[Day of the Grand Competition]
The Outer Sect Grand Competition officially began at the hour of Mao.
On normal days, the Outer Sect Drill Ground of Qingyun Sect was shabby and quiet, but today it had been temporarily decorated with some grandeur.
Tall flagpoles stood at each of the four corners, flying the banners of each peak, snapping and rustling in the morning breeze.
A viewing platform had been erected at the north end of the drill ground, where the Sect Leader and the seven Peak Lords were seated.
Below the platform, a sea of Outer Sect disciples stood packed together—at a rough count, no fewer than three hundred.
The competition rules were simple: draw lots to form groups, face off in pairs, winners advance, until the top ten were decided.
The top ten would enter the Inner Sect, and the top three would receive additional rewards.
Luo Qingci drew Group Seventeen.
She stood at the edge of the drill ground waiting, dressed in a gray Outer Sect disciple robe that had been washed until it was almost white, her long hair casually tied up with a wooden hairpin, and her face expressionless.
The female disciples beside her chattered noisily about their opponents’ cultivation levels and techniques, but she didn’t join in.
She simply watched quietly as the matches unfolded on the field.
The first match was between two male disciples at Qi Refining Mid-Stage.
One used a staff, the other used fists.
They fought until dust flew everywhere.
The Peak Lords on the viewing platform showed little interest, sipping tea and chatting idly.
The second match: Qi Refining Late Stage versus Qi Refining Mid-Stage.
Ended in three moves.
The third match…
By the time it was Luo Qingci’s turn, it was already two quarters past the hour of Chen.
Her opponent was a male disciple at the eighth level of Qi Refining, surnamed Wang.
He had some reputation within the Outer Sect for his mastery of the Wind-Breaking Fist Technique, a fist art both fierce and forceful—he had once shattered a three-foot-tall bluestone with a single punch.
When Senior Brother Wang saw that his opponent was Luo Qingci, he froze for a moment—clearly caught off guard that he had drawn her—and then a grin spread across his face.
“Junior Sister Luo, don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.”
Luo Qingci also smiled, her expression gentle and soft.
“Thank you, Wang Shixiong.”
The referee gave the order.
Senior Brother Wang struck first.
Both fists wrapped in spiritual power, they came at Luo Qingci’s face with a whooshing wind.
The punches were fierce and fast—impressive for the eighth level of Qi Refining.
Luo Qingci did not draw her sword.
She sidestepped, dodging the first punch; lowered her head, evading the second; and as the third punch was still being thrown, her palm had already pressed against her opponent’s chest.
Lightly, as if brushing away dust from a table.
But Senior Brother Wang felt as if a mountain had slammed into his chest.
His entire body flew backward, crashing onto the bluestone slabs at the edge of the drill ground.
He slid a full ten feet before coming to a stop, landing face-down in the dirt, struggling to get up for a long time.
The entire venue went silent for a moment.
Then followed a chorus of gasps.
“It’s… it’s over?”
“One move? No, she didn’t even draw her sword!”
“Senior Brother Wang is at the eighth level of Qi Refining! Even a Qi Refining Peak expert wouldn’t be humiliated this badly, would they?”
Luo Qingci withdrew her palm, turned to the referee, and gave a slight bow.
“You honor me.”
The referee was stunned for a second before recovering, and announced in a loud voice: “Group Seventeen, Luo Qingci wins!”
On the viewing platform, several people who had been slouching lazily suddenly sat up straight.
Sect Leader Shen Yuan was a man with a middle-aged appearance and a refined, scholarly face.
His cultivation was at the late Nascent Soul stage—among the top experts within the thousand-mile radius of the Cangwu Sect.
The hand holding his teacup paused for a moment.
His gaze landed on the gray-robed girl in the field, and he let out a soft “Hmm.”
“That move was clean.”
He turned his head to the side.
“Whose disciple is she? Did an Outer Sect Elder teach her?”
The Grand Elder beside him shook his head.
“Not taught. The Cloud-Brushing Palm is an entry-level Outer Sect palm technique—everyone learns it. But to control spiritual power to this degree… This girl’s fine control over spiritual power already surpasses most Early Foundation Establishment cultivators.”
The Sect Leader nodded and didn’t say another word, but his gaze followed the gray-robed girl as she walked back to the edge of the field and stood quietly, waiting for the next round.
The next several rounds, Luo Qingci won just as cleanly.
In the second round, her opponent was at the ninth level of Qi Refining.
She used her sword—only one strike.
The tip of her blade touched the spine of the disciple’s sword, and his weapon flew out of his hand, embedding itself in the ground ten feet away, humming as it vibrated.
In the third round, her opponent was at Qi Refining Peak—a veteran disciple who had spent five years in the Outer Sect and had rich combat experience.
They exchanged more than ten moves, with Luo Qingci blocking unhurriedly, as if she were practicing with him.
Finally, she caught a flaw in his stance, pushed lightly with the handle of her sword, and the man lost his balance, stumbling out of the competition circle.
Still, she never injured anyone.
Every match she won cleanly and neatly, never humiliating her opponent and never wasting her own energy.
On the viewing platform, the seven Peak Lords reacted differently.
The Peak Lord of Danxia Peak was a female cultivator at the Golden Core Peak stage.
She looked at Luo Qingci with clear appreciation.
“This girl has good bone structure and a fine temperament. My Danxia Peak is short on people. Sect Leader, let her come to me later?”
A plump Peak Lord beside her chuckled.
“You’re poaching disciples again. Last year, you lured away that ninth-level Qi Refining disciple.”
“That’s called a bird choosing a good tree to perch in.”
“Come on, your Danxia Peak isn’t about swords. That girl is clearly a sword cultivator. If she goes to your place, what would she do?”
The Danxia Peak Lord snorted.
“Better than some people. And even if she studies swords, it’s not your turn to teach her.”
As she spoke, her eyes flicked to a figure slouching in a chair on the side.
A person was sitting there.
“Sitting” wasn’t quite accurate—it was more like half-collapsing.
He had one leg crossed over the other, his body tilted to one side, one hand propping up his chin while the other tapped idly on the armrest.
His Dharma robe was brand new—but anyone who knew their stuff could tell at a glance that it was the cheapest first-grade Dharma robe, without even a decent formation pattern on it, worth no more than ten Low-grade Spirit Stones.
He looked to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with a handsome face—sword-like brows and starry eyes—but those eyes were half-lidded at the moment, as if he were dozing off.
It wasn’t an act.
He was genuinely sleepy.
Last night, he had made a trip to Heifeng Ridge, hunted two Fourth-stage Demonic Beasts, and it was almost dawn by the time he got back.
He had wanted to collapse into bed and sleep until he died, but today was the Outer Sect Grand Competition, and the Sect Leader had ordered all Peak Lords to attend.
There was no getting out of it.
So he came, sporting two big dark circles under his eyes.
“Peak Lord Xiao,” the Sect Leader Shen Yuan’s voice came from the main seat, with a hint of helplessness.
“If you’re really that sleepy, you can stand. It’s harder to fall asleep standing up.”
“No, no,” the man waved dismissively, yawning.
“I’m listening. That girl just now fought well. Mm, really well…”
With that, his head drooped to one side, and he closed his eyes again.
The surrounding Peak Lords exchanged glances that said, “Here we go again.”
This Peak Lord Xiao—full name Xiao Yan—was the Peak Lord of Lingyun Peak, a Golden Core Peak stage sword cultivator.
Xiao Yan was the youngest Golden Core cultivator Qingyun Sect had produced in the last hundred years, with sword talent that could only be described as monstrous.
But at the same time, he was universally acknowledged as the “poorest Peak Lord” in the entire sect.
Other Peak Lords traveled by Spirit Boat; he traveled by Flying Sword.
Other Peak Lords gave their disciples high-grade Magic Artifacts as welcome gifts; he gave his disciples handwritten Sword Manuals—because he couldn’t afford anything else.
It was said that every month he would disguise himself as a regular disciple and go to the sect’s Task Hall to take high-level missions.
Not because he was bored, but because without missions, he had no Spirit Stones to spend.
Sometimes, when there weren’t enough missions, he would go to the Administration Hall to help move things or clean the storeroom, earning a few Spirit Stones for his hard work.
Although he only had two disciples, poverty was poverty.
As the competition entered its final stages, the atmosphere on the viewing platform grew noticeably more serious.
Sect Leader Shen Yuan set down his teacup, his gaze falling on the gray-robed girl in the field.
She had just won her semifinal match and was catching her breath at the edge of the field.
Fine beads of sweat dotted her hairline, but her breathing was steady and her expression calm.
“This little one is quite remarkable.”
Shen Yuan took a sip of tea and smiled.
The Grand Elder nodded.
“Qi Refining Peak, but her spiritual power density is close to Foundation Establishment. And her control over spiritual power is astonishingly precise—every ounce of spiritual power is used just right, without a single trace wasted. That’s not something talent can explain. That’s hard work.”
“For an Outer Sect disciple to reach this level is truly rare.”
The Danxia Peak Lord spoke up again.
“I’m calling dibs. Don’t fight me for her.”
“What does a pill refiner want with a sword cultivator?” said the Peak Lord of Tiangong Peak, a lean old man.
“She uses a sword, so she should come to my Tiangong Peak. Forging and swordsmanship complement each other.”
“Old man, your Tiangong Peak took in eight disciples last year, and you don’t even have a proper sword-casting furnace yet. How dare you say that?”
“…”
The Peak Lords bickered back and forth, their faces reddening.
Sect Leader Shen Yuan’s head was starting to ache from the noise.
He was about to intervene when a lazy voice came from the far edge.
“Everyone, stop arguing.”
All the Peak Lords fell silent at once, turning to look in that direction.
Xiao Yan had opened his eyes at some point.
There was a glimmer of light in his half-lidded eyes.
He wasn’t looking at the other Peak Lords—his gaze was fixed directly on the gray-robed girl at the edge of the drill ground.
A slow grin spread across his face, revealing a smile so bright it was practically dazzling.
“Let her choose for herself. Maybe she’ll come to me.”
The Danxia Peak Lord was the first to react.
“Xiao Yan, your Lingyun Peak doesn’t even have a decent training room. Would she be willing to go there?”
Xiao Yan waved his hand dismissively.
“I’ll teach her swordsmanship. I don’t know anything else, but I do know how to teach swords.”
“You’re so poor you’re about to go bankrupt! Last time I went to your peak, you didn’t even have spiritual tea to entertain guests. You brewed wild mountain tea!”
What she said was true.
Sword cultivators didn’t refine pills, didn’t make talismans, didn’t set up formations, and didn’t grow spirit herbs.
All their time and energy were spent on their swords, and all their Spirit Stones were spent on buying swords, maintaining swords, and repairing swords.
When other cultivators went into seclusion to break through, they needed a ton of elixirs.
Sword cultivators didn’t need that—but what they did need for breakthroughs required very few pills.
Instead, they relied more on insights gained from life-and-death battles—in other words, they went out looking for fights, came back covered in wounds, healed up, and went out again.
What did the common crowd think sword cultivators were like? Aloof and cold, decisive in killing, a single sword stroke cutting through the void.
What were real sword cultivators like?
One-track-minded violent maniacs who would cut anything with a sword.
Whoever paid them got the job done.
And they were very poor.
In every major sect, the sword cultivators always carried the flashiest swords and used the fiercest sword techniques, but they always wore white robes.
Because they couldn’t afford any other clothes.
The reason was simple: all their money went into their swords.
Not to mention the huge expenses on sword scabbards and sword ornaments—just the maintenance and repair costs for their personal swords were enough to drain the private savings of a large group of people.
For a sword cultivator, decapitation was acceptable, bloodshed was acceptable, but letting their sword suffer—that was absolutely unacceptable.
That’s why sword cultivators were generally multi-talented.
Teaching themselves to be tailors, busking, or working as hired muscle for wealthy families—all of this was perfectly normal.
Some would even go so far as to use transformation techniques to work as drinking companions just to earn Spirit Stones for their swords…
Never mind how pitiful you looked while earning those Spirit Stones—the important thing was how awesome you looked when showing off in public.
“What’s wrong with wild tea? Wild tea is still tea.”
Xiao Yan said with righteous confidence.
“If you don’t like it, don’t come next time.”
“As if I’d want to go to your place anyway?”
She pursed her lips and fell silent.
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