"The Ding San Liu Wu you're all talking about, didn't he just cripple his opponent yesterday? He's either a madman or already suffering from Qi Deviation. I don't have high hopes for him."
"Once the sixth round concludes and the support votes are tallied, he'll surely be eliminated!"
The Outer Sect disciples distributing the Colored Paper Slips felt frustrated upon hearing these remarks, but they had anticipated this.
It was an undeniable fact that Senior Brother Meng had lost control on stage yesterday—denials and excuses were pointless.
The essence of the mainstream style in exhibition matches lies in graceful precision and controlled restraint, much like Meng Heze's fourth round, which earned him flowers and cheers.
He calmly maneuvered against his opponent, ultimately overcoming strength with weakness, yet he knew when to stop, avoiding the gruesome scenes of bloodshed and broken bones.
"A little bloodshed is indeed necessary," Zhou Xiaoyun said with a charming smile. "I'm just afraid you won't dare to watch."
"Nonsense! We cultivators are no delicate flowers raised in a greenhouse. When we venture out to train, we wield our swords to vanquish demons and slaughter our way through battlefields—who among us fears the sight of blood? But this is the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals! That Meng Heze has a brutal nature and a savage fighting style. He's not following the proper path of our exhibition matches!"
The crowd spoke with righteous indignation, defending the authority and tradition of the assembly, then turned to head toward other arenas.
Yet, a few lines on the Colored Paper Slips had piqued their curiosity, and before long, their tone shifted:
"So, let's go take a look first, so we can critique him with solid reasoning! Otherwise, he won't know where he went wrong!"
Meng Heze made his entrance under the cold, disdainful glares of the surrounding crowd.
Today, he still wore his hair in a high ponytail but had forgone the Outer Sect disciple uniform, opting instead for a snow-white outer robe.
The young Sword Cultivator had delicate features, and his pristine white robes fluttered in the morning breeze, exuding an air of exceptional grace.
His entrance caught everyone's attention.
Soon, someone snapped out of it and sneered, "Does he really think changing into new clothes will make everyone forget his deranged state from last night?"
Across from Meng Heze, an Inner Sect disciple of the Huawel Sect approached.
The disciple wore the exquisite Magic Robe unique to the Inner Sect, hands clasped behind his back, strolling leisurely with a confident smile.
As the host of this event, the Huawel Sect had more participating disciples than other sects, so encounters between fellow disciples were common.
The two stood facing each other, but the other showed no intention of exchanging greetings or introducing himself. Instead, he remarked with a sigh, "This time last year, you were running errands and doing odd jobs for me, toiling all day just to earn a few extra Spirit Stones. And now, here we are, facing each other on the same stage. Truly, the path to immortality is full of twists and turns, and the will of heaven is unfathomable!"
He brought up the past not to reminisce or reconnect but to subdue his opponent without fighting, aiming to overwhelm Meng Heze with his presence from the start.
He intended to use Meng Heze's impatience and brutality to highlight his own calm composure.
Compared to madness and frenzy, effortless grace was clearly more likely to win over the spectators and secure their support votes.
Meng Heze merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. "After you, Senior Brother."
Before he had even finished speaking, his sword was already drawn.
But his opponent had anticipated this and launched a preemptive strike even faster.
Blades crossed with a sharp, grating sound, and a spray of blood arced through the air, splattering across the stage!
"Ah!" Gasps erupted from below the stage.
Since when did the first strike, right at the start of the match, draw blood?
The crowd, still somewhat drowsy in the early morning, felt as if they had been doused with icy water. Their eyes fixed on the blood streaming from Meng Heze's left arm, they were jolted awake in an instant.
The Huawel Sect Inner Sect disciple was even more astonished than the spectators below, momentarily stunned.
This wasn't a fatal strike—with Meng Heze's renowned Light Body Technique, evading it should have been effortless.As he thrust his sword, he had already anticipated several possible dodging routes his opponent might take. Unexpectedly, Meng Heze chose to endure injury rather than retract his sword for defense or evade the strike—all to ensure his blade pierced through the protective magic robe.
What kind of fighting style was this?
Gaining eight hundred at the cost of a thousand—a losing trade.
Did Meng Heze intend to exchange wounds for wounds, seizing the early combat tempo through relentless assault?
A foreboding premonition flashed through his mind. Without hesitation, he summoned a Protective Treasure Mirror from his storage bag, which hovered before him, gleaming brilliantly.
This elementary-grade protective magical artifact would require at least five consecutive strikes from Meng Heze to break. He had originally planned to reserve it for the next round...
Yet, the moment the mirror emerged, a deafening explosion erupted—a dazzling burst of sparks and flames!
The crowd instinctively stepped back in unison.
Meng Heze had also produced an elementary-grade defensive artifact, but without a second thought, he detonated it, instantly shattering the mirror.
Magical artifacts were difficult to craft and came at a steep price. In typical combat practices among cultivators, encountering enemies in the wild meant their artifacts could be claimed as spoils—repaired and reused after the battle. Who would simply blow them up?
This wasn’t an explosion talisman.
“Is Meng Heze truly an outer sect disciple? Such extravagance—two artifacts turned to dust, all for a mere spectacle?”
“You’re unaware—those weren’t bought by him. He won them at Yaoguang Lake. When it’s not your own possession, destroying it doesn’t hurt. It’s like setting off firecrackers during a festival!”
In the brief exchange since they stepped onto the arena, barely ten moves had passed, yet eight artifacts had already been destroyed.
The inner sect disciple Hua Wei’s expression shifted from grave to horrified—just how many artifacts did Meng Heze possess? The man was a madman.
As an inner sect disciple, not a direct disciple, even with substantial resources, he couldn’t sustain such profligacy.
Only the spectators below were treated to a rare visual feast, reveling in the kaleidoscopic bursts of light from the exploding artifacts.
For this extraordinary display of pyrotechnics, they itched to applaud and cheer, shouting in exhilaration.
“You should conserve a bit. What will you do after the martial trial? Run errands and do chores for me?” Meng Heze suddenly asked.
Coming from an outer sect disciple, these words struck his opponent as absurd, igniting his fury. He was about to curse aloud.
But his focus wavered, and another spray of blood flew—this time, not Meng Heze’s.
Sword strikes came in rapid succession, as if driven by an invisible pressure. The duel accelerated.
Meng Heze’s angles of attack were carefully chosen—the wounds he inflicted weren’t deep, but they drew blood. He even adjusted his position deliberately when injured.
Blood blossoms burst, splattered, and misted—a feast of crimson.
Meng Heze fought with brutal intensity, his white robes drenched red, indistinguishable whether the blood was his enemy’s or his own.
“Prepare the drumbeats,” Zhou Xiaoyun transmitted her message to the other outer sect disciples.
“Boom!” A drumbeat echoed from nowhere.
With every spray of blood, a heavy drum struck—short, powerful, and stirring, as if pounding directly into the hearts of the onlookers, sending shivers through them.
Amid the chaotic sword shadows, his opponent was forced off the arena by the relentless assault and crashed to the ground.
Silence fell below. No one spoke, only hurried panting could be heard.
On the stage, Meng Heze swayed, on the verge of collapse.
“Quick, release the pigeons!” Zhou Xiaoyun transmitted again.
Two outer sect disciples discreetly opened their cages.
Six or seven pigeons fluttered their wings, soaring toward the arena.
All eyes were drawn to the flock. Against the azure sky and beneath the sunlight, rays filtered through the gaps in the white wings, scattering into fragments.Meng Heze used his sword to push himself up, steadying his stance as he stood alone on the arena. The light and shadow on his body shifted unpredictably, flickering between brightness and darkness.
A few pristine white feathers drifted down, landing in the pool of blood.
Gentle, sacred white doves circled and fluttered around him.
Fresh crimson blood dripped from his brow.
The extreme contrast created an intense visual impact.
Meng Heze smiled. Despite his delicate features being stained with blood, his smile carried a blend of naive shyness and cruel ferocity.
It was both startling and mesmerizing.
"Meng Heze of Ding San Liu Wu wins—" The Deacon by the arena was the first to regain composure, shouting loudly.
The doves startled and took flight, while cheers from below thundered through the air.
Zhou Xiaoyun recalled what Meng Heze had said earlier and finally understood:
"...A pretty face alone is just a wooden beauty, a skeleton in rouge. If we want to stand out, we must create an atmosphere that gives people a sense of participation and immersion."
"But isn't the price too heavy? Can Senior Brother Meng still fight in the next round?"
She couldn't help but worry.
Meng Heze left the arena calmly.
Outer sect disciples crowded around him.
Someone whispered, "The petals are ready. Should we release them now?"
"Not yet. Save something for tomorrow," Meng Heze replied.
"What about those lanterns that can fly..."
"Light them during the evening round," Meng Heze said. "Watch for my signal."
"The musical accompaniment is also prepared."
"Good. I'll switch up my fighting style next round. All of you, stay alert and avoid the Deacons," Meng Heze instructed.
His injuries looked severe but weren't as bad as they appeared. His mind remained clear, racing through calculations.
He replayed the previous battle in his head, analyzing where he could have done better.
In contrast, the Outer sect disciples below were more anxious than he was, fearing any misstep.
"Senior Brother Meng, does this count as a miraculous comeback?" Zhou Xiaoyun asked. "Everyone's watching you, completely captivated. The other arenas are almost empty!"
Everyone looked at Meng Heze with hopeful eyes.
But Meng Heze shook his head:
"It's not that simple. People enjoying the show doesn't mean they'll vote for you. To earn their willing support, we still have several tough battles ahead."
"Senior Brother Meng, when we adjusted the copper mirrors earlier, we couldn't guarantee the light would focus on you—at most, we'd get a patch of light," three or four disciples rushed over, expressions urgent. "We can't use glowing Magical Artifacts near the arena; it'll alert the Deacons. What should we do?"
Everyone frowned with concern. If the lighting issue wasn't resolved for the evening match, it would inevitably ruin the planned overall effect.
Meng Heze pondered for a moment, then suddenly brightened:
"Senior Brother Song was studying the Focusing Light Talisman this morning! Talismans are small and discreet, easier to activate. So Senior Brother Song had already thought of it! He's always so considerate and meticulous!"
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