Chapter Fifty: The Duel

Ancestral Master Hall Square.

The disciples watching the match all wore dazed expressions, while the elders at the forefront looked grave and somber.

At this moment, Mingjian was covered in blood, his once white robe torn to shreds, revealing several not-so-serious wounds across his exposed skin. He was gasping for breath, his demeanor somewhat disheveled and desperate.

Zhang Jian still stood where he had from the beginning, an amused look on his face, a jade-green whip dangling from his hand.

The duel had unfolded differently than anyone expected; there was no sign of an even contest, but rather a vast disparity in strength. For Zhang Jian’s cultivation was actually higher than Mingjian’s, and the spirit treasure in his hand was unpredictable and mysterious.

Now, Mingjian, who had reached the peak of the early Divine Wanderer stage, was almost powerless to fight back. Every flick of Zhang Jian’s whip left a fresh wound on Mingjian’s body—none of them deep or fatal, but the drawn-out torment was excruciating to watch.

The disciples from the Hall of Arcane Methods were visibly enraged. It was clear to all that Zhang Jian was humiliating Mingjian; with his strength, he could have ended the fight swiftly, but instead he chose to cut away at his opponent, slowly and cruelly, as a form of disgrace.

Zhang Zhi, the head of Mount Zuo Wang, watched this scene with a shadowy sneer. This disciple had not disappointed him, his years of concealment had not been in vain; with this single battle, his reputation would soar.

After defeating Mingjian, he only had to await the clash of the other two, and everything would proceed smoothly.

“So his cultivation is actually at the mid Divine Wanderer stage,” Zhou Yi remarked. “I never imagined a disciple of such level would emerge from among the seven peaks. Mingjian cannot win.”

Fan Weimin stood aside with an indifferent expression, his voice cold, “I will make him taste this humiliation himself.”

The whip shadows fell heavy and relentless.

Mingjian’s legs had been wounded by the spirit treasure, blood pooling beneath him, his body swaying, barely able to stand.

“You can’t defeat me,” Zhang Jian declared, arrogance written plainly on his face. “You’d best admit defeat.”

Mingjian ignored him, only wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, straightening his back, eyes still resolute.

In the days before the contest, he had personally sought out his senior brother, Fan Weimin, begging to take his place in this match.

It was not for the coveted spot at the academy, but simply to defeat a disciple of Mount Zuo Wang in this grand competition.

No one knew why—only Mingjian himself understood. All of this was for a conversation that had taken place in the bamboo courtyard of Emerald Bamboo Peak.

Had it not been for that exchange, perhaps he would never have set foot in the Divine Wanderer realm in this lifetime.

No matter what others said of Shen Yu—no matter how heartless he was claimed to be, or what heinous crimes he might have committed—it could never erase the help he had once given Mingjian.

Unable to save Shen Yu, Mingjian could only express his gratitude in another way.

The natal spirit treasure that had accompanied him for over twenty years, “Dust Severing,” began to emit a faint white radiance, slowly revolving before him.

This whisk, woven from ten-thousand-year silkworm threads, had lain dormant for a long time, and now finally revealed its true form as a spirit treasure.

Mingjian’s vision blurred, but he still traced a circle with both hands, inscribing a seal in midair and murmured, “Go.”

At that moment, brilliance burst forth.

“Dust Severing” transformed into countless streaks of white light, shooting into the sky before vanishing from sight.

“Hmph, still too weak,” Zhang Jian scoffed.

Clang!

A sharp object appeared suddenly in front of Zhang Jian. He withdrew his whip at once, blocking the white threads that stabbed at him like needles.

“Is this all...?” Zhang Jian’s mocking words died abruptly as his expression changed.

He felt the force of that whisk growing stronger and stronger, like Mount Tai bearing down on him—slow, but unstoppable.

Forced back step by step, the whip in his hand bent almost into an arc, his elbow straining to its limit. The white threads hovered only three inches from his chest.

Mingjian’s face grew increasingly pale, but he stood ramrod straight, his trembling right hand locked in a spell gesture.

“Get lost!” Zhang Jian roared, his face contorted with rage. Suddenly, his spiritual power surged, flooding into his arm like a tide.

At last, he managed to halt his retreat.

But the whisk refused to relent.

Thus began a grim standoff between man and spirit treasure.

All eyes were glued to the arena, breaths held, nerves taut.

No one knew how much time passed before a sigh broke the silence.

Mingjian, swaying on his feet, finally collapsed in a faint, and the whisk, spent of all power, dropped weakly to the ground.

It was over.

...

Master Dao Xin announced, “The first match: Zhang Jian of Mount Zuo Wang is the victor.”

Aside from a few cheers from the disciples of Mount Zuo Wang, the audience was silent, many feeling a sense of regret.

The arrogance had vanished from Zhang Jian’s face. Recalling the peril of the battle just now, a lingering fear haunted him.

Several disciples from the Hall of Arcane Methods hurried onto the platform to carry Mingjian away.

Master Dao Xuan’s face was impassive. With a wave of his hand, a green pill landed in Zhang Jian’s palm. He swallowed it at once.

This was a Returning Essence Pill, an extremely rare high-grade elixir in the Daoist sect, capable of swiftly restoring a cultivator’s spiritual energy.

There was a reason Master Dao Xuan had given such a pill. Although four disciples with exceptional talent and strength had been chosen for this competition, any disciple who could defeat one of the four challengers would take their place.

For cultivators, nothing was ever granted without struggle.

Every disciple of the Daoist sect had a chance to challenge—a truly fair selection.

Master Dao Xuan swept his gaze over the crowd and asked coolly, “Is there anyone who wishes to challenge?”

Fan Weimin tapped the ash from his pipe and said, “Enough. I’ll give that Zhang Jian a beating in place of Brother Mingjian.”

He stepped forward, but suddenly halted, a look of astonishment on his face.

Somehow, another figure had appeared in the arena.

Ye Zhiqiu stood in the center of the platform and announced in a clear voice, “Ye Zhiqiu, disciple of the Hall of Pure Law, requests a match.”

He had stood among the disciples of the Hall of Pure Law all along; no one had noticed when he slipped into the arena.

Astonishment swept through the crowd.

Although Ye Zhiqiu had shown some promise in recent years, he was still a newcomer—how could he hope to contend with Zhang Jian?

What shocked everyone even more was that the Hall of Pure Law and Mount Zuo Wang had always been allies.

Chen Jianzhi appeared at Ye Zhiqiu’s side in an instant, his tone grave. “Nonsense. You are now a disciple of the Hall of Pure Law. Don’t do anything foolish.”

Ye Zhiqiu shook his head, speaking calmly, “I am simply following my own heart.”

“You think I don’t know? You believe you owe Shen Yu a debt because he stood up for you three and destroyed Zhang Zhi’s natal spirit treasure?” Chen Jianzhi said coldly. “But don’t forget your identity. You’re no match for Zhang Jian. You’re only setting yourself up for humiliation. If you refuse to sever ties with Shen Yu, how will you ever fit in at the Hall of Pure Law?”

Chen Jianzhi’s tone grew heavier. “Is the grand road of the Dao worth less than a mere favor?”

Ye Zhiqiu was struck as if by a blow to the head, his face conflicted, his eyes filled with bewilderment.

“Nonsense! Get down at once!” Master Dao Chen barked.

Ye Zhiqiu felt a commanding gaze upon him and instinctively turned. It was his master, Xun Ju.

“You are still lacking. Step down,” Xun Ju said, his face calm and voice gentle, but Ye Zhiqiu felt an overwhelming pressure.

He clenched his fists, wanting to speak, but words failed him. In the end, he could only lower his head slightly, stubbornly standing his ground.

Everyone was stunned. That the head of the Hall of Pure Law would personally intervene was unexpected enough, but even more surprising was Ye Zhiqiu’s refusal to obey.

A hush fell over the arena as all awaited what would happen next.

Master Dao Xuan merely watched in silence, making no move to urge things along.

“Step down,” a soft voice sounded beside Ye Zhiqiu.

Instinctively, Ye Zhiqiu replied, “No—”

But before he could finish, he whipped his head around, mouth agape, disbelief written all over his face.

The same expression was mirrored on the faces of countless elders and disciples below.

“You’re not ready yet,” the newcomer said, patting his shoulder. “Let me take this one.”