"What? You're leaving?" Old Zhang exclaimed, his voice laced with surprise. They were in the small hut at the back of the Xing Wine Tavern, the setting sun casting long, melancholy shadows across the room.
"Yes," Xing Jue said, gazing out at the horizon, his eyes filled with anticipation. "Well, leaving Yun Zong City, to be precise. It's time for me to see more of the world."
Old Zhang fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You're right. With the strength you've gained, you need to test yourself. But remember, Xing Jue, the world is a vast and dangerous place, filled with individuals far stronger than you. You need to be careful, temper that stubborn streak of yours."
Xing Jue had told Old Zhang about his breakthrough to High-Rank Martial Disciple after returning from the mountain, carefully omitting any mention of the mysterious old man. Some secrets, he decided, were best kept hidden.
Old Zhang had been overjoyed to learn of Xing Jue's progress. Pride shone in his aged eyes. In a way, he felt like Xing Jue was a grandson to him, a child he had watched grow into a capable young man. It was this affection that had compelled him to accompany Xing Jue when he was disgraced and banished from the Xing Clan's inner circle.
And now, seeing Xing Jue standing tall, his eyes shining with ambition, filled Old Zhang with a profound sense of satisfaction.
"Don't worry, Old Zhang," Xing Jue grinned, his confidence infectious. "I'll be fine. You taught me well."
Old Zhang chuckled, shaking his head at Xing Jue's carefree demeanor. "Oh, you…"
"Come on, Old Zhang, you've taken care of me for all these years. Let me return the favor, just for tonight," Xing Jue said, stepping behind Old Zhang and placing his hands on the old man's shoulders.
Old Zhang might have treated him like a grandson, but to Xing Jue, Old Zhang was family – the grandfather he had never had. He owed him more than he could ever repay. As he massaged the tension from Old Zhang's shoulders, he vowed silently to ensure the old man's safety and well-being, even after he was gone.
They talked late into the night, their conversation punctuated by laughter and shared memories, until sleep finally claimed Old Zhang.
The first rays of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and orange as Xing Jue stood by the window, a single bag slung over his shoulder. "It's time," he whispered. He bowed his head to the sleeping figure of Old Zhang, a silent farewell, and then slipped out of the hut, leaving nothing but emptiness in his wake.
He didn't see Old Zhang standing by the window, his frail hand gripping the windowsill, a wistful smile on his lips, as he watched the young man disappear into the rising sun.
"Go," Old Zhang whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Go and make me proud."
Yun Zong City, a moderately prosperous city within the Yu Feng Empire, was under the joint control of three great Martial Families: the Xings, the Zhaos, and the Lüs. Every three years, they held a grand tournament, a display of strength and prowess, to determine which clan would hold the reins of power for the next cycle.
It was a day of festivities and excitement, a day that drew crowds from far and wide – merchants hawking their wares, nobles in their finest silks, and ordinary citizens eager to witness the spectacle that was the Tri-Clan Gathering.
At the heart of the city stood the Martial Arts Arena, a colossal structure of stone and steel, its banners fluttering in the breeze. Today, it would play host to the fiercest young talents of the three clans.
Ten burly guards, each radiating the aura of a High-Rank Martial Artist, flanked the arena's entrance, scrutinizing the invitations of those seeking entry. Golden invitations, a symbol of prestige and power, changed hands as wealthy merchants, influential officials, and members of the lesser noble families made their way into the arena.
Amidst this opulent crowd, a figure seemed woefully out of place – a young man dressed in simple, travel-worn clothes, his youth making him appear even more incongruous amongst the dignitaries and wealthy patrons. The guards eyed him suspiciously as he presented his invitation, their eyes lingering on his unassuming attire. The invitation, however, was flawless – a genuine golden invitation with the Xing Clan's seal.
"Are you done?" Xing Jue asked, his patience wearing thin as the guard continued to scrutinize the invitation. "It's real gold, in case you were wondering."
"You're Xing Jue?" one of the guards asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.
Xing Jue rolled his eyes. "No, I'm you. Can I go in now, or are we going to have a staring contest?"
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. The crowd behind Xing Jue was starting to grow restless. With a grunted assent, they stepped aside, allowing him passage.
Xing Jue ignored their scrutiny, stepping into the arena, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The Martial Arts Arena. He had once dreamed of standing on its sacred grounds, a symbol of the Xing Clan's power and his own future glory. Now, he was back, but as a stranger, an outsider.
He found a seat near the front, ignoring the curious stares that followed him. A plate of exotic fruits and delicate pastries sat on the table before him, a far cry from the simple fare he had grown accustomed to at the tavern. He picked up a plum, his gaze sweeping across the arena, taking in the sights and sounds of the gathering storm.
"Well, well, look who we have here. I didn't know they allowed servants to mingle with us folk," a familiar voice droned from beside him, laced with mockery and disdain.
Xing Jue turned to find Xing Feng looming over him, a smug grin plastered across his face. He had reached the Mid-Rank Martial Disciple realm; Xing Jue could sense it. Behind him stood Xing Shan and Xing Shui, the two brothers who had once trailed behind Xing Jue like lost puppies but had clearly found a new master to follow.
"I wasn't planning on coming," Xing Jue said, meeting Xing Feng's gaze. He knew exactly who was behind the invitation. "But someone sent me this invitation, and I happened to be in the neighborhood."
"Don't you dare talk back to us, you pathetic waste," Xing Shan snarled, his face flushed with anger. "You think you're still the prodigy everyone raved about? You're nothing but a servant now, and I'll throw you out myself if you don't know your place."
"Go ahead, try it," Xing Jue challenged, raising an eyebrow.
Xing Shan bristled. He was about to lunge at Xing Jue when their eyes met, and a shiver ran down his spine. For a fleeting moment, he felt a surge of pure, unadulterated menace emanating from Xing Jue, and the words died in his throat.
"Xing Shan," Xing Feng interjected, his tone sharply reprimanding, "You're one of the Xing Clan's most promising disciples. Don't lower yourself to the level of this… trash."
"He's right," Xing Shan mumbled, his earlier bravado evaporating. "Just a piece of trash, that's all he is. Hahaha." He and Xing Shui erupted into forced laughter, trying to salvage some semblance of dignity.
Their attempts to provoke him were met with indifference. Xing Jue simply smiled, ignoring them as he continued to enjoy his fruit. Their irritation only seemed to amuse him.
Xing Feng's eyes narrowed. "Just you wait, Xing Jue," he hissed, his voice low and threatening. "You'll regret coming here. You'll see the gulf that separates a useless nobody like you from a true genius." With that, he turned and stalked away, his lackeys scurrying after him like frightened rats.
"Young man, do you know them?" a middle-aged man sitting next to Xing Jue asked, his voice laced with curiosity. "Those are the Xing Clan's star disciples this year. Even the elders have high hopes for them."
"Don't know them," Xing Jue said, ignoring the man's question. "Hey, could you pass me those bananas?" he asked, pointing to the plate of golden fruit on the man's table.
The man stared at him, dumbfounded. He decided it wasn't worth his time and turned away, mumbling about ill-mannered youths.
Xing Jue wasn't really hungry. He just hated to see food go to waste.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the arena as all eyes turned towards the lavishly decorated platform reserved for the most esteemed guests. Three figures, exuding an aura of power and authority, emerged from the shadows.
Xing Tian, Zhao Shan, and Lü Ming, the Patriarchs of the Xing, Zhao, and Lü clans – the unquestionable rulers of Yun Zong City. Each one was a Mid-Rank Martial Master, their very presence commanding respect and even fear.
But it wasn't the Patriarchs who stole the crowd's attention. It was the fourth figure, an ancient man dressed in azure robes, who stood beside them. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the arena, and his demeanor radiated unmistakable power – power that dwarfed even that of the Patriarchs. Who was this man who commanded such respect from the three most powerful men in Yun Zong City?
The whispers died down as the Patriarchs and their mysterious guest took their seats. Then, it was time for the main event to begin. Ten figures, each radiating youthful vigor and confidence, marched into the arena and assembled in their respective clan's designated area – the cream of the crop, the future of the three great clans.
Xing Feng stood among them, a smirk playing on his lips. He allowed his gaze to sweep across the arena, reveling in the whispers and the admiration in the eyes of the onlookers. This was his moment. He would prove to everyone that he, Xing Feng, was destined for greatness.
He wasn't alone in his confidence. The other young talents, too, exuded an air of unshakeable arrogance and ambition. They were the best, and they knew it.
"Idiots," Xing Jue muttered, watching them from his seat. He had seen them fight, had seen their skills on display during clan sparring sessions. Xing Feng and Zhao Zhen, the Mid-Rank Martial Disciples from the Xing and Zhao clans, were the only ones who posed a remote threat, but even they were nothing compared to him.
As he was about to turn away, his gaze fell upon a figure seated in the back of the Lü Clan's section – a young man concealed beneath a wide-brimmed bamboo hat that completely obscured his face. Xing Jue couldn't see his features, but he could sense it – the aura, subdued but unmistakably powerful, that surrounded him. It was an aura that spoke of hidden depths, of power carefully restrained.
And there was something else… a faintly familiar feeling that prickled at the edges of his memory.
"Could it be…?" Xing Jue murmured, his eyes narrowing as a thought struck him.
He held his breath, his mind racing. If his suspicions were correct… The thought sent a thrill of excitement through him. This tournament just got a whole lot more interesting.
He tore his gaze from the mysterious young man and focused on Xing Feng, a slow smile spreading across his lips. Pity shone in his eyes – pity for Xing Feng, who was blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to unleash.
As if on cue, an old man, his beard as white as snow, stepped onto the platform. The crowd, sensing the start of the tournament, fell silent. He wasn't a member of the three clans, but he commanded immense respect within Yun Zong City. This was his domain, his stage, and he was about to raise the curtains on the most anticipated event in Yun Zong City.
The Tri-Clan Gathering was about to begin.