Chapter Nineteen

White Cloud Peak Sect; with three thousand disciples, it is renowned for its unarmed martial arts. The school’s legendary technique, "Ten Thousand Dusts Returning to the Palm," is considered the greatest palm technique under heaven. However, only eighty-eight forms are currently passed down to the world, yet their power remains terrifying. The remaining three forms were sealed away by the White Cloud Peak Matriarch within the tomb of Wu Qianjun. For over a century, Wu Qianjun has been the only person to have mastered the complete technique!

Over the past hundred years, countless martial arts heroes have visited White Cloud Peak. Even the successive emperors of the Man Kingdom would send gold, silver, and jewels annually to exchange for warriors, many of whom became the elite forces of the imperial court. It is rumored that at least half of the imperial elite guard originated from White Cloud Peak. Today, the mountain sect covers approximately 2,500 acres. Its structure is divided into four perimeters: the outer perimeter is a thirty-foot-high red wall; the third perimeter contains the living quarters, where one-story tiled houses surround two-story buildings; the second perimeter houses the training halls, occupying the largest area, with a magnificent grand pavilion at its center—the gathering place for the "Eighteen Han Generals" of White Cloud Peak.

At noon, the arena plaza within the outer walls of White Cloud Peak was crowded with martial artists from all walks of life, wielding various weapons. Some were here for the tenth time, while others were nearing their twilight years, yet the rule remained unchanged: only three spots were available each year.

"The competition gets more lively every year!" a White Cloud Peak disciple in a white robe remarked.

Another disciple in a white robe replied, "Times are hard for everyone, and who wouldn't want a life of such peace?" The white robe is the uniform of the White Cloud Peak Sect.

As time ticked by, the martial artists grew restless. A man in black, holding a broadsword, shouted, "What is going on? Elder Yuan usually arrives by now! Why the delay today?"

A swordsman in a blue robe beside him mocked, "Why are you in such a hurry? Would you even dare to step up if he did arrive?"

The black-clad warrior retorted, "None of your business! Who do you think you are? Whether I go up or not is no concern of yours!"

The swordsman chuckled coldly, "It would be better for you to go home early today; at least you might make it back before dark."

Enraged, the man in black bared his muscular arms and rolled up his sleeves. The swordsman offered a disdainful smile and merely nudged his sword; the man in black immediately fell silent.

In the crowd, Qin Zhaotian kept looking around, as if searching for someone. San Qingfeng saw through his thoughts and whispered with a smile, "Give it up! That woman isn't here yet."

Qin Zhaotian wore a grave expression. "Are you sure nothing will go wrong?"

San Qingfeng let out a helpless, scoffing laugh. "No need to look at me with that gloomy face every time. I specifically changed the presiding elder, and everything has been arranged!" Qin Zhaotian lowered his gaze, blinked, and looked back at the arena without another word.

A quarter of an hour later, the chaotic noise died down. All eyes turned to the top of the wall, where an elderly man in a blue robe stood on one foot, looking dignified and graceful. He may have been standing there for a long time, waiting for someone to notice him.

The elder leaped from the hundred-foot wall and landed steadily on a wooden stake in the arena. His powerful presence instantly silenced the clamor. With a sharp nose, a frost-like face, and deep wrinkles etched into the corners of his eyes, he scanned the crowd with piercing eagle-like eyes, causing everyone to hold their breath.

"I am the seventeenth Han General of White Cloud Peak, Elder Li," he announced slowly.

After scanning the crowd and catching sight of San Qingfeng, he quickly averted his gaze. "The Fifth Elder has been unwell for years, so I shall preside over the selection of the three most skilled martial artists this year." With a light leap, he landed on the flagpole in the center of the arena, upon which flew the sect's white banner marked with a plum blossom.

Before Elder Li could continue, a man in a brown robe jumped into the arena, cupped his hands, and saluted. "Junior Guo Yuliang, a practitioner of Bagua Palm, wishes to challenge!"

Elder Li nodded. "Very well! Let me state the rules: regardless of order or number, anyone may enter before the incense burns out. Once it is spent, no one may join until only one person remains! There will be three sticks of incense for three spots, and the rules remain the same." He lit a stick of incense, inserted it into the flagpole, and shouted, "The first round begins!"

No sooner had he spoken than three others jumped into the arena. The fighting erupted instantly, and the plaza descended into uproar once more.

***

At the edge of White Cloud Peak, two men were pulling a horse that had become deeply mired in mud after the previous night's heavy rain. Lin He had not expected the mountain path to be so treacherous.

"Brother Ma, I hear the competition has already started!" Lin He said.

Ma Chen pulled the reins. "Don't worry, Brother Lin, it's just begun. We are almost there!"

As the horse crested the final slope, the view left Lin He breathless. Beyond the hundred-foot-high wall lay a temple complex as vast as a city. It was so enormous that even the outer walls seemed endless. He could hardly believe such a magnificent structure could be built upon a mountain.

They dismounted, and Ma Chen adjusted the reins. Lin He looked toward the south side of the wall, where the commotion and the crowd indicated the site of the martial arts selection.

"Brother Lin, come with me," Ma Chen said. "If you run into any trouble as you feared, I can provide cover."

"Many thanks, Brother Ma," Lin He replied gratefully.

They walked toward the arena, but the crowd was so dense they were pushed to the periphery. The fighting in the arena was chaotic and disorderly, with various styles clashing. Whenever someone fell, another took their place, and more and more injured people lay on the ground, yet still, people surged forward.

"They are waiting for the right moment," Ma Chen explained. "You need both skill and timing." Lin He nodded, though his mind was not on the combat; he was desperate to find out if the legendary Senior Deng was among them.

Exchanging a look with Ma Chen, Lin He was handed a piece of black cloth. "Your identity is special," Ma Chen whispered. "Wear this, just in case."

Lin He took the cloth and covered his face. He began to circle the crowd, his sharp eyes scanning every person. He hoped to find his father or mother, but more than anything, he hoped to find the esteemed and peerless Senior Deng. Even though he had never met him, Lin He would not miss this chance.

After a full circle, he found nothing of value and moved in another direction. He held his breath, observing with meticulous care, refusing to rush even if he had already scanned a portion of the crowd.

When he reached the other end, his eyes suddenly locked onto a spot, and his heart skipped a beat. San Qingfeng and Yang Zaoci were there, surrounded by a dozen men in identical uniforms with swords at their waists—they were clearly on some sort of mission.

Lin He frowned. This was White Cloud Peak, and San Qingfeng was the son of the Three-Saber of White Cloud Peak. He could not be discovered. He would wait for them to descend the mountain and catch one of them to extract information.

He returned to Ma Chen and shared what he had seen.

"What do you plan to do?"

"I must not be discovered. I will wait until they leave the mountain."

"Do you want my help?"

Lin He shook his head. "Once you successfully qualify, Brother Ma, try not to have any contact with me. I am confident I can handle one of them on my own." Ma Chen nodded and said no more.

***

The first round ended, and Guo Yuliang stood alone in the arena, drenched in sweat and battered, having withstood wave after wave of attacks. "Come on!" he roared. "Keep coming!"

Lin He had observed his style: a perfect synthesis of force and path in the Bagua Palm. While impressive, in a one-on-one fight, he would be no match for Ma Chen. A sword requires more than just practice; it requires the heart. Ma Chen’s five-year resolve was unparalleled.

As Guo Yuliang stepped down, Elder Li shouted, "The first candidate is Guo Yuliang!" He replaced the burnt-out incense with a new one. "The second round begins!"

Ma Chen signaled to Lin He that he was going to compete. "Brother, good luck!" Lin He said, and they bumped fists.

"Don't worry, Brother Lin!" Ma Chen drew his sword and leaped into the arena. "Junior Ma Chen of the Lu State wishes to challenge!"

Elder Li nodded. Ma Chen turned to face his opponent—a burly man who pointed at him and sneered, "I know you! You were using fists last year, and now you’ve switched to a sword?"

"And I didn't see you on the stage last year either!" Ma Chen retorted.

The burly man laughed, "That’s because you were the first to jump up this year!" He assumed a stance, knees bent, hands in the shape of a mantis—the famous "Mantis Fist" of the Qi Gate Sect.

Ma Chen focused, preparing for the clash. The burly man struck first, his "Five Beasts Fist" powerful and ruthless. His fists whistled and his footwork was cunning, forcing Ma Chen to retreat. But Ma Chen’s movement was as agile as a bat; despite the pressure, the man gained no advantage.

Qin Zhaotian watched intently, noting that the sword techniques resembled the Deng family style. He grew suspicious: how could a man from the Lu State have mastered the Deng family’s sword art?

After a brief exchange, the two returned to their starting positions. Realizing defeat was near, the burly man roared and launched a desperate, relentless attack. Ma Chen moved backward, his sword sparking against the stone floor. The man’s fists transformed from eagle strikes to snake shapes, mantis claws to tiger paws. Though the gap between them was mere inches, the man could not land a strike. Suddenly, Ma Chen dodged and sidestepped—a clear metallic ring echoed, and his sword appeared at the man’s waist.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and no one else dared to step up. Lin He realized that the sword technique Ma Chen had been taught was a composite of many styles. While versatile, it had a fatal flaw: it was difficult to grasp the essence of each individual style, limiting long-term progress.

When the incense burned out, Elder Li announced, "Ma Chen is selected!"

Five years. Five long years of ridicule and sweat had finally paid off. Ma Chen leaped off the arena and hugged Lin He tightly. "Brother Lin! Look! I did it!"

"Congratulations, Brother Ma!" Lin He said, gasping for air from the tight embrace. "You finally ascended White Cloud Peak!"

"I couldn't have done it without your help, Brother Lin!"

***

When Elder Li announced the third round, a young man in a blue robe, tall and elegant with long black hair and deep, chilling eyes, walked onto the arena. He was the same man who had silenced the crowd earlier with a mere touch of his sword.

Lin He grew wary, noticing the man exchanging glances with San Qingfeng.

Elder Li introduced him: "This is Huo Quanjin, a direct disciple of Qu Yuansong. Who wishes to challenge?"

Five men armed with long axes jumped onto the stage. "We didn't want to fight earlier, but this is the last spot!" the leader shouted.

Huo Quanjin drew his sword with a screeching sound. "Stay away from my blade, and you might make it home alive!"

"Let’s show you our Lightning Axe Dance!" the five men charged. They attacked in perfect coordination, but Huo Quanjin moved like lightning, dodging their strikes effortlessly. Lin He was stunned; Ma Chen realized that had he faced this man, he would have been overwhelmed.

The five men’s axes were heavy and powerful, shaking the air, but Huo Quanjin’s Taiji sword technique from the Nanyang School was masterful—using softness to overcome hardness. He effortlessly neutralized their attacks, leaving them covered in shallow wounds.

During their fifth round of assault, Huo Quanjin found an opening and stabbed one of the men in the abdomen. The formation shattered as the others dropped their axes to rush to their fallen brother. "Fourth Brother!" they cried, carrying him off the stage in a panic.

Huo Quanjin wiped the blood from his sword, his goal of intimidating the crowd achieved.

The incense burned to the third mark. A man with a long spear entered the stage—it was Yang Zaoci, the man who had defeated Lin He a month prior. Lin He knew Yang Zaoci was no match for Huo Quanjin, and as they began to spar, it became clear to everyone that the match was staged. The crowd jeered at the farce.

"How despicable!" Lin He muttered.

Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out from behind: "You despicable wretch, pay with your life!"

Lin He turned to see Mu Xiangming descending from above, dressed in a stunning pink gown with white silk gloves. She looked like a different person. Elder Li’s brow furrowed: "The Desire Sound of the Nine Heavens..."

Mu Xiangming landed on the wooden pillar of the arena. Lin He was shocked to see her, and she did not recognize him behind his mask. Qin Zhaotian was equally stunned, but San Qingfeng smiled, "Don't mess this up. The old man isn't here—take this chance to finish her off!"

It was a carefully laid trap.