Amid the anticipation of countless young cultivators, the Dengwen Elegant Gathering officially began.

The sky was crystal clear, the spring sunlight brilliant, the mountains lush and verdant.

The plaza before the main peak’s hall was packed with people. Meng He Ze and a group of outer disciples stood at the very back, surrounded by a sea of heads stretching as far as the eye could see.

The Sect Leader stood speaking on the high steps before the hall. They couldn’t see his figure, only hearing a stern, elderly voice echoing through the mountains.

Because of the great distance and strong mountain winds that caused the voice to fade in and out, sometimes loud, sometimes soft:

“You are all rising talents in the cultivation world, pillars of the younger generation…”

“Must not fail the sect’s nurturing, the masters’ high expectations…”

“All sects working together with one heart, punishing evil and promoting good, upholding righteousness, maintaining order in the cultivation world…”

Meng He Ze couldn’t focus on the words. Not just him—such platitudes were tuned out by everyone.

He turned his head to look around; every young face wore the identical expression—forced composure barely contained excitement.

This was his first time entering the inner sect’s main peak. The palaces were grander than he had imagined, the sea of clouds more magnificent than in his dreams, and even the five-colored carp leaping among the clouds were more beautiful than the legends described.

He had been somewhat nervous, unsure how to act as if he had come here regularly.

But along the way, disciples from other sects had greeted him, and he’d encountered overseas cultivators who couldn’t find the direction signs. Being repeatedly called “Fellow Daoist from Huawei Sect” and realizing everyone was attending for the first time, like everyone was experiencing life for the first time, he inexplicably felt at ease.

He enjoyed being called “Fellow Daoist” by unfamiliar cultivators, and then exchanging greetings and introductions.

Unlike before, when stewards and inner disciples would wave and call out:

“Hey, you over there, whoever you are, come here.”

Walking along the path earlier, Meng He Ze had already met many cultivators from other sects.

Some recognized him as the “Lotus-Picking Youth of Yaoguang Lake,” praising his beautiful lightness technique;

Others, seeing that his “bone age was only fourteen, yet he already had Foundation Establishment cultivation with unlimited prospects,” took the initiative to speak with him.

Meng He Ze had once been the most popular disciple in the outer sect, making friends as easily as turning his palm.

Later, having spent time with Song Qian Ji, he was unconsciously influenced by the other’s aura. Now he chatted and laughed with cultivators from various sects with complete confidence.

The speech at the hall finally ended, and Meng He Ze remembered nothing except the competition rules.

The martial arts and chess competitions began almost simultaneously. The former had more participants, and the latter took more time, but both used a format of paired matches advancing in tiers.

The zither and painting competitions were scheduled for three days later.

Meng He Ze followed the crowd surging toward the lot-drawing area, chatting idly with disciples before and behind him while waiting in line.

He looked at the yellow paper in his palm: Ding-Three-Six-Five. This was the number tag he received upon registration.

There were so many martial arts competition registrants that they were randomly divided into ten groups of a thousand each. The first five hundred from each group would draw lots, while the latter five hundred waited to be drawn against.

He was number 365 in group Ding, coinciding exactly with the number of days in a year. A Purple Cloud Temple cultivator he’d just met said that heaven is round and earth is square, so this number was very auspicious.

“Ding-Three-Six-Five versus Yi-Two-Ten-Four. Take your tag and wait at Heaven Character Platform Three.” The expressionless lot-distributing steward repeated mechanically, “No-shows count as forfeits, deliberate rule violations count as forfeits. The first three rounds are limited to one incense stick’s time each. If time expires without a winner, both are eliminated.”

For the early stages of the martial arts competition, twenty arenas were temporarily erected on the plaza, allowing twenty matches to take place simultaneously.

In the later stages, as the competition thinned out the participants, by the fourth round only formidable characters remained. The number of arenas would be reduced to allow spectators to concentrate on watching.

Meng He Ze again pushed through the crowd, trekking to find the ‘Heaven Character Platform Three’ arena.

Busy stewards calling out numbers, Enforcement Hall disciples maintaining order, disciples anxiously waiting their turn, contestants either exchanging threats or bowing to each other… plus chatting and frolicking female cultivators, and spectating cultivators secretly placing bets.

The various sects’ attire was colorful, the regional accents a cacophony.

In the early stages of the martial arts competition, it was less like the Dengwen Elegant Gathering and more like a chaotic market fair.

Meng He Ze took in everything along the way. He loved this kind of lively mixture.

This was the dazzling, colorful, exciting cultivation world. Not being ordered around, people freely making friends, openly showing their skills.

He stood on the platform, bowing to his opponent: “Meng He Ze of Huawei Sect. Please guide me.”

“Zhang Daren of Western Sea Sect, greetings Fellow Daoist.” The opponent returned the bow.

Meng He Ze raised his low-grade sword.

He thought this was how people should live. After the gathering ends, I want to continue living like this. No more shoveling spirit beast dung or digging in spirit stone mines.

…

Because of the time limits, the first three rounds of the martial arts competition proceeded quite efficiently.

By sunset, the fourth round’s lot drawing had already concluded.

The arena remained lively, but stretchers began to appear below the platforms, with medical cultivators bustling about, the mountain breeze carrying whiffs of blood.

Meng He Ze, the only remaining fruit of Huawei Sect’s outer disciples, and the hope of the entire village, didn’t feel tired; rather, he grew more energetic with each match.

He had already drawn his lot for the fourth round and was resting in the waiting area below the arena.

Between the third and fourth rounds, there was a quarter-hour break for recovery.

The eliminated outer disciples gathered around him. Some helped stop his bleeding, some wiped his sweat, and someone even fanned him, asking if he felt hot.

Of course, he was hot. How could he not be?

Meng He Ze took a deep breath: “I’ll go to Song Residence to invite Senior Brother Song.”

Zhou Xiaoyun immediately prepared to leave: “Good! Shall I say you’ve made it to the fourth round and invite him to watch?”

“No, no, absolutely not.” Meng He Ze stopped her, looking toward a small pavilion in the distance decorated with flowers. “Just say there’s a flower appreciation gathering by the arena, with rare flora from all regions gathered in one place, too magnificent to miss. Ask him to come to appreciate the flowers and, by the way, see my performance.”

Zhou Xiaoyun admired his approach: “Senior Brother Meng, you’re so clever!”

Some female cultivators not participating in the martial arts competition were holding a “flower contest” in the pavilion, which could indeed pass for a “flower appreciation gathering.”

When Song Qian Ji heard the outer disciples’ explanation, he thought it was the kind of “flower appreciation gathering” where people exchanged gardening experiences.

To think such an event was part of the Dengwen Elegant Gathering—he hadn’t known in his previous life.

How could he miss this?

“I still have some work in my fields. You go back first, I’ll come shortly,” Song Qian Ji said.

But the plaza was too vast and too crowded. Before Song Qian Ji could find people gathering to appreciate flowers, he was called out to: “Junior Brother Song!”

Song Qian Ji turned around.

Two Discipline Hall disciples, one tall and one short, approached him: “It is you! You haven’t forgotten us, have you?”

Their attitude was inexplicably enthusiastic as they surrounded Song Qian Ji, repeatedly greeting him warmly as if they’d seen ten cartloads of spirit stones.

Song Qian Ji was confused: “What exactly do you two want?”

Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng were the very two who had escorted him to the main peak on the night of Meng He Ze’s public trial. Later, they had even come to Song Residence’s entrance to seek his testimony about “whether he had personally seen Fairy Miao Yan” for a bet they’d made.

Qiu Dacheng’s face fell, wailing: “We’re about to lose the clothes off our backs, and you’ve arrived just in time!”

Xu Kanshan added: “Your good luck is something we’ve witnessed firsthand—most reliable!”

He then surreptitiously revealed several betting slips.

Song Qian Ji shook his head: “I’ve never gambled.”

Qiu Dacheng tugged at his sleeve: “You don’t need to gamble, just tell us who to bet on. We agreed last time, you can’t back out now!”

Song Qian Ji smiled: “Fine, I’ll walk around with you for a while.”

He accompanied the two, wandering among the various arenas, glancing up for a moment before telling them who would win, all while searching for the entrance to the “gardening exchange meeting.”

Song Qian Ji’s picks were correct every single time. Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng grew increasingly bold, eventually betting their entire fortunes on each match, reaping enormous profits.

The two understood the rules and feared others following their bets or the betting operators becoming displeased. So they repeatedly jumped between different betting pools, changing locations after each win.

“You’re practically blessed by immortals, with fortune on your shoulders, sweeping all before you!” Qiu Dacheng couldn’t contain his glee.

“It’s not luck, it’s judgment,” Song Qian Ji said helplessly. “My luck has always been poor.”

“You mean before they even begin fighting, you can tell their combat strength and who will win or lose?” Xu Kanshan asked.

Song Qian Ji considered: “More or less.”

The two exchanged glances, laughing heartily, declaring their disbelief.

The three wandered to Heaven Character Platform One.

Suddenly someone excitedly called out: “Senior Brother Song, Senior Brother Song is here!”

Song Qian Ji spotted Meng He Ze and a group of outer disciples at the edge of the arena. Thinking Meng He Ze must be waiting for his match, he waved with a smile.

“Who do we bet on this time?” Qiu Dacheng asked.

Song Qian Ji glanced at the cultivator waiting on the opposite side, and without hesitation said: “Of course, bet on Meng He Ze.”

Qiu Dacheng hesitated: “But his luck in drawing lots wasn’t good. His opponent is the chief disciple of Lianshan Sect, who’s gained quite a reputation recently!”

Xu Kanshan added: “You’re not just telling us to bet on Meng He Ze because of your friendship with him, are you? Brotherhood doesn’t work that way—Meng He Ze won’t get a share of the spirit stones!”

“It’s up to you,” Song Qian Ji said, already spotting the small pavilion blooming with fresh flowers. His heart leaped with joy. “I have something to attend to, so I’ll go first.”

The two couldn’t stop him in time, watching his nimble figure disappear into the sea of people in the blink of an eye.

At the arena’s edge, the steward beat the drum, and the betting operator impatiently urged: “The match is about to begin, last chance to place your bets!”

“I bet on Ding-Three-Six-Five, Meng He Ze.” Qiu Dacheng took out all the spirit stones in his storage pouch. “All in!”

On the other side, Meng He Ze waiting in the staging area felt somewhat disappointed.

“Why didn’t Senior Brother Song come over?” An outer disciple stood on tiptoes, looking around. “Those two beside him, aren’t they the two Senior Brothers from the Discipline Hall?”

“He probably… didn’t see me.” Meng He Ze walked toward the platform at the steward’s urging.

Suddenly, a disciple ran over, panting and shouting: “Senior Brother Meng! Senior Brother Song just… asked the Discipline Hall Senior Brothers to bet money on your victory!”

Meng He Ze was stunned, his entire body electrified, eyes shining: “Really? Senior Brother Song did that?”

Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng rushed to the foot of the arena, shouting: “Fellow Daoist Meng, Junior Brother Meng! We’ve bet our entire fortunes on your victory—you must show some spirit!”

The green mountains remained unchanged, the carp in the sea of clouds leaped in the sunset’s glow.

Song Qian Ji hadn’t even entered the small pavilion before he could smell the rich floral fragrance.

There must have been at least a hundred varieties of flowers in the pavilion, all competing in beauty.

Song Qian Ji smiled, extremely satisfied.

Today he would surely gain a great deal.