Eighty-Five: Sword Duel, Final Showdown Part One

At his move, not only the younger cultivators below were startled, but even the masters of the Watermoon Sect and the Cloud Peak Sect exchanged a sharp look.

Water Breeze thought to himself, “This boy’s cultivation seems to have advanced again; he is stronger than he was two days ago.”

Heavenly Heart, meanwhile, thought, “His outward cultivation looks ordinary, but from the way he strikes, he may not be beneath Sword Child at all.”

Both men turned to look at the upright, smiling elder and saw him nod in satisfaction, clearly very pleased with the youth’s progress.

Even so, a young cultivator of such caliber was rare indeed. Most of the contestants were roughly equal in strength, so after the youth stepped down so calmly, the remaining three groups were still locked in their contests. It took half an hour before the elders could judge the winners.

After all, with ninety-two cultivators competing, it would have been impossible to have them fight one group at a time onstage; that would have taken days. Even with four matches running at once, by afternoon only half the bouts had been completed.

“Look, Cloud Peak’s Sword Child is going up!”

At once there was a stir among the cultivators below. They crowded forward, eager to see what was so extraordinary about the legendary number one among the younger generation, and more importantly, to see exactly how high his cultivation had reached.

When the youth reached the front of the stage, he saw that this Sword Child was the very man who had sold him his flying sword that day. There he stood, cold and expressionless, gazing at his opponent.

His opponent was also a disciple of the Blackwood Sect, tall and handsome. Yet his face was tense; he plainly knew he was no match for Sword Child. Bowing, he said, “Senior Brother Sword Child.”

Sword Child merely nodded slightly. He summoned his flying sword and made an inviting gesture with one hand. The sword shot forth from his grasp, instantly erupting in blinding golden radiance. Its brilliance was like the blazing sun at the edge of the sky, so dazzling that no one could look upon it directly.

A cry rose from below: “Golden sword light! A high-grade flying sword!”

Such fine flying swords were exceedingly rare. Some minor sect masters did not even possess one with golden sword light; having a silver-glowing sword was already impressive. Many younger cultivators used swords of mixed light, and even among the elite disciples of the various sects, possessing a green-glowing flying sword was remarkable enough. Yet this younger disciple of Cloud Peak actually wielded a golden one. It was plain that his sect had spared no effort in cultivating him.

With the appearance of the golden sword light, Sword Child himself seemed to blaze with incomparable splendor, as though his entire person had transformed. An invisible and sharp aura surged outward, pressing down on the younger cultivators below until they could scarcely breathe. The Blackwood disciple facing him suffered even more; his green-glowing flying sword trembled as though it had encountered its natural enemy, emitting sorrowful whines without cease.

“I surrender!” The Blackwood disciple’s face turned ashen. He knew that once Sword Child made a move, the difference in their cultivation, combined with the gap in sword quality, might well result in his carefully obtained flying sword being destroyed with a single strike.

Yet none of the cultivators below mocked him for surrendering voluntarily, as though yielding to Sword Child were only natural.

Sword Child nodded faintly, withdrew his sword, and his eyes flashed as he caught sight of the youth.

Under everyone’s gaze, Sword Child stepped forward and said, “So you are truly a hidden master.”

The youth smiled slightly. “Senior Brother Sword Child could force an opponent back with aura alone; I am far from your equal.”

Sword Child said, “Thank you for the spirit stones. Also, I will be waiting for you on the final platform.”

The youth nodded. “Senior Brother Sword Child’s cultivation is profound. I would very much like to learn from you as well.”

After this exchange, the surrounding cultivators’ eyes toward the youth changed again. Moments ago, they had seen him easily drive a Blackwood disciple from the stage, yet they still had not understood just how high his cultivation was. Now that Sword Child had spoken of him as a worthy opponent, they immediately placed him among the ranks of those not to be challenged lightly.

Just then, there was another stir among the cultivators below. Someone shouted, “Go quickly and look, the Watermoon disciple who plays the qin has come out!”

“What, what? The masked woman said to use the qin as her magical instrument?”

“Yes! They say no one can resist when the seven-stringed zither sounds. Let’s see for ourselves!”

Following the direction in which the crowd surged, the two turned their heads and saw a white figure rise from within the Watermoon Sect and descend gracefully onto the stage.

Though she wore a veil, her steps were light and her figure was as supple as wind-bent willow. There was truly an indescribable grace and gentleness about her, so much so that even her opponent onstage looked dazed by her beauty.

A clear note rang out, the resonant tone of the zither carrying far across the Heavenly Peak platform, lovely and bright.

Only then did the opponent wake from his reverie. When the crowd saw him standing dumbly on the stage, they all burst out laughing.

The man flushed slightly and hurriedly said, “Please, Watermoon Junior Sister, teach me well!”

She did not answer. Her fingers moved across the strings, and a lingering melody flowed endlessly forth. The man only felt as though he were basking in a spring breeze, languid and utterly at ease, unable even to remember what he ought to do.

Another clear note rang out. He suddenly came to himself: he was in a match, so why had he been standing there in a daze? He looked at her, only to see that she had already drifted off the stage. He could not help asking in confusion, “Junior Sister, we haven’t even fought yet. Why are you leaving?”

Who would have thought that this would only draw another roar of laughter from the onlookers below? An elder shot forward, slapped him on the crown of the head, and said in mortified exasperation, “You worthless disciple, get down from the stage this instant! Must you shame yourself here?”

Only then did the man realize that he had long since left the bounds of the contest. Understanding that he had fallen under the spell of the zither’s music, he quickly covered his face and hurried down from the platform, to yet more laughter from the crowd.

From a distance, the youth and Sword Child saw it clearly. The moment that melody sounded, the man had walked out of the contest area on his own, to the astonished gaze of all present. At first no one understood why, and some even thought he had suddenly grown tender-hearted and reluctant to strike a woman. Only after he spoke did they realize he had been bewitched by the music.

Yet there were surely more than a thousand cultivators on the Heavenly Peak platform, and she had controlled the music so that it struck only a single person. Such cultivation was truly astonishing. Even the upright elder and Heavenly Heart both changed color slightly, worrying for their own disciples.

That day, the first round of matches ended.

On the second day, the remaining forty-six contestants again drew lots to determine their opponents. As on the first day, the youth sent his opponent off the stage with a single move; the cultivator who drew Sword Child’s lot voluntarily conceded; and with another single note, the Watermoon girl also ended her opponent’s road forward.

From that point on, the youth, Sword Child, and the girl from Watermoon became the death group of the tournament. Every disciple who drew one of the three paled at once, and their fellow sect members could only sigh in resignation.

On the third and fourth days, because the number of contestants had become odd, another round of lots produced byes, and whoever drew one could not help but laugh with delight. More astonishing still, one man had exceptionally good fortune and drew a bye three times in succession, carrying himself all the way into the top four. What was most surprising was that this man was also a disciple of Blackwood. In the first round alone, two Blackwood disciples had already been drawn into the death group, and the Blackwood sect master had been lamenting his terrible luck. Yet now one disciple had entered the top four by repeated byes. It was enough to make one laugh and cry at once.

Looking at the four younger cultivators standing side by side on the platform, Heavenly Heart coughed and stepped forward. “Fellow daoists, after seven days of competition, this martial gathering has determined the top four disciples. They are gifted beyond measure and superb in technique, the finest among the younger generation.”

As he said this, a sudden snicker came from somewhere below the stage. A moment later, the whole crowd laughed, glancing oddly toward the Blackwood sect master.

Heavenly Heart was just about to suppress the uproar when the Blackwood sect master stood and said, “What is there to laugh about? Is my disciple not one of the finest among the younger generation? It is only that in this martial gathering, genius has appeared among the disciples of Cloud Peak, Void Origin, and Watermoon. If any of your sects has a younger disciple who can stand shoulder to shoulder with them, I shall have my own disciple hand over a top-four position at once.”

At this, the crowd fell silent.

In truth, if one considered it carefully, the Blackwood sect master’s words were reasonable. All followed the same lineage of Daoist teaching; though their methods of cultivation differed, the best among the younger generation were generally not far apart in strength. The Blackwood disciple on the platform was indeed one of the elite younger cultivators. Although he had reached the top four only by repeated bouts of luck in the lot-drawing, there was probably no one present among the younger generation who could honestly claim certain victory over him. Besides, in the first two rounds at least, he had advanced by his real cultivation. It was only when compared with Sword Child, the youth, and the Watermoon girl that he truly seemed far inferior.

Seeing that everyone had quieted, Heavenly Heart continued, “As the saying goes, there is no first in literature and no second in martial arts. Among these four, victory and defeat must still be decided. This match will be Blackwood’s Feng Jianru against my disciple, Sword Child!”

At once, everyone’s attention below the stage turned to Feng Jianru. But that man was also quite straightforward; he bowed to Heavenly Heart and said, “Senior Heavenly Heart, I know myself to be no match for Senior Brother Sword Child. I concede this match!”

Heavenly Heart smiled faintly, as though he had expected as much, and said, “Then this one will be Watermoon’s Clearheart One against Void Origin’s Chen Mu!”

At that, all eyes turned at once to the youth and the Watermoon girl, and the entire arena grew solemn. They were both acknowledged as peerless geniuses among the younger generation, and naturally everyone watched their peak duel with the utmost attention.

Heavenly Heart returned to the viewing stand and took his seat, only to hear Water Breeze let out a cold snort. “Senior Brother Heavenly Heart, what a calculation. This time, your disciple Sword Child will surely take first place without question!”

There was a reason for Water Breeze’s words. Everyone gathered at Heavenly Peak could see it now: Sword Child, Clearheart One, and Chen Mu were all extraordinary prodigies, and their cultivation levels were comparable. Once the youth and Clearheart One fought, regardless of who won, the survivor would be greatly weakened and hardly able to contend with Sword Child. Heavenly Heart naturally understood what Water Breeze meant and quickly replied, “Sect Master Water, you wrong this poor daoist. The matches are all decided by lot; there is no room for fraud!”

Water Breeze gave a cold snort and said nothing.

Just then, someone below cried out in alarm, “Look, it’s starting!”

As his words fell, the white-robed Clearheart One drifted onto the stage.