Chapter Seventeen: Some Rejoice While Others Grieve
On this day, as if in harmony with the grand tournament of the Ethereal Sect, dawn broke earlier than usual.
The Martial Arena of the Seven Peaks, along with other common gathering spots for disciples, was completely deserted from the early morning—there wasn't a soul in sight. Even those disciples, stewards, and elders who usually stood guard had vanished, leaving an unusual stillness in their wake.
Among the mountains stretching behind the main peak, there was a peculiar segment with no summit—only the mountainside and everything below remained, as though a mighty figure had sliced the peak clean off with a single stroke. It was a striking sight.
At the cross-section, two enormous plazas, each spanning tens of thousands of meters in diameter, were laid out. In the center of each plaza, a square platform of several thousand meters had been cleared. At the periphery, grandstands encircled the plazas, capable of accommodating thousands in attendance, the seats rising in ascending tiers from the center outward.
In stark contrast to the quiet elsewhere in the sect, the vast plazas were now alive with a clamor that words could scarcely capture. All the outer disciples of the Seven Peaks were gathered in the left plaza, while the inner disciples assembled on the right. It was clear that the leadership intended for the inner and outer tournaments to proceed separately but simultaneously.
In previous years, only those not competing would occupy the grandstands—watching, cheering, or lending their support—while the star contestants would appear in staggered groups, taking the stage in turn. Whenever these star disciples took to the stage, the crowd's fervent cheers were never far behind.
But this year was different. The number of disciples who had signed up—both inner and outer—had far exceeded the elders’ expectations. If not every disciple had registered, at least eighty percent had. Because of the overwhelming number of participants, everyone—contestants and non-contestants alike—had been assigned seats in the stands.
“Hey, junior brother, are you competing too?”
“Yes, I am. If we cross paths in the tournament, I hope you’ll go easy on me, senior brother.”
...
“Senior brother, after two years of training outside, you must have gained quite a lot?”
“Not at all! Junior brother, you’re no different, are you?”
...
“Senior sister, do you think they’ll match us against each other? I’m no match for you.”
“Better pray to the Wind God for mercy. I certainly won’t be holding back.”
...
“Senior brother, you’ve reached the peak stage now. You should secure a good ranking, right?”
“It’s hard to say. Many senior brothers and sisters have returned from their travels—each more formidable than the last. I’m not so sure myself.”
...
“I wonder if I’ll make the top thousand in this tournament.”
“You’re stronger than I am. If I can get into the top three thousand, I’ll count myself lucky.”
...
Since nearly everyone was a participant this year, there was hardly any of the usual pure cheering for others. Greetings and conversations revolved around the competition.
At the very front of the outer disciples’ stands in the left plaza, a few scions of prestigious families sat together, each looking dejected, their words trailing off into half-hearted exchanges.
“I don’t want to compete—I was forced. My grandfather said if I didn’t sign up, I’d be grounded for three years,” Ouyang Shuai complained, rubbing his eyes as if to squeeze out a few tears in protest.
“Ouyang Luo, what stage are you at now?” someone asked.
“Just reached the seventh stage, stabilized only last night.”
“That’s better than me. My old man said if I don’t make it into the top five hundred, he’ll flay me alive when I get back.”
“You two should count yourselves lucky. My old man gave up on me ages ago—gave me another beating right before I left,” Nangong Lang chimed in, pointing to the fresh panda-like bruises around his eyes.
“By the way, where’s Fatty Gu?”
“No idea. I wonder how many stages he can handle now?”
“We’ll see when he shows up.”
“Hope he does us proud. Otherwise, we third-generation heirs will have well and truly lost all face.”
“Pathetic!”
...
It wasn’t just the outer disciples; on the inner disciples’ stands, those in the Foundation Establishment stage were engaged in similar conversations. In ones, in twos—the entire plaza was abuzz with chatter...