Chapter Seven: Crushing Victory

The atmosphere instantly became silent.

Those from Misty Cloud Peak looked as though they had seen a ghost, their faces blank, while the disciples of Emerald Bamboo Peak were even more bewildered.

“When did such a shameless person join the Dao Sect?” Li Hanyue’s face was ice-cold as she voiced what everyone was thinking.

“I remember that the sect’s entry duels never prohibited the use of weapons,” Mingjian, always the more composed, was not particularly ruffled by the incident and smiled, “Shen Yu has always been this way. When we return, I’ll be sure to give him a stern reprimand. Please don’t stoop to his level, brother.”

“Senior brother, I must disagree. This Shen—” Li Hanyue abruptly recalled something and asked, “Wait, Shen Yu? The one who, after more than a year of cultivation, has never advanced beyond the first stage of Qi Refinement?”

Mingjian, in an unusually good mood, nodded for the first time without feeling vexed by the boy’s name. “Yes, that’s him.”

Shen Yu stood atop the arena, watching as Liang Shi was carried off by the Misty Cloud Peak disciples, and urged, “Hurry up, I’m pressed for time.”

This attitude provoked another round of curses from the gathered disciples. How could someone be so brazen, acting so arrogantly after winning with a sneak attack?

Soon enough, a chubby boy was shoved onto the platform by his fellow Misty Cloud Peak disciples.

“Liu Yisheng,” he announced.

The chubby boy eyed the slender youth and the black bamboo staff in his hand with trepidation, swallowing hard.

“Seventh level of Qi Refinement,” Shen Yu observed, barely surprised. The disciple named Liang Shi was likely the strongest on Misty Cloud Peak’s side. If they could just casually produce someone stronger, then this generation of new disciples would be truly terrifying.

Shen Yu regarded the chubby boy, casually hefting the bamboo staff as he walked toward him.

Seeing this, Liu Yisheng lowered his stance, cautiously on guard.

The disciples below all claimed this fellow was utterly shameless, having knocked Liang Shi out through underhanded tricks. In a fair duel, he would never have stood a chance.

Yet, something seemed off. Senior Brother Liang Shi, already at the ninth level of Qi Refinement and only a step away from the Dao Realm, should not have been knocked out so easily with a bamboo stick. It was all too strange.

Determined not to give the fellow a chance for dirty tricks, Liu Yisheng steeled himself.

Shen Yu stopped right in front of Liu Yisheng and, once again, pointed a finger. “Hey, there’s someone behind you.”

“Again?”

“So shameless.”

“What a scoundrel.”

Another wave of jeers rose from the crowd.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Liu Yisheng glared unblinkingly at the bamboo staff, replying warily, “I won’t fall for it.”

“Not bad, you’re clever,” Shen Yu nodded. “But you forgot something.”

“What’s that?”

“Besides this club, there’s one rule: never get too close to me.”

The staff flickered.

Shen Yu raised the bamboo stick and tapped it toward Liu Yisheng’s head.

His movements were light, natural, as effortless as swatting at weeds by the roadside.

Below the stage, the watching disciples saw nothing special in the attack—it was plain and unremarkable.

But in Liu Yisheng’s eyes, everything was bizarre.

From the moment the youth raised his hand and brought it down, Liu Yisheng, despite being at the seventh level of Qi Refinement, had no time to react. The three-foot-long black bamboo staff landed squarely on his head.

Thunk.

Without any resistance, Liu Yisheng’s eyes rolled back, he staggered, and collapsed unconscious onto the arena floor.

“Next,” Shen Yu said coolly.

This time, no one in the audience uttered a sound—no jeering, no commotion.

Unlike the dazed new disciples, Li Hanyue’s expression grew solemn as she asked uncertainly, “Was that just now…?”

Mingjian, no longer as calm as before, nodded. “It looked like one of the introductory martial techniques from the Dao Sect.”

They exchanged glances.

“There’s a basic body-refining martial skill recorded in the sect’s beginner’s manual,” Mingjian said, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Li Hanyue was skeptical. “Do you really think he’d bother to read it?”

“He might have flipped through it out of boredom…” Mingjian managed a bitter smile and shook his head. “But it’s unlikely he did.”

“Interesting. Whether he’s hiding his abilities or just a pretender, we’ll find out soon enough. It’s out of our hands anyway,” Li Hanyue concluded, her gaze drifting toward the distant, imposing palace.

The elders and stewards from the Four Halls and Seven Peaks, who had come to assess the new disciples’ talents, had yet to appear.

Why?

Because all of them were gathered there at this very moment.

...

Shen Yu stood on the stage, holding his black bamboo staff, quietly surveying those below, exuding an air of invincibility.

Meanwhile, the Misty Cloud Peak disciples watched with trepidation. Their two strongest brothers had already been defeated by this youth, and no one wanted to go up and be humiliated.

“How dull,” a cool voice sounded from the crowd.

All eyes turned as a graceful youth, elegant as warm jade, strode through the crowd, ignoring everyone, and climbed onto the arena.

He was proud, carrying himself with his handsome face held high, a folded fan in his right hand.

“My name is Ye Zhiqiu.”

Shen Yu replied with a nonchalant “Oh.”

Ye Zhiqiu continued, “I am rather special.”

“Oh,” Shen Yu repeated.

Irritated by his indifference, Ye Zhiqiu spun his fan and intoned, “Go.”

The carved fan stood upright in his hand, spinning rapidly.

“Not bad,” Shen Yu nodded slightly, casually tossing his bamboo staff into the air.

The black staff shot straight ahead like a black line.

Ye Zhiqiu’s lips curled into a faint smirk; with a slight tilt of his head, he deftly dodged the staff.

“Utterly boring,” Ye Zhiqiu said.

He pointed forward with his right hand and suddenly commanded, “Swift!”

The folded fan, suspended in mid-air, shot toward Shen Yu like an arrow.

Perhaps the previous two bouts had made Ye Zhiqiu cautious—even though Shen Yu was now weaponless, he remained on guard.

Who knew if the man might produce another club out of nowhere…

...

The fan hurtled toward Shen Yu, quickly closing the distance.

Shen Yu never took a step back. He merely said, unruffled, “Take a look behind you.”

“Not again…”

Ye Zhiqiu finally lost his temper, shouting, “Break!”

Bang.

A muffled groan sounded from the arena once more.

For the third time.

The fan halted a foot in front of Shen Yu, unable to advance any further, and then dropped feebly to the ground.

Confusion, bewilderment, and pain contorted Ye Zhiqiu’s young face.

Behind him, the black bamboo staff hovered in mid-air as if watching this elegant youth. Ye Zhiqiu even felt as though it was mocking him.

“Why is this happening?” Ye Zhiqiu finally could not endure, and fainted.

With a flick of his finger, Shen Yu summoned the staff back to his hand.

He glanced around and remarked, “I suppose there’s no one else, is there?”

...

In the side hall to the right of the Law Manifestation Hall, several people overlooked the contest between the two peaks.

There were Daoists with the bearing of immortals, court ladies, and stern middle-aged cultivators—elders and stewards of the Four Halls and Seven Peaks.

“Our sect does have the art of controlling objects, but it’s usually reserved for spiritual items. This boy manipulating an ordinary stick is rather interesting,” commented Xu Qingmei, the steward of the True Passage Hall.

Elder Daochen of the Pure Law Hall said gravely, “To control objects with qi at the Qi Refinement stage shows remarkable talent, but to use it to toy with fellow disciples is far too frivolous.”

Xu Qingmei shot him a glance, her beautiful eyes flashing with ridicule. “Now that’s a bit much. Everyone knows your Pure Law Hall has had its eye on that Ye Zhiqiu boy for some time. No need to be so partial.”

Daochen replied coolly, “And what, does Steward Xu fancy this boy? Doesn’t your True Passage Hall only accept female disciples? Are you changing the rules this year?”

Xu Qingmei bristled, snorting coldly. “Does cultivation really require separating men and women?”

“That’s enough,” said Zhou Yi, the elder of the Law Manifestation Hall, host of the gathering, stepping in to smooth things over. “This generation of disciples is quite talented. I wonder, should we move up the expedition to Treasure Cliff?”

Zhou Yi exuded the demeanor of an immortal, with snow-white hair and beard, yet his skin was as delicate as a newborn's—an uncanny appearance testifying to his formidable cultivation.

The other elders of the Seven Peaks remained silent, merely observing the two peaks’ disciples on the square.

To open Treasure Cliff was a major event, and only the Four Halls could decide.

Daochen nodded. “Agreed.”

Xu Qingmei concurred, “Agreed.”

After the three had spoken, they all looked in another direction.

A frail Daoist was meditating with his eyes closed.

They could offer suggestions, but the final decision rested with this hall.

For this was where the sect master resided.

The Daoist opened his eyes. “Very well.”

...

Shen Yu stepped down from the arena, indifferent to the curious gazes around him.

Suddenly, he looked sharply toward the distant black hall, narrowing his eyes.

A moment ago, he had sensed a surge of killing intent directed at him, vanishing in an instant.

The murderous intent was well concealed, but Shen Yu’s innate clarity of heart made him acutely sensitive to such changes in the world. Even for a fleeting moment, he had sensed it.

He knew the so-called great figures of the Four Halls and Seven Peaks were gathered there. But why would they harbor murderous intent toward him?

Was it simply because he had defeated a few talented disciples? That would be petty indeed.

Or was there another reason?

Shen Yu glanced up at the overcast sky and murmured, “How utterly dull.”