Chapter 30: The Arrival of the Five Realms Tournament

As night fell, Jiuyao felt a sudden clarity within. Upon returning to his room, he did not sleep but instead sat cross-legged, entering a state of cultivation.

“To eat—mortals consume food with their mouths, that is ordinary eating...”

“But if a cultivator ate in the same way as mortals, then everyone would be strong. Where would the distinctions of rank and power come from? Thus, for cultivators, eating is not simply consuming food...it is absorbing vital energy, taking it as nourishment...”

“I see now. As for the meaning of ‘sleep’...”

Having reached this realization, Jiuyao’s mind became tranquil, yet he was still uncertain about the true significance of ‘sleep.’ He recalled what Lady Xuan once told him.

Eating is the simplest; sleep is the hardest.

Everyone in the world must rest, especially ordinary people—rising with the sun, sleeping when it sets. This is the natural order.

Yet he had never heard of anyone gaining enlightenment through sleep. No wonder Jiuyao was at a loss; he, who prided himself on his intellect, now found himself confounded.

And this moment’s confusion had stumped him entirely.

“Ah, no matter how clever you are, without practice it’s useless. Even the most skillful cook cannot prepare a meal without rice. True understanding comes from experience.”

Despite racking his brains, Jiuyao could not unravel the mystery. He gave up on cultivation for the moment, instead regulating his breath and letting the energy of heaven and earth flow into his core.

“The Canglang Diagram hasn’t changed lately, still dormant in my core, no longer feeding back energy to me...”

Jiuyao sensed the Canglang Diagram lying in his dantian like a dead thing, and could only sigh in resignation. It had been so long since it had brought him any benefit, and he found himself nostalgic for the days when it had.

“Perhaps I should just sleep. Today’s tasks are finished—tomorrow’s matters can wait for tomorrow.”

Jiuyao was nothing if not easygoing. If he couldn’t figure something out, he would never overthink it. After all, dwelling on it wouldn’t help, so he might as well sleep and relax his mind.

That was his way—never seeking out troubles for himself, unless trouble came knocking unbidden.

The night passed swiftly.

The next day, Jiuyao rose early, fussed with his unruly hair, and, for once, appeared in the martial training grounds, which were empty at this hour.

Soon, scattered conversations began to echo through the palace.

“The...the Emperor?”

It was only just dawn, the sky still a dim gray, so it was odd for them to see Jiuyao here.

“Yijian, you’re up. Now that you’ve reached the stage of energy cultivation, you shouldn’t mix with these useless lot. It would only tarnish your talent,” Jiuyao declared, launching into collective mockery. The others, just arriving, felt immediately wronged—ridiculed so early in the morning.

“Take this sword. As long as the sword survives, so do you; if the sword is lost, so is your life.”

The sword Jiuyao handed to Bai Yijian was one he had forged himself. After reading through every weapon-forging manual left by Lian Wudi, he had gained some rare insight, and well understood the nature of the blade he had made.

Why not give Bai Yijian one of Lian Wudi’s swords? Because he felt those were more suited to Ye Hanzhou—Lian Wudi’s swords were pure, focused solely on sword intent.

His own sword, by contrast, was filled with a multitude of ideas and intentions, unlike the single-minded sharpness of Lian Wudi’s. Such a sword was perfect for Ye Hanzhou, not for Bai Yijian; the difference between the two was vast, yet also negligible—it all depended on who wielded them. That was why Jiuyao gave his own blade to Bai Yijian.

“What are you all staring at? Haven’t you ever seen a master favor his disciple? Do you want one too?”

Everyone nodded eagerly. Jiuyao appeared to ponder, and their hopes rose. Those arriving later looked on in bewilderment.

“You want one, huh... Tell me, does the air smell foul to you? Do you really have the face to ask for weapons? Beat your opponents and I’ll give you one; lose, and—well, sorry, you get nothing but a beating.”

Jiuyao was utterly blunt. They had known he wouldn’t be so generous, but still envied Bai Yijian all the more.

Bai Yijian, seeing their envious faces, suddenly broke into a smile, his expression full of knowing mischief. “Honestly, if you want something from our master, you have to be soft, not forceful. If you beg him on your knees and he says no, I can keep pleading for you...”

It almost sounded reasonable, but they also feared Jiuyao wasn’t that sort. So all eyes turned to him.

Jiuyao’s expression darkened, as if Bai Yijian had hit the mark.

But no one else could see the exchange of glances between them, so the others immediately fell to their knees, crying, begging, and making a scene, but Jiuyao paid them no mind.

Instead, Bai Yijian burst into laughter and respectfully said to Jiuyao, “Master, they really are hopeless cases.”

“Indeed.”

Master and disciple both laughed heartily as they left, under the resentful stares of the others.

How infuriating—yet what could they do?

Everyone felt helpless. To be played by a child—no wonder the Emperor always called them fools.

...

The days passed monotonously until the end of the year arrived.

The Great Zhou Dynasty was swept up in nationwide celebration, and the Five Realms Tournament began in secret. As hosts, the Great Zhou had long since prepared the grounds.

A colossal arena able to accommodate a million spectators stood like an ancient Roman coliseum, with the dueling stage at its heart.

This was the Great Zhou’s external training ground, hosting all large-scale public events, and was thus known as the “Honor Stage.”

“On the Honor Stage, one contends for honor; beneath it, all watch for honor. In days past, your name was unknown; today, atop the stage, your fame will be proclaimed.”

Such was a widely circulated doggerel in Zhou—succinctly capturing the purpose of the Honor Stage.

By now, crowds were already gathering beneath it. Representatives from many sects and noble families had arrived. Such a grand event, held once every decade, naturally drew countless onlookers.

Everyone from the beginner level to the highest energy integration stage was present. Even reclusive old monsters who hadn’t been seen in years emerged from seclusion, a testament to the event’s extraordinary draw.

“Look, the people from the Hall of the Yellow Springs are here!”

“Over there—Eastern Wasteland Academy has arrived!”

“And even the Zen Institute is here...”

One after another, the great powers of every realm descended from the sky, drawing every gaze, especially as the top forces from the four directions made their appearance, inspiring gasps of awe.

“Immortals...the fairies have arrived...”

“Goddess, goddess...”

“The beauties of Linglong Manor are here—true celestial maidens...”

Suddenly, a group of lovely young women appeared, setting off a chorus of wolf-whistles. More than a few men’s eyes gleamed with unspeakable desire.

The women of Linglong Manor were all strikingly beautiful, their slender waists easily encircled by a single arm, their delicate faces wreathed in smiles like goddesses descended from heaven. Their flowing white glass dresses only added to their ethereal charm.

Upon seeing them, a monk from the Zen Institute could only murmur, “Amitabha—beauty is the root of chaos.”

The women of Linglong Manor landed gracefully, unperturbed by the stares, and quietly took their seats.

By this time, all four realms’ delegations had arrived—all except for the host, the Great Zhou. The stage was set, and the grand tournament was about to begin.