Jingzhao, Lu Yuanlang, Sun Zhenliu, and Qu Xuan—these four were the brightest of the younger generation in the Jing-Xiang cultivation world. All of them were between twenty-five and thirty. The youngest, Jingzhao, was only five years older than Liu Xiaolou, yet every one of them had already broken through to the Golden Core stage. Their future prospects were limitless.
If they were the bright full moon in the Jing-Xiang cultivation world, then Liu Xiaolou was nothing more than a firefly in the grass, able only to gaze up at the moonlight with a sigh. He knew it himself. By the time he reached their age, forget Golden Core; even Foundation Establishment would have been a luxury.
Talent, wealth, techniques, connections... no matter the measure, he couldn’t even come close. The only thing he might have to his name was his looks.
Still, as a rogue cultivator from Wulong Mountain, his biggest strength was keeping a level head. After enduring setback after setback, humiliation after humiliation, he’d learned never to lose his sense of perspective.
I’m just an ordinary man. Walking this path at all is already more than enough. I’m not here to compare myself to them. I don’t need to compete with the moon’s brilliance, nor do I dream of being one of the stars around it. I’ll just be a firefly, living free, unbound. No obligations to a sect, no burden of carrying on a legacy, no worries about glory, no struggle over ascension.
Once Master Master Cai Qiugong finished praising the four, he announced the start of the sword trial. The rules were simple: whoever lasted to the end would be the winner.
As for holding back, there was no need to mention it. With so many great masters watching, they couldn’t die even if they wanted to.
This sword trial had been set up by the Dongyang Sect, Tianmu Mountain, and the Zhanglong Sect, all joining forces against Qingyu Sect. That meant Sun Zhenliu, Lu Yuanlang, and Qu Xuan would never fight one another. Their common target was Jingzhao of Qingyu.
Of course, they couldn’t all go at him together either. Even if they won that way, it would still count as a loss. Too shameful to bear.
So they would go one at a time. And the first to step forward was Sun Zhenliu of the Dongyang Sect. After all, the whole matter had started with Dongyang. Naturally, it fell to him to take the lead.
Sun Zhenliu strode into the arena without saying a word and cupped his hands toward Jingzhao.
Qingyu Sect had agreed to this sword trial precisely so Jingzhao could temper himself by clashing with the best from the three sects. He had long known this was how it would play out. So he returned the salute and stepped into the field, standing opposite Sun Zhenliu.
One of the hallmarks of the Golden Core stage was the ability to refine a weapon into one’s qi sea and nourish it there. Sun Zhenliu formed a sword seal with both hands, and at once a fiery red longsword flew out from above his head, turning into a streak of sword light. The light shifted from solid to insubstantial and back again; at once a real blade and an illusory one, the two states flowing seamlessly into each other.
That single move set the crowd ablaze. Applause and cheers thundered across the arena.
“As expected of Sun Zhenliu of the Dongyang Sect! I’d heard of his name but never seen his technique. Just this one sword alone makes the trip worthwhile!”
“That’s the Sword Intent of Reality and Illusion! Reality and Illusion! Is he really only at the early stage of Golden Core? Impossible!”
“At this rate, I doubt I could reach that level in ten years…”
“Awesome!” Liu Xiaolou clapped along with the crowd, cheering.
The Tigerhead Dragon shook his head in admiration and praised as well. “Marvelous beyond words! What do you think, junior brother?”
Liu Xiaolou was awestruck. “That sword is so long. I can’t imagine how he keeps it in his belly. His qi sea must be enormous!”
The Tigerhead Dragon said, “And that sword light is beautiful. Tell me, how many colors do you see in it?”
“At least three,” replied Liu Xiaolou, “red, orange, and violet!”
“I see five. There’s also blue and white flame!”
Liu Xiaolou bowed to him. “Brother Tigerhead, your cultivation is far beyond mine. I can only admire!”
The two of them first burst out laughing, then gave bitter smiles. They both knew Sun Zhenliu’s sword intent looked extraordinary, but as for what made it extraordinary, they couldn’t understand or explain. The gap was simply too vast. Enough to leave them in despair.
Across the field, Jingzhao gave a nod and returned the salute. Then, with a sudden shake of his arms, phantom figures flashed into being behind him. They layered and merged, multiplying until they gathered into a golden-armored god-general, three zhang tall, towering at his back.
The god-general strode forward, merging Jingzhao into its form. Its right hand lifted toward the sky, and a ray of light appeared in its palm. In the next instant it solidified into a mighty Fangtian halberd.
The sight was even more overwhelming than Sun Zhenliu’s Sword Intent of Reality and Illusion. It was none other than Qingyu Sect’s sacred technique—the Manifestation of the Mountain God.
At last, Liu Xiaolou recognized him. The golden-armored god-general before him was the very same figure he had seen last year, battling the demon vine in the Sky Pit Drum of Wulong Mountain.
So it was him.
Sun Zhenliu stood before the towering golden figure, smaller than an infant before a giant. Yet he showed no fear. His body leapt high, lunging straight at the god-general’s face. The blade of shifting reality and illusion blazed at his side, cleaving down from above.
The halberd swept across with crushing force. A gale of raw energy exploded outward, blasting through the entire arena.
“Whoa!” The Tigerhead Dragon instantly ducked down to dodge the storm, but in doing so his elbow cracked against Liu Xiaolou’s head.
“Ah!” Liu Xiaolou, who had crouched a step earlier, cried out in pain. He wrapped his arms tighter around his head, shifting them to cover the spot he’d left unguarded.
The raging wind was scattered by Elder Cai’s wave of the hand, and only then did the two of them rise awkwardly, shuffling a few steps back to stand behind him.
For them, the fight was nothing more than a spectacle. When Sun Zhenliu’s sword light struck and cleaved the golden god-general’s helmet, they thought he had won and were just about to cheer. But then Sun Zhenliu staggered back several yards, stared blankly up at the god-general for a moment, and finally cupped his hands in surrender.
Jingzhao dispersed the Mountain God’s manifestation and returned the salute. “Thank you for the guidance.”
Liu Xiaolou and the Tigerhead Dragon looked at each other, not sure what to say.
Then the Tigerhead suddenly slipped away. Before long he rushed back, leaned close to Liu Xiaolou’s ear, and whispered, “The illusory half of his sword light was broken. Only the real sword remained. That’s why he could cut off the helmet.”
Liu Xiaolou frowned in thought. “Makes sense… but what if the real sword was broken?”
The Tigerhead froze, bolted off again, and soon came hurrying back. “If the real sword were broken, it would shatter the entire Mountain God phantom, forcing Jingzhao to reveal his true body!”
Liu Xiaolou sighed in admiration. “That’s truly profound.”
The Tigerhead shook his head. “Isn’t it just!”
Liu Xiaolou raised another doubt. “If losing the helmet still counts as Jingzhao’s victory, and even if the Mountain God is shattered it’s still his victory, then what would it take for him to lose?”
The Tigerhead Dragon scratched his head, then bolted off again.
But Liu Xiaolou had no time to keep puzzling it over, for the second round of the sword trial was reaching its climax.
This time Jingzhao summoned a new deity. Not a golden helm, golden armor, and golden halberd, but a bare-chested strongman, his hair bound with yellow silk. This figure wasn’t nearly as towering as the Mountain God, only about a zhang tall, but he was broad-backed and thick-waisted. He bore no weapon, relying solely on divine strength to stir up a storm that shook the heavens.
Within the vortex of that storm, a dragon wove through the currents. Its roar was soundless, yet it shook Liu Xiaolou’s eardrums until they throbbed with pain, nearly bursting into deafness. Fortunately, Elder Cai swept his sleeve and formed a curtain of azure light, easing the pain little by little, though the ringing in his ears would not go away.
The Tigerhead Flood Dragon came rushing back, bellowing into Liu Xiaolou’s ear with all his might.
Dazed and reeling, Liu Xiaolou only caught bits and pieces.