The Outer Sect Tournament grounds were already alive.
Stone platforms rose from the earth in wide, concentric rings, each one carved with ancient formations that pulsed faintly beneath the morning light, like slumbering beasts slowly waking. The markings were old—older than most of the disciples present—and carried a weight that pressed subtly against the senses, reminding everyone that these grounds had witnessed generations of ambition, bloodshed, and quiet erasure.
Flags bearing the sect's insignia fluttered overhead, their fabric snapping softly in the wind as if urging the crowd onward. Tiered rows of stone seats filled steadily with disciples clad in varied robes, elders seated higher with calm detachment, and wandering spectators who had come from afar—not out of loyalty, but curiosity. Some sought brilliance. Some sought blood. Most hoped to see both.
The air itself felt thick.
Excited chatter rolled through the arena in overlapping waves, voices rising and falling, clashing and merging into a restless hum that never truly settled. Names were spoken with eager anticipation, others whispered carefully, edged with reverence—or resentment. Old grudges resurfaced. New expectations formed. For many outer disciples, today was more than a contest of strength.
It was judgment.
A moment where years of obscurity could be erased in a single match—or carved permanently into memory for all the wrong reasons.
A chance to rise.
Or a chance to be forgotten.
A sudden stir rippled through the stands.
"Look— it's Bai Shaoyue."
The name alone was enough.
Almost every male cultivator reacted at the same time, breaths hitching as a familiar figure stepped into the arena's open path. Bai Shaoyue had arrived.
Loose cultivator robes draped her body with deceptive modesty, fabric clinging and sliding in ways that drew the eye no matter how hard one tried to look away. Her figure was full, mature, carrying a confidence born not only from beauty, but from knowing exactly what it did to others. The sway of her hips was unhurried, deliberate, as if the space itself existed to accommodate her movement.
Several disciples unconsciously adjusted their stances. Others swallowed, throats dry. A few felt their circulation falter as their Qi slipped momentarily out of rhythm, disturbed by nothing more than her presence.
This reaction followed her everywhere.
Bai Shaoyue's lips curved faintly as she walked, gaze drifting across the crowd without urgency. When her eyes passed over someone, it lingered just long enough to make hearts thump harder and thoughts scatter.
Cheers erupted from the stands, raw and unrestrained, voices overlapping in shameless devotion. Her name was shouted again and again, mixed with laughter, admiration, and hunger that barely bothered hiding itself.
Even among female cultivators, the reactions were split—some watched with tight expressions, others with open fascination, eyes tracing her movements despite themselves.
"You're the best, Sister Shaoyue!"
"Win it all!"
"No one else deserves it!"
The shout cut through the noise, soon joined by many more.
Bai Shaoyue accepted it naturally, chin lifting slightly as she approached the center of the arena. She offered brief bows toward the elders' platform—movements precise, respectful, yet never submissive. Every gesture felt practiced, controlled, honed by years of being watched.
"She's already at Qi Condensation Stage Nine," an elder remarked, laughter rumbling softly. "Last year she was only Stage Seven. Two minor realms in a single year… that kind of growth isn't common."
A female elder smiled behind her sleeve. "Of course. I nurtured her personally."
"Oh?" another elder turned. "So she's your disciple?"
"Mhm." Her gaze followed Shaoyue. "Watch carefully."
By then, Bai Shaoyue had reached the arena's heart.
Her hand slid to the sword at her waist.
The blade left its sheath with a whisper, steel flashing as she moved—not hurried, not restrained. With a single, flowing motion, she swung.
Three arcs of pure Qi burst forth, sharp and radiant, tearing across the air with frightening speed. Instead of scattering outward, the slashes curved inward mid-flight, drawn together as if guided by invisible threads.
They merged.
The resulting strike slammed into the far end of the arena with a thunderous detonation, formations flaring violently as dust and wind exploded outward. The impact rolled through the stands, rattling bones and stealing breath
.
Silence followed.
Only for a moment.
Then the crowd erupted.
"I love you, Sister Shaoyue!"
The cry burst from the crowd without restraint, quickly drowned beneath a sea of similar voices. Eyes shone with naked devotion, hearts thudding openly in chests as disciples leaned forward, unwilling to miss even a single breath of her presence.
"So powerful…" someone whispered, awe bleeding into their tone.
"She's too strong."
"Sister Shaoyue is definitely winning this tournament."
The sentiment spread like wildfire. From outer disciples to wandering spectators, the conclusion felt inevitable. Strength, beauty, talent—Bai Shaoyue possessed all three in overwhelming measure.
"Oh?" an elder chuckled softly from the high seats, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Heaven Grade, Ning Ruyan… you truly gave her your Heaven Grade skill?"
His gaze slid sideways, sharp despite the casual tone.
Ning Ruyan merely smiled.
She did not confirm it.
She did not deny it either.
Her silence was enough.
Only when the deafening cheers finally calmed—settling into an excited murmur that refused to fully fade—did another figure step onto the arena floor.
Bai Shaoge entered with the same confident stride.
Yet the reaction could not have been more different.
This time, only female cultivators stirred with excitement, whispers rippling through their ranks as eyes lingered openly. Many male disciples frowned instead, some outright scowling, their earlier fervor still fixed firmly on Bai Shaoyue. To them, Bai Shaoge's presence barely registered—like a shadow passing beside a blazing sun.
He might as well not have existed.
Unlike the disciples, the elders did not miss him.
The moment Bai Shaoge stepped into view, all ten Outer Sect elders narrowed their eyes simultaneously, expressions sharpening with keen interest. His posture, breathing, and Qi circulation were examined in silence, each detail weighed carefully.
"Is that him?" one elder murmured. "The one said to possess the strongest cultivation talent in the outer sect—both in sword and cultivation?"
Another elder nodded slowly, a satisfied, almost proud smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. He is my personal disciple, after all. How could I mistake talent for incompetence?"
His gaze flicked sideways, a smirk forming. "In truth, his talent far surpasses his sister's."
Then, with deliberate intent, he turned toward a certain direction.
"What about you, Elder Mei Lingyao?"
All eyes shifted toward her .
Mei Lingyao did not look at them.
Her gaze remained fixed on the arena below, calm and unwavering, fingers resting lightly against the arm of her seat. To anyone watching closely, it was obvious—she wasn't paying attention to Bai Shaoge at all.
She was waiting.
"I heard your daughter recently broke through," the elder continued smoothly, his tone polite but edged with mockery. "Qi Condensation Stage Seven, was it? Congratulations."
A brief pause.
"She truly has remarkable talent… especially after consuming so many alchemical resources."
The air went still.
Several elders inhaled sharply, the weight of the insult sinking in. This was no casual remark—it was a pointed reminder, sharpened by yesterday's incident and delivered without mercy.
Mei Lingyao finally spoke.
"Elder Ji Wuchen," she said calmly, her voice smooth and unruffled, "thank you for your sincere wishes."
She did not elaborate or argue.But neither did the pressure ease.
Because everyone present understood—
This was far from over.