Chapter 242: Chapter 231: First Day of the Martial Assembly
Basang, Wuche, Vajra Sect.
Unbeatable when attacking those of the same rank...
"The Thunder Attribute is truly formidable! It’s a shame that while I have Thunder Attribute True Qi, I don’t have a matching Cultivation Technique, so I can’t cultivate it."
When he read the description of the final person in the book, Zhao Lin’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly calmed down.
He closed the book and mused, ’There’s no such thing as perfection in this world. There’s no point in envying others; it only adds to my worries.’
’The most important thing now is to master the martial arts I’ve already learned and ensure I can perform at one hundred percent when the time comes. That will be enough!’
When the two hours were up, the disciples handed in their books one by one and departed from the grand hall.
Back at his residence, Zhao Lin remembered the two pages Liu Feiyang had given him.
He was wide awake and full of energy, so he lit a lamp in his room and began to read by its light.
"Power should be expansive but not slack, on the verge of release but not yet released. When the force breaks, the intent continues. Qi flows from the soles of the feet to the spine, like moving clouds and flowing water..."
Zhao Lin nodded as he read, thoroughly amazed.
Aside from omitting the incantations, Liu Feiyang had held nothing back, generously sharing the keys to cultivating the Wind Attribute technique and the secrets to adjusting one’s Body Technique and footwork.
The Xingyun Sect had a limited legacy when it came to Wind Attribute Cultivation Techniques. Although some seniors had practiced them, their focus was mostly on offense, with almost no related Body Techniques or footwork.
Liu Feiyang had spent over a decade studying this one Cultivation Technique, nearly perfecting it. Those two pages contained the fruits of his many years of hard work. Every word was a pearl, their value immeasurable!
If Zhao Lin had to figure it all out on his own, it would have taken him an unknown amount of time and effort.
’Liu Feiyang is a genuine person. He’s worth befriending!’
Feeling moved, Zhao Lin read the contents of the papers twice more until he had memorized them, then stepped out of his room.
The moonlight was brilliant, and a light breeze carried a refreshing chill into the courtyard.
An agile figure moved in the courtyard with the suddenness of a pouncing rabbit and a swooping falcon. At times he was like a goose feather, drifting about effortlessly; at others, he was like a bolt of lightning, swift as a phantom, leaving trails of afterimages.
As the saying goes, "True teaching can be found in a single sentence, while false teachings fill ten thousand scrolls." After reading Liu Feiyang’s notes, the areas where Zhao Lin had previously been confused and stagnant were now crystal clear.
He practiced late into the night until he had finally integrated the Wind Attribute Cultivation Technique with the Overturning Clouds and Rain Skill. He truly understood what it meant for his body to move with his will, with every muscle and bone in his body under his complete control.
...
Three days passed in a flash, and the day of the grand competition arrived.
At the summit of West Han Peak was a basin, perfectly round and surrounded by a ring of trees, like a stone bowl embedded in the earth.
The Lotus Sect had taken advantage of this terrain to build a circular martial arts arena in the basin.
Inside the arena, nine platforms were arranged in three rows and three columns, resembling a nine-square grid when viewed from above.
Five sets of spectator stands were built on the surrounding slopes.
Most arenas had two or four sets of stands, but this one had five, as it was specifically built for the Martial Arts Assembly.
As the host, Xiuzhao naturally occupied the central stands. To their left were the two nations of Weizi and Great Yue, and to their right were Wuzhu and Wuche.
As the red sun began to rise, the disciples, elders, and attendants of the Five Nations all arrived.
The disciples preparing to compete sat in the front row, while everyone else sat in the higher stands.
Many were participating in the Martial Arts Assembly for the first time, their bodies tense and their expressions a little unnatural.
Zhao Lin noticed a disciple from Weizi who was anxiously and repeatedly unbuttoning and buttoning his clothes. He also kept taking out a white handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.
’He’s this nervous before even getting on stage. I wonder how much of his actual strength he’ll be able to use?’
Zhao Lin secretly shook his head, but his main concern was the four strongest disciples.
The Western Regions People almost all had thick hair and beards, making them look older than they were. Zhao Lin scanned the crowd but couldn’t tell which one was the chief disciple, Mai Kun, so he focused his hearing to listen in on their conversations.
"Mai Kun, Bolta of Wuzhu, Li Taiqing of Xiuzhao, He Liancheng of Great Yue, and Basang of Wuche—they are all your strongest rivals in this assembly. Pay close attention to them later, so you’ll know what to expect when you face them."
Before long, Zhao Lin "overheard" an aged voice.
He glanced over and saw a fierce-looking old man whose lips were moving slightly, sending a voice transmission to a disciple in the front row.
"Yes, Elder Gu."
The disciple, who had a ruddy complexion and a long, sharp face, turned and bowed respectfully.
’So that’s Mai Kun.’
Zhao Lin secretly committed the man’s appearance to memory.
Next, he looked toward the Xiuzhao stands and quickly found Li Taiqing in the crowd.
Li Taiqing happened to look over at the same time, giving him a challenging gaze. Zhao Lin responded with a calm smile before shifting his eyes to the Wuzhu stands.
Among the Wuzhu disciples sat a behemoth of a man built like a black tower. He was as broad as an ox with a back as thick as a tiger’s, making those around him look like children.
’This guy’s built like that bear from back then.’
Zhao Lin didn’t even have to think to know that this must be Bolta, the Wuzhu disciple famous for his brute strength.
"See him? That’s Basang. They say he’s the strongest disciple in the assembly this time."
Xiang Shaofeng nudged Zhao Lin’s shoulder, pointing to a disciple from Wuche.
Zhao Lin followed his finger and fixed his gaze on a familiar face.
The man had thick eyebrows, hawkish eyes, a low-bridged nose, and full lips. His collar was open, revealing a long scar on his collarbone.
’He’s Basang!’
Zhao Lin immediately recalled an incident from two years ago. Elder Water Mirror had taken the Wuxiang Institute disciples to Huilong Bay for training. There, they had met an old man with white eyebrows, accompanied by a burly man and a rugged-looking youth.
That youth was Basang.
Compared to two years ago, Basang now looked more mature. He stood with his arms crossed and his eyes half-closed, like a ferocious beast taking a nap.
"Brother Zhao, are you nervous?" Xiang Shaofeng asked.
Zhao Lin shook his head. "Not nervous."
"A newborn calf truly doesn’t fear the tiger!"
Xiang Shaofeng sighed with emotion, then smiled. "Then again, you’re still young. You’ll have plenty of opportunities."
"This is my second time at the Martial Arts Assembly, and also my last. I’ll be satisfied if I can just pass the first round and win one match in the second!"
Zhao Lin knew that when the nations tallied the final results, every single victory would be counted, with more important matches carrying greater weight.
A total of one hundred and sixty disciples from the Five Nations would compete. The first round would be divided into thirty-two groups of five.
From each group of five, two winners would emerge to advance to the next round.
In the second round, the sixty-four remaining contestants would be divided into sixteen groups of four, again with the top two from each group advancing.
This would select the strongest thirty-two disciples, who would then proceed to one-on-one matches.
From thirty-two to sixteen, sixteen to eight... and so on, until the champion of this Martial Arts Assembly was finally decided.
In his previous life, Zhao Lin had been a sports enthusiast who had watched all sorts of Grand Slam tournaments, so he understood these rules easily.
For Xiang Shaofeng to advance to the second round meant ranking in the top sixty-four. Not only did he need solid strength, but he also needed a bit of luck. If he were unlucky enough to be grouped with two powerful opponents, it would be very difficult to emerge from the group stage.
While the disciples worried about the upcoming fights, the spectators were just as anxious.
In the foremost seats of the Great Yue stands sat four people: three Sect Leaders and a gray-haired official from the court’s Ministry of Rites.
The official’s name was Shangguan Xi. He had been attending the Martial Arts Assembly with the three great sects since he was thirty, and now, past sixty, he was an old acquaintance of the three Sect Leaders.
He glanced around for a moment before speaking cautiously, "Sect Leaders, this humble official has a question that may be improper, but my curiosity is getting the better of me. I wish to know, how strong is our contingent of disciples this time?"
"Can we hold on to third place? Or perhaps... is there hope for the top two?"
The Sect Leaders of Li Yang Sect and the Southern Suppression Sect remained silent, both turning to look at Lu Chaohuan in unison, tossing this hot potato to him.
Lu Chaohuan’s face darkened, but he couldn’t refuse to answer. He forced a smile.
"Lord Shangguan, such things are hard to predict. A martial artist’s duel depends not only on strength, but also on their condition, luck, and even the weather."
"However, based on their performance at last year’s internal competition, the disciples of the three sects have been training well. They should be a bit stronger than the last batch."
"That’s good, that’s good."
Shangguan Xi muttered the words over and over, as if repeating them would calm his nerves.
He had already reached the age of retirement and dearly hoped that Great Yue would achieve outstanding results in this assembly, restoring their prestige. It would be the fulfillment of a long-held wish.
At the Hour of the Serpent, nine in the morning, the sun had climbed high in the sky, its light pouring into the arena. The Martial Arts Assembly had finally begun.
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