“That Ding San Liu Wu you’re talking about, didn’t he just cripple his opponent yesterday? He’s either a madman or his cultivation has gone berserk. I don’t have high hopes for him.”
“Once the sixth round ends and the support votes are tallied, he’ll be eliminated for sure!”
The outer sect disciples distributing the colored notes heard these words. Though frustrated, they had anticipated such reactions.
It was undeniable that Senior Brother Meng had lost control on stage yesterday. There was no point in denial or justification.
The essence of performance matches lay in elegant precision and perfect control. Just like Meng He Ze’s fourth round that earned him flowers and cheers.
He had calmly outmaneuvered his opponent, ultimately defeating a stronger adversary with minimal force, without creating bloody, bone-breaking scenes of carnage.
“There certainly needs to be some bloodshed,” Zhou Xiao Yun smiled enchantingly. “I’m afraid you all won’t dare to watch.”
“Ridiculous! We cultivators aren’t delicate flowers from a greenhouse. When we venture out for training, we draw our swords to eliminate demons, slaughtering in all directions. Who’s afraid of blood? But this is the Dengwen Elegant Assembly, and Meng He Ze has a brutal personality and a savage fighting style. That’s not the proper way for our performance matches!”
Everyone righteously upheld the prestigious traditions of the assembly, turning to walk toward other arenas.
Yet the few sentences on the colored notes had piqued their curiosity, and before long, their tune changed:
“So let’s go take a look first, so we can critique him with proper justification! Otherwise, he won’t know where he went wrong!”
Meng He Ze took the stage amid cold glares from the spectators.
Today, he still wore his high ponytail but had forgone the outer sect disciple uniform, deliberately changing into a snow-white outer robe.
The young sword cultivator had delicate features, and his pristine white garment fluttered in the morning breeze, creating an elegant appearance.
His entrance brightened everyone’s eyes momentarily.
Soon someone came to their senses, sneering:
“Does he think changing into new clothes will make us forget his crazed demeanor from last night?”
Opposite Meng He Ze approached an inner sect disciple from Hua Wei Sect.
The man wore the exquisite ceremonial robe exclusive to inner sect members, walking with hands behind his back and a confident smile.
As the host of this event, Hua Wei Sect had more participating disciples than other sects, making encounters between sect-mates common.
The two took their positions, but his opponent showed no intention of exchanging courtesies or introducing himself. Instead, he remarked with feeling: “At this time last year, you were running errands for me, busy all day just to earn three extra spirit stones. Now we face each other as opponents on the same stage. Truly, the path to immortality has countless twists and turns, and heaven’s will is unfathomable!”
He brought up past events not to reminisce or build rapport, but to subdue Meng He Ze without fighting, gaining the psychological upper hand.
And to highlight his composed demeanor against Meng He Ze’s supposed impulsiveness and brutality.
Compared to acting mad and frenzied, displaying effortless grace would better win over spectators and secure support votes.
Meng He Ze merely raised an eyebrow with a smile: “After you, Senior Brother.”
Before he even finished speaking, everyone saw his sword leave its scabbard.
His opponent, having anticipated this, attacked even faster.
As sword edges crossed, a harsh metallic sound pierced the air, and a streak of blood burst forth, splattering across the stage!
“Ah!” Exclamations of shock erupted from below.
Who would draw blood on the very first exchange of swords?
The crowd, still somewhat drowsy in the early morning, instantly awakened as if doused with ice water, their eyes fixed on Meng He Ze’s bleeding left arm.
The inner sect disciple from Hua Wei Sect was even more surprised than the spectators, momentarily stunned.
This wasn’t a fatal strike—with Meng He Ze’s renowned lightness technique, evading would have been effortless.
As he thrust his sword, he had already calculated several positions where his opponent might dodge, but unexpectedly, Meng He Ze preferred to be wounded rather than withdraw his sword for defense or evade.
All to ensure his sword struck true, piercing through the protective ceremonial robe.
What kind of fighting style was this?
Killing eight hundred enemies at the cost of a thousand self-injuries.
Could Meng He Ze be planning to exchange injury for injury, seizing the early battle rhythm with a quick offensive?
A sense of foreboding flashed through his mind. Making a swift decision, he retrieved a protective treasure mirror from his storage pouch, sending it hovering before him, gleaming brightly.
With such a beginner-level protective magical tool, Meng He Ze would need at least five sword strikes to break through his defense. He had intended to save it for the next round…
But just as the mirror flew out, there came a thunderous boom, and a brilliant shower of sparks exploded!
The crowd instinctively stepped back in unison.
Meng He Ze had also brought out a beginner-level protective magical tool, but without hesitation, detonated it, instantly shattering the mirror.
Magical tools were difficult to craft and expensive. According to the usual combat habits of cultivators, when encountering enemies in the wild, an enemy’s magical tool was also a spoil of war that could be claimed afterward, repaired, and reused. Who would directly destroy it?
It wasn’t an explosive talisman, after all.
“Is that Meng He Ze an outer sect disciple? So wasteful—two magical tools reduced to ashes, just for a loud noise?”
“You don’t know the half of it. Those weren’t ones he bought; they’re what he won at Yaoguang Lake. When it’s not your possessions, of course, you don’t mind blowing them up—just like setting off fireworks at a festival!”
From the moment they stepped onto the arena until their brief exchange of ten moves, they had already destroyed eight magical tools.
The Hua Wei inner sect disciple’s expression shifted from serious to terrified—how many magical tools did Meng He Ze have? He was truly a madman.
He was an inner sect disciple, not a personally-taught disciple; even with substantial resources, he couldn’t afford such wasteful expenditure.
Only the spectators below feasted their eyes, rarely seeing such a magnificent display of magical tool explosions.
For this colorful spectacle of fireworks, they almost wanted to applaud and cheer, shouting with exhilaration.
“I advise you to use them sparingly, otherwise what will you do after the martial trials? Run errands for me again?” Meng He Ze suddenly asked.
These words coming from an outer sect disciple seemed absurd to his opponent, immediately igniting his rage, about to curse loudly.
With his concentration momentarily disturbed, another spray of fresh blood flew.
This time, it wasn’t Meng He Ze’s blood.
Swift sword strikes followed one after another as if urged by an unspoken pressure, the two fought with increasing speed.
Meng He Ze selected his sword angles carefully, creating wounds that weren’t too deep, yet drew blood. When injured himself, he deliberately adjusted his position.
Bloodflowers burst, blood water splashed, and blood mist permeated the air.
It was a feast of blood.
Meng He Ze fought with extreme brutality, his white robe dyed red, impossible to distinguish between his enemy’s blood and his own.
“Prepare the drums,” Zhou Xiao Yun transmitted to the other outer sect disciples.
“Boom!” A drumbeat arose from somewhere.
With each spray of blood, a heavy drum would fall.
Short and powerful, resounding and stirring, it seemed to beat against the hearts of the watching crowd, causing them to tremble in waves.
Amid the chaotic sword shadows, the opponent was forced off the arena by the swift sword, crashing to the ground.
Silence below the stage, no one spoke first, only the sound of rapid breathing remained.
On the stage, Meng He Ze swayed unsteadily.
“Quick, release the doves!” Zhou Xiao Yun transmitted again.
Two outer sect disciples quietly opened the boxes in their hands.
Six or seven doves fluttered their wings, flying toward the arena.
The crowd’s gaze was drawn to the flock of doves. Under the azure sky, sunlight filtered through the gaps between the white doves’ wings and sifted into fragments.
Meng He Ze used his sword to prop himself up, standing firm, alone in the arena, with light and shadow shifting unpredictably on his body, now bright, now dark.
Several pure white feathers floated down, landing in the pool of blood.
The gentle, sacred white doves circled and flew around him.
Fresh red blood dripped from his brow.
The extreme contrast created an extreme visual impact.
Meng He Ze smiled slightly. He was born with delicate features; even covered in blood, his smile had a kind of innocent shyness, blended with a cruel and violent quality.
It made people both fearful and mesmerized.
“Ding San Liu Wu Meng He Ze wins—” The officiating steward was the first to regain his senses, shouting.
The white doves flew away startled, and thunderous cheers erupted below the stage.
Zhou Xiao Yun recalled what Meng He Ze had said before, and only now understood:
“…Looking at just a face, it’s merely a wooden beauty, a powdered skull. If we want to be different from others, we need to create an atmosphere, give people a sense of participation, immersion.”
“But isn’t this price too heavy? Can Senior Brother Meng still fight in the next match?” she couldn’t help but worry.
Meng He Ze was very calm as he left the stage.
The outer sect disciples gathered around him.
Someone asked in a low voice: “The petals are prepared, shall we use them next?”
“Not yet, save something for tomorrow,” said Meng He Ze.
“Those lanterns that can fly up to the sky…”
“Light them for the evening round,” Meng He Ze said. “Watch for my hand signal.”
“All the other musical accompaniments—wind, string, percussion, and vocal—are ready too.”
“Good, I’ll change my fighting style for the next round. Be careful to avoid the stewards below,” Meng He Ze said.
His injuries looked frightening but weren’t as severe as they appeared. His mind remained clear, working rapidly.
The battle just now replayed in his mind as he began to analyze where he could have done better.
Instead, it was the outer sect disciples below who were more nervous than him, fearing mistakes.
“Senior Brother Meng, have we turned the tables this time?” Zhou Xiao Yun asked. “They all came to watch you, staring without blinking. The other arenas are almost empty!”
Everyone looked at Meng He Ze with hope.
But Meng He Ze shook his head:
“How could it be so easy? People enjoying watching you doesn’t mean they’ll vote for you. To make others willingly cast their votes, we still have several hard battles ahead.”
“Senior Brother Meng, we just went to adjust the position of the bronze mirror reflection, but we can’t ensure the light beam will hit you—at most there will be only one spot of light,” three or four people rushed over with urgent expressions. “We can’t use luminous magical tools at the sidelines, it would alert the stewards. What should we do?”
Everyone frowned with worry. For the dusk match, if the lighting and supplementary illumination issues weren’t resolved, it would inevitably affect the overall effect of their plan.
Meng He Ze pondered for a moment, then suddenly brightened:
“Senior Brother Song was researching light-gathering talismans this morning! Talismans are small and inconspicuous, more convenient to activate. So Senior Brother had already thought of this! As always, his considerations are meticulous and thorough!”