"You have a keen eye for talent, Zhao Fei," Tian Hao said, raising his glass in a subtle toast, his hand trembling slightly. The glass wavered, and a few drops of wine spilled over the rim, staining the tablecloth. He felt the warmth rising to his face, his breath catching as he forced a sheepish smile to cover it up. He quickly tried to cover it up with a sheepish smile. As he did, his mind raced through the layers of this interaction.
He wondered if Zhao Fei, beneath her composed exterior, had any vulnerabilities or hopes she hid from the world, much like his own. This conversation wasn't just about simple pleasantries—he needed an opening, a bridge to fulfill his quest, but also to understand her.
"I noticed your… appreciation for Liang Chen's demonstration earlier. The way you carry yourself… well, it's kind of like... you know, like a really well-trained cat. Strong but, uh, subtle?"
He paused, fumbling with his wine glass, spilling a little more, his eyes darting back to hers nervously. "I mean, not that you're a cat. Just that you have this... graceful focus. Like, if anyone could, uh, command the heavens with a flick of the wrist, it would probably be you. Or maybe a very disciplined cat." He gave a nervous chuckle, hoping the awkward flattery would at least make her smile.
Zhao Fei's lips twitched, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. Her posture seemed to relax, her shoulders loosening slightly, though her eyes remained guarded. She shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping lightly against the rim of her glass, as if considering whether to fully engage with Tian Hao's words or dismiss them. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Young Master Tian," she said, though the coolness in her voice had softened slightly, the wine taking the edge off her usual aloofness. "Though I appreciate the... compliment?" She took a sip of her wine, her gaze returning to the main platform. "Liang Chen is skilled. A true prodigy. It's what the Blazing Sun and Golden Feather Sects seem to lack."
"Indeed," Tian Hao agreed, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation towards her sect. "But tell me, what about the Azure Mist Sect? Your cultivation techniques are renowned for their elegance and precision. Are they as demanding as they seem?" He leaned forward slightly, feigning a genuine curiosity while secretly hoping for a clue, any hint that might lead him closer to completing his unusual quest.
Zhao Fei hesitated, then sighed, swirling the wine in her glass. "They are demanding," she admitted, her voice dropping slightly, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone. "Perhaps… too demanding." She took another sip, her gaze distant, lost in thought. "I've been stuck at a bottleneck for months now. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to break through."
Tian Hao's eyes lit up. He leaned closer, his voice softening. "Sometimes," he said, "it takes more than just sheer effort. Sometimes, it's about perspective, about finding a different approach. Or," he added with a mischievous grin, "sometimes, it's just about letting go for a moment, allowing yourself to experience… life's pleasures. Perhaps the answer you seek isn't in stricter disciplines, but lies outside of what the sect has laid out for you?"
Zhao Fei gave him a skeptical look, her eyebrow arching slightly. "Are you saying indulgence is the key to cultivation, Young Master Tian?" she asked, her tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "I doubt my elders would approve of such a… frivolous approach."
Before Tian Hao could respond, Elder Hua's voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the air, drawing everyone's attention. She stood, her posture rigid, her gaze sweeping across the assembled guests. "Honored elders," she announced, "I propose a friendly competition between our disciples. A display of skill, a testament to the dedication and discipline of our respective sects."
Elder Fang, his eyes gleaming with predatory eagerness, rose from his seat, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. "An excellent suggestion, Elder Hua," he boomed, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "A chance to witness the fruits of our cultivation, to see which sect truly embodies the spirit of strength and discipline. The Blazing Sun Sect accepts your challenge."
Murmurs of excitement rippled through the courtyard as disciples from each sect exchanged glances.
Liang Chen, his expression stoic but his eyes burning with a quiet determination, rose from his seat, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His opponent, a Blazing Sun Sect disciple with a cocky grin and a swaggering gait, stepped forward, his crimson robes billowing around him like flames.
Zhao Fei straightened, her eyes widening as she leaned forward in her seat. Her gaze locked onto the duel, her earlier conversation with Tian Hao fading from her mind. Tian Hao sighed inwardly. His quest, it seemed, was not going to be easy.
The two fighters stepped forward, each offering a formal salute. Liang Chen clasped his hands together, bowing slightly, his voice calm and respectful. "Liang Chen of Skyward Lotus Sect, honored to exchange pointers."
The Blazing Sun disciple smirked, mirroring the gesture with a hint of arrogance. "Fang Wei of Blazing Sun Sect, let's see what you've got."
The duel began with a sudden burst of motion. The two disciples circled each other, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust that hung in the air beneath the lantern's glow. The crowd leaned forward, murmurs fading to silence.
Liang Chen shifted his weight, each step a precise adjustment. His feet skimmed over the ground, toes pressing just enough to propel him forward. His eyes were sharp, watching every twitch of his opponent. Across from him, Fang Wei prowled, his movements heavy, deliberate.
Liang Chen's sword flashed first—a silver blur slicing through the air, but was deflected by Fang Wei.
Fang Wei pressed forward on his advantage, his strikes coming in hard, each blow a brutal test of Liang Chen's defenses. His confidence was clear, but Liang Chen did not falter. Instead, he danced around Fang Wei's attacks, his steps light, his counterattacks swift and controlled.
The air crackled as Liang Chen and Fang Wei clashed, their swords meeting in a blaze of sparks. Each strike reverberated through the courtyard, the clang of metal against metal pounding like a heartbeat.
Liang Chen moved with precision, each motion tight and efficient. He sidestepped a heavy swing, his feet gliding over the dusty ground, his eyes locked on Fang Wei's shoulders—reading the next move.
Fang Wei lunged, his sword slicing down in an arc meant to break defenses, but Liang Chen twisted, letting the blade whistle past him, his own sword flicking out, tearing through the robe of Fang Wei's unguarded flank, but failing to draw blood.
Fang Wei growled, his frustration evident as he pressed harder, his attacks turning wilder. He swung again, this time a brutal horizontal slash aimed at Liang Chen's ribs. Liang Chen ducked low, almost merging with the ground, his body coiling low before springing up, his sword tracing a silver path towards Fang Wei's arm. The Blazing Sun disciple barely managed to deflect it, stumbling back, his confidence visibly cracking.
Liang Chen's eyes narrowed. He could see it—the small shifts in Fang Wei's stance, the hesitation creeping into his strikes. Fang Wei's attacks lost their rhythm, each one more erratic, his Qi flaring uncontrolled as desperation set in. Liang Chen waited, his movements smooth and deliberate, biding his time for the perfect moment to strike.
Soon after, Liang Chen's eyes sharpened as he saw his chance—a subtle shift in Fang Wei's stance, a moment of imbalance. Without hesitation, he lunged. His sword cut through the air with a flash, a blinding streak of silver aimed directly at Fang Wei's exposed side.
Fang Wei's eyes widened. He twisted to block, but he was too slow. The blade hummed with a surge of Qi, a faint blue aura shimmering around it, amplifying the force of the strike. The air seemed to ripple, almost vibrating with the energy of Liang Chen's attack.
Fang Wei stumbled back, his robes slashed again, a dribbling line of red across his ribs staining his red robes a darker crimson. He gritted his teeth, his confident grin replaced by a grimace of pain. The crowd gasped, the tension breaking as murmurs spread among the onlookers.
Liang Chen held his position for a breath, then sheathed his sword with a controlled flourish. He bowed to his opponent, his face calm, unreadable. Fang Wei, still reeling, could only nod in return, his pride clearly wounded.
The courtyard erupted in hushed admiration, whispers of relief echoing among the spectators. "Did you see Liang Chen's technique? Flawless, absolutely flawless," one whispered, admiration clear in their voice.
"His composure was something else," another added, shaking their head in disbelief. "He didn't even flinch, not once."
"Think Fang Wei will ever recover from this?" a third murmured. "That was a pretty brutal loss—his confidence must be shattered."
Liang Chen turned and walked back to his seat, his steps steady, his expression unchanged, as if the duel had been nothing more than a formality.
Before the applause could die down, a young Golden Feather Sect disciple, his yellow robes gleaming under the lanterns, stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the assembled disciples with an air of arrogant disdain.
His eyes, sharp and predatory, lingered on Zhao Fei for a moment, a leer lightly twisting his lips before settling on Tian Hao.
"Perhaps," he sneered, his voice laced with a condescending tone, "the illustrious Young Master Tian would grace us with a demonstration of his… unique cultivation style?" His words dripped with sarcasm. "Or perhaps," he continued, his gaze shifting back to Zhao Fei, a predatory glint in his eyes, "he prefers to leave the real cultivation to those of us with… ambition?" He let out a mocking laugh, the sound echoing through the courtyard, drawing snickers from the Golden Feather Sect disciples.
Tian Hao felt his blood boil, his fists clenching at his sides. He could feel the weight of their gazes, the judgment, the expectation that he would crumble under the pressure. He knew he wasn't a match for this disciple in a traditional duel, but his heart struggled against the humiliation, against being made a spectacle for their amusement.
"Maybe it's best if the young master just sits quietly and keeps sipping his wine," another Golden Feather disciple jeered, his voice dripping with mock pity. "Wouldn't want to see the son of the sect leader embarrass himself in front of everyone, after all."
Another disciple added with a sneer, "Isn't it enough that he wears fine robes and enjoys the best food? Leave the cultivation to those of us who take it seriously."
Tian Hao could feel his heart pounding. He ground his teeth in frustration. His mind raced, weighing the consequences of staying silent versus speaking out. The mocking laughter, the disdain in the Golden Feather disciple's voice, it all scraped against his pride.
He had, so far, been content with his unorthodox approach, but now, with so many eyes on him, he felt the need to prove himself—not just to them, but to himself.
Another part of him couldn't help but see this as an opportunity—a chance to prove himself, not just to himself and the sneering disciples, but to Zhao Fei as well. Her presence seemed to magnify the weight of the moment, and the thought of her watching gave him an added surge of determination, pushing against his hesitation.
He briefly wondered, "What's the worst that could happen?" After all, he was the sect master's son. Yet, a tiny voice in his head reminded him that if he lost Zhao Fei's interest, if he failed to impress her, it could very well jeopardize his quest.
"Enough!" Tian Hao's voice rang out across the courtyard, drawing all eyes to him. He stood, his posture straight, his gaze only wavering slightly as he met the Golden Feather disciple's mocking stare.
"Oh no, what am I doing?" he thought, a small voice of panic rising in his mind. "I've never even been in a proper fight before!"
He could almost hear his own nervous laugh echoing inside his head, but he pressed on.
"I may not be the most… conventional cultivator," he said, his voice laced with a forced intensity, "but I assure you, I'm not afraid of a challenge," he bluffed.