before he knew it, he found himself beneath the stage.

Mute gracefully saluted, apologized, and descended from the platform.

Below, many young cultivators frowned, silently praying, “May I never draw him in the next round!”