Plate Ninety-Nine: The First Martial Bout

Is Little Gold’s third form not enough to feed your filthy imagination?

Sang Sang drove her elbow backward, and the Heavenly Emperor hissed in pain as he stumbled away.

“Little Gold has seen the world and is busy leveling up. It’s getting less and less adorable,” he grumbled.

“We’re busy leveling up too,” Sang Sang said, giving him a sidelong look. “In the temple, without enough strength, you can never feel at ease. Cowering is stifling.”

The Heavenly Emperor agreed with that and grinned. “Exactly. So I have to become the strongest man in the entire cosmos, so wherever you go, you’ll never feel stifled.”

Sang Sang said confidently, “I can do it on my own.”

The Heavenly Emperor patted himself on the back. “Of course. You’re the one I chose. Naturally you won’t be bad.”

“Get lost,” Sang Sang snapped.

The Heavenly Emperor’s face was thick as ever. “I’m not getting lost. You haven’t even drawn me a child yet. If it’s a girl, don’t make her too young. Let her be about the same age as Green Sprout so the two can keep each other company.”

“Do you have time to raise one?” Sang Sang refused him seriously. “Children aren’t like Firmament or White, who can be left to grow wild. If you’re not ready to take responsibility, don’t even think about having a child.”

“I think the children in Sin City are pretty easy to raise,” the Heavenly Emperor said, his voice growing smaller and smaller until, under Sang Sang’s cold stare, he lowered his head. “All right, I’m the knight and you’re the princess. Big decisions are yours. But you can draw one first, and when we’re ready in the future, we can bring it into being then?”

Sang Sang answered with a cold snort, concealed herself, and flew toward the district of the outcasts. The Heavenly Emperor flashed after her.

“Where are we going? I’ve got half a day off. If you won’t date me, let me at least go play in your Divine Tomb.”

“Wherever it’s most convenient to gather human data, that’s where we’ll go.”

Sang Sang spread her domain and pulled the Heavenly Emperor inside, then sent him into the Divine Tomb. Since he liked wandering in there whenever he had nothing to do, she had simply added a secret passage into the painting. There was no need for her to go fishing him out herself; he could come out directly through the back door.

Once a person crosses a bottom line, the line keeps sinking lower.

Sang Sang had once been strongly opposed to human experimentation, but when the child she had personally drawn sat up from the nurturing pool, she suddenly felt that it was nothing more than that, not so different from creating a snowball after all.

The next round of the arts duel would very likely involve resurrection, and Sang Sang needed more human data. She had to enrich her database and use it as the foundation for resurrection. The most densely populated place, where injured people’s information was easiest to collect, was the outcasts’ district.

The outcasts there came from many sources. Criminals were only one part. A small number were commoners who could not find work in the hundred trades, or were unwilling to take it up; but far more were abandoned children without education. Too many households were dissatisfied with the children they had fashioned through image-born creation, yet could not afford to raise any more. So they abandoned one child, or several, and then focused their resources on the child with the greatest affinity for spiritual energy.

Compared with the commoners’ district, the outcasts’ district was far dirtier and more chaotic. It was full of old people and children. In truth, as long as an adult had some useful skill, they could be raised to commoner status. Only when they were injured, ill, old, or unable to work for a long time would they be cast down into the outcast ranks. The air itself seemed to carry both despair and hope.

Sang Sang did not go to the clinics. Instead, her consciousness scanned the entire outcasts’ district at once. She selected the patients who were critically ill, on the verge of death, or severely wounded, gathered their physical data first, and then simulated treatment in her mind before trying it in practice.

Those people were not used as her lab mice for nothing. If the experiment succeeded, they would naturally recover. If it failed, Sang Sang would still apply a healing wash over them. Even if she did not cure them directly, she would at least leave them in better condition than before.

The martial contest was about to begin. When Dean Qinghe saw Sang Sang finally arrive, his long-held anxiety at last settled. “I couldn’t find you no matter where I looked. Where have you been?”

Sang Sang followed him while going up to draw lots. “I had a new idea, so I went out for a stroll.”

Martial combat was a duel between two opponents. They could use battle beasts, or directly exchange spiritual force. Sang Sang’s opponent was the steward of the City Lord’s Residence, a veteran who had already competed in seven painting contests. He had abundant experience and had even placed within the top hundred in the individual martial competition last year. After returning, he had cultivated in seclusion for five years, and this time he swore to enter the top hundred again so that he could be transferred to the royal capital headquarters of the Painters’ Association.

A teacher from Qinghe Art Academy could not help muttering, “Surely this is no coincidence?”

Dean Qinghe said nothing, but his brow was also tightly furrowed.

The old steward ranked among the top three in Redleaf City’s roster of powerful painters. More importantly, he had also obtained a Heaven Law Pill, though no one knew whether he had taken it.

May he not have. A Heaven Law Pill could elevate a person directly to the celestial rank, and with spiritual-energy control alone, they could stand against a hundred great masters.

With more than twenty matches in all, Sang Sang had been drawn third, very early in the order. Others thought this unfavorable and worried on her behalf, but she herself remained serene, her expression unchanged.

“You must be careful,” Dean Qinghe said. Though he believed in her strength, he was still uneasy. “If you truly lose, do not be afraid. Death on the arena will be frozen by Heaven’s Way and used as an implement for resurrection in the literary duels. The world is so vast that within seven days there will surely be several literary contests between great masters. What matters most is preserving the soul.”

Sang Sang nodded and walked onto the arena empty-handed. “Thank you. I think the one who needs to be careful is someone else.”

The old steward smiled broadly. “Young lady, where are your brushes and paints?”

Sang Sang answered casually, “I’m not very skilled at controlling battle beasts. You’re a master, so I won’t make a fool of myself. Using the method I’m most used to is also a sign of respect to you.”

The old steward said, “The young lady is polite. Good, very good.” He laid out his tools. Paper was already fastened to the drawing stand. He picked up his palette, took out his brush, and began to paint while saying, “Don’t say the old man is bullying the weak. I’ll give you the first move. If you can defeat me within the quarter hour I need to finish my painting, then victory is yours.”

Sang Sang smiled. “Since you cherish the young, then I ought to respect the old as well. It would be better to wait until your battle beast has fully manifested before I make a move.”

On the stage, the old and the young stood like a grandfather and granddaughter, the atmosphere remarkably harmonious. Sang Sang still found time to ask questions, and the old steward answered them without the slightest reserve. A proper martial duel had turned into a live lesson, and those who wanted to protest had no judge to appeal to and no right to speak yet, so they could only mutter on the sidelines.

Some said, “Idiot. What royal family member is this? Has the water dried up in her brain, that she doesn’t know to strike while she can?”

Others said, “As expected of royalty. Sharp-minded. Knowing she can’t win, she simply doesn’t move. Naturally, others will give her face.”

Her teammates cursed, “The pride of the royal line, hmph!”

Her opponents cursed, “The arrogance of royalty, hmph!”

The old steward’s timing was precise. He meant one quarter hour, and one quarter hour it was. When he finished the two-headed, winged serpent battle beast and set down his brush, Sang Sang returned to the opposite side, waiting for him to activate it.

“Hiss—screech...”

Without warning, the two-headed winged serpent in the old steward’s painting flew out, its enormous tail lashing toward Sang Sang.

Those who did not understand the craft cursed the old lecher for ambushing a child, but those who did noticed the water crystal in the old steward’s hand—the thumb-sized crystal bead that could activate the beast in an instant had never appeared before.

Sang Sang only raised an eyebrow. She leapt aside to avoid the serpent’s tail. Just as she thought: battlefields change in an instant. If battle beasts, like other manifested creations, also needed several minutes to take shape, then a fight would become a farce.

No, that wasn’t quite right. The arena was still different from the battlefield.

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