The population of Thousand Mountains Sect’s main planet, grandiosely named Tiantang, is estimated to be somewhere between two and three hundred trillion lives. Even on the scale of cultivation civilization as a whole, Tiantang is large enough to be top-10 in terms of size and populace.
However, among such almost infinite number of humans and other sentient life forms, less than a hundred billion are cultivators. And of them, only about two billion are good enough to be recruited by the hegemonic sect, in one way or another.
Which still makes the magnitude of Thousand Mountains Sect be utterly and thoroughly incomprehensible for a mortal mind, and the building of the Sect Arena reflects that.
Fresh out of the Relocation Array, it’s a good thing Yao Kang has already been here before: otherwise, his aching head would’ve spun even more.
Meant to host ten million at once, hundreds upon hundreds of seat rows that make up the Arena’s enormous height make Yao Kang tilt his head backward at an almost right angle just to see the Arena’s top.
At the entrance, hundreds of clerks guide people inside. The arena is nowhere near full today, so the lines are not as terrible as they usually are: not that Yao Kang would have to waste his time in them even if that was the case, of course.
He walks towards a special entrance, one segregated from the others, and greets the old man standing guard there. Well, standing is a bit of a strong word: the elder sleeps on the ground, his wrinkled face basking in the sunlight. The old man snores and his narrow chest moves up and down.
“Good morning, Uncle Guozhi. How it’s going?”
There is no reply, which leaves Yao Kang waiting in awkward silence. He knows better than to go in without permission though.
Soon, a cool sensation enters his mind, one not dissimilar to the way he’s talked to his mother.
“I had the urge to rip out someone’s tongue for disturbing my sleep. You’re lucky I like you, kid.”
Yao Kang looks down: Uncle Guozhi’s body hasn’t moved, his eyes haven’t opened and his mouth hasn’t uttered a sound. He, by all accounts, continues his slumber, but at least one of his souls seems to be awake.
It always amazes Yao Kang that a literal Sage, a man who can turn back time, serves as a glorified guard in this place. He pities anyone who dares to cause trouble here…
“I’m relieved that Uncle still remembers his favorite junior.” – Yao Kang replies.
Uncle Guozhi snorts but doesn’t refute.
“How’s your mother doing? – he asks.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, she promises to collect a drop of Rejuvenating Celestial Nectar for you as soon as she ascends.”
Uncle Guozhi clicks his tongue.
“Tsk, I was just being polite, I had no ulterior motive.”
“Does that mean you don’t want the nectar?”
Suddenly, Yao Kang feels his body being seized by an invisible hand that propels him through the door of the arena.
“Go in, go in already, you annoying brat.”
Yao Kang smiles and lets, not that he has much of a choice, the hand carry him to a VIP booth.
VIP booths – spacious, isolated rooms located at the very top of the arena – are reserved for Immortals and their families on important occasions, but, during non-busy days like today, Monarchs get the same privilege.
Three personal maids are waiting for him there, ready to fulfill his every need and desire, as well as a table full of the most expensive, sumptuous food and wine. Just the dishes here cost more than a cultivator under Sainthood could earn in their lifetime and, Yao Kang knows for a fact, any leftovers would be incinerated, even if he doesn’t touch a single grape. Immortals are pretty territorial about their things, after all.
It’s a miracle how many doors his mother’s name can open. This room, this food – is something that he should never be able to access.
Would my name ever carry the same weight?
Yao Kang sits down on a plushy couch, crossing his legs as his gaze falls on the large mirror, where a magnified view of the happenings down at the arena’s platforms is displayed. With his hand, he beckons one of the maids.
“Yes, Young Master?” – the maid questions, her voice sultry and ready to please.
“Put ten thousand gold on the 56th deathmatch today. Winner will be Deng Peng.”
“It will be done, Young Master. Anything else?”
“Find Liu Chen, a disciple of Swallowing Wale Pavilion, before that battle starts and relay a message to him.”
Yao Kang gestures his finger and the maid comes closer. He whispers something in her ear, after which she nods and leaves.
Ordering another maid to pour him a cup of wine, Yao Kang sips it slowly as his face breaks out in a cunning smirk.
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“Next!” – shouts the arena worker.
“Fucking finally.” – Liu Chen nags, irritated after waiting for almost an hour for his own match – “What takes you so long to pass people through, you incompetent fools.”
The clerk’s expression, hearing his words, becomes cold.
“Name and party size?”
“Liu Chen, six people.”
Taking out a jade slip, the clerk looks something up before he shakes his head, appearing almost apologetic.
“Sorry, we can’t let more than five of you pass at once. Someone will have to go to the end of the line.”
“What?! What kind of a stupid rule is that? I’ve never heard about it before.”
“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. One of you has to go.” – the clerk says, yet his eyes glisten with a mocking delight. Delight that doesn’t go unnoticed by Liu Chen.
“You bastard! Do you know who I am?!”
The clerk shrugs his shoulders in response.
“No one important enough, seeing that you had to stand in line.”
Liu Chen clenches his fists in rage, but even he realizes how stupid it’d be to start a fight in this place.
“I’ll remember you!” – he grits his teeth and turns to the men following behind him. They are the same drunks who’ve been at the teahouse a month ago – “Brother Fan, it seems you’ll have to return to the beginning of the line.”
“What?” – the man called Fan immediately reacts. Being picked out like this means that he, amongst all others, is the least important – “Why me? Let Chu Zhao go!”
“Shut up.” – Liu Chen blares at him – “Either you fuck off, or I’ll break your legs. Choose.”
Brother Fan takes a step back.
“Fine…” – he mutters – “I’m sure Brother Kang would’ve been able to get us in the VIP room, without this bullshit…”
“What did you say?!”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m going, okay?”
As Brother Fan walks away, Liu Chen addresses the rest of the group.
“Any more complaints? You can always get the hell out of my sight and wait for Yao Kang!”
No one answers, just as Liu Chen expects. All of them understand precisely why Yao Kang haven’t taken them into a VIP zone today: although he’s given them some excuse, in truth, they are being punished for making a ruckus that day.
Fucking cripple. Who does he think he is? Just wait, Yao Kang, when I become a Core Formation cultivator, you won’t be so arrogant anymore!
After the group has entered the Arena and Liu Chen is just about to go into preparation rooms for the participants, he spots a young woman, in a maid-like outfit, making her way toward him.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Excuse me, are you Liu Chen?”
Liu Chen grins.
“For such a beauty, I can be whoever you want me to be.”
The maid lowers her head in cute embarrassment – partly as a part of her training, partly to hide the disgust she experiences – before she speaks up again.
“Young Master Kang instructed me to transmit a message to you.”
Any excitement and lust Liu Chen has felt disappears in an instant.
“What does he want?”
“He says that, during the last month, he has spent some time watching Deng Peng practice in the Sword Pavilion. Young Master Kang urges you not to underestimate your opponent since he has developed much more than any of you could’ve expected.”
“That asshole!” – Liu Chen exclaims, causing his followers to gaze at him with unease: if Yao Kang knew about this outburst, he would, most likely, cut ties with them. No cultivator that cares about their face can allow such an insult to stand.
“He wants to humiliate me, doesn’t he?” – continues Liu Chen – “Wants me to be careful against some nobody so that I look scared and weak?!”
He pushes past the maid, storming off in a boiling rage.
“Young Master Chen, please wait!’ – the woman chases after him – “There is another part of the message!”
Liu Chen turns around, grabs the woman by her collar, and presses her against a wall. This woman isn’t a cultivator like the clerk outside and isn’t protected by the same rights.
“What else?” – he scowls, his hot malodorous breath dangerously close to the maid, his expression twisted by madness.
“He says…” – the woman gulps – “He says, that if Deng Peng’s sword glows red, you shouldn’t be afraid: it’s merely a ruse…”
Liu Chen laughs, caressing her cheek with a finger.
“Tell him to fuck off, will you, dear?”
The maid nods furiously.
“Go on then. It’s a shame I need to clean up some trash, or I’d have a lot of fun with you…”
He puts her back on the ground and watches as she runs away, like a spooked rabbit.
“Time to show them what being my, Liu Chen’s, enemy means!”
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Tens of thousands of people, looking at him, cheering at him. Liu Chen feels their energy course through his veins, their complete and unreserved attention, even if it is short-lived, instills in him excitement that can be hardly matched.
He glances at Deng Peng, the village idiot who dared to issue him a challenge. Liu Chen has done his research: the boy, just a few months ago, has been a mortal without any cultivation to his name. Even if he is talented, so what? How much can he progress? Can he match his 6th Shackle, 80% developed Dantian and semi-formed Spirit Root-level foundation?
Liu Chen licks his lips, already tasting the salty flavor of Deng Peng’s blood that would inevitably splatter after he pounds the boy into meat paste.
“You’re ready for round two, dog?”
Deng Peng doesn’t react: he grips his sword in both hands, his stance this time somewhat decent, and attempts to think instead of rushing in with blind abandon.
His collected countenance, however, doesn’t last for long.
“Someone seems to have trained this puppy well!” – Liu Chen taunts, speaking to the crowd. It erupts with glee.
“Go die!” – shouts Deng Peng, dashing forward.
Although his swing now shows signs of actual technique, it’s far from enough to surprise someone who has been training since he could walk.
Sneering, Liu Chen raises his hand to catch the blade. His skin has been toughened beyond mortal means and resisting normal swords should be no trouble at all.
His expression changes. His eyes widen, as, in this proximity, he starts to feel the too-familiar to him Qi surrounding the sharp edge…
“Qi Infu-“
The sword slices his palm in half, four of his fingers drop to the ground. Liu Chen screams, in a horrible high-pitched tone, and kicks Deng Peng in the stomach, sending him flying. He, himself, jumps back and takes out a large chicken’s leg from his pouch. Liu Chen eats it in a hurry, stuffs it down his throat, and the bleeding miraculously clots.
The palm, though, doesn’t grow back. He’s not at that level yet and using the regenerative talismans provided by his clan is prohibited in the Arena. Just one exchange has left him handicapped, causing any thoughts of easy victory to disappear.
“You… you used Qi Infusion, didn’t you? How?” – Liu Chen doubts, looking at his stump of a hand – “And that sword… Although it’s not an Artifact, it’s not made from ordinary steel either. Where did you get the money to buy it?!”
Deng Peng doesn’t entertain his questions. All of a sudden, his body begins to move five times faster and it becomes clear: the slowness, the sluggishness of his previous attack has been a ploy to injure his unprepared opponent.
“I said, GO DIE!”
Liu Chen, however, refuses to make the same mistake twice. Infusing his own body with Qi, he roars back. They begin to trade blows: one striking with a sword, gifting gnashes and cuts; the other with fists and kicks, which result in bruises and broken bones.
After a few minutes, Liu Chen in horror realizes that, although he continues to possess an edge in both strength and speed, the difference between them is not as drastic as it should’ve been. Uninjured, he could’ve ended this fight with reliable certainty: with just one arm though…
As panic sets in Liu Chen’s mind, Deng Peng stops and takes a deep breath. His sword shines with radiant crimson light and he brings it down at his enemy’s head.
‘A chance!’ – Liu Chen thinks, remembering Yao Kang’s warning – ‘I should’ve listened from the beginning… Ayah, I owe Brother Kang a bottle of good wine…’
Confident, he brings up his arm to block the blade and releases a full-powered punch at Deng Peng’s throat. A punch that would, no doubt, kill the damnable boy and put an end to this shit show.
Before it connects, however, the sword chops through Liu Chen’s forearm and hacks through his neck.
As his head separates from his body, two things happen in an instant. First is an extremely obese man, from one of the observing rows, getting up in shock before disappearing from the stands. Second is Uncle Guozhi opening his sleeping eyes, sighing, and disappearing as well.
The obese man emerges near Liu Chen. A piece of paper materializes in his hand, but, before he can use it, an authoritative voice halts him in his tracks.
“Five seconds, Liu Meilin, five seconds to leave before you suffer the same fate as your son.”
Liu Meilin raises his head and sees Uncle Guozhi floating in the sky, standing in the air as comfortably as he stands on the ground.
“You expect me to just let him die?” – Liu Meilin send a spiritual transmission, a method of communication only those who’ve evolved their souls can use.
“Rules are rules. Is your son important enough for you to challenge them?” – Uncle Guozhi replies, unperturbed, hands clasped behind his back. The presence he gives off, the Dao Aura that surrounds him sends shivers down Liu Meilin’s spine, despite both of them being in the same realm. He’s not the first Sage to be unsatisfied with the result of his child’s fight, nor is he the last. Yet, there’s a reason why, despite so many cultivators of Time Dominion-stage trying to bring their kids back to life, no one has succeeded under Uncle Guozhi’s watch.
Liu Meilin gives one last look to his dead son before he groans and vanishes.
“Deng Peng is the winner of this bout.” – Uncle Guozhi declares and smiles at the village boy – “Nice work, kid. Keep it up and you will go far.”
With that, he teleports back outside, to continue his slumber.
The crowd, after a minute of stunned silence, explodes with a resounding applaud – with Deng Peng being the target of their encouragement this time. It doesn’t care who to cheer for, after all, as long as there is blood and entertainment.
Amidst that cheer, however, there confused voices.
Why didn’t Liu Chen defend? The village boy was obviously using an incomplete Spell...
Who knows? Maybe he was too tired to think?
Or too stupid!
Deng Peng takes in the crowd's hail, before letting out a fulfilled smile and bowing – although no one knows that his bow of gratitude is meant not for the thousands before him, but for the one young man unseen in the VIP room above.
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Chortling, Deng Peng spills wine as he drowns alcohol straight from the bottle.
“Brother Kang, you are so smart! Everything went exactly according to your plan!”
“Liu Chen was easy to predict.” – Yao Kang, sitting across, says.
“Well, I couldn’t do it!” – Deng Peng coughs, choking on his drink – “You know, those people from the Sword Pavilion came to me after the battle, telling me how impressive I was. I don’t think they dislike me anymore.”
Noticing Yao Kang being quiet and deep in thought, gently swirling the wine in his cup, Deng Peng pats his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Brother Kang. After how much you’ve helped me, you will forever be my most important friend!”
Yao Kang chuckles and meets Deng Peng’s gaze.
“I envy you, Brother Peng.”
“Envy? Me?” – Deng Peng gestures at his chest with confusion – “What could you envy me for?”
“You have a bright future ahead of you. Although your other talents are not that good, your ability to gather and manipulate Qi would make you a formidable Qi Refiner. You could reach Void Grasp, maybe even further if you work hard enough.” – explains Yao Kang – “I just wish the Heavens would grant me the same chance.”
Deng Peng, already drunk to an extent where his actions are not entirely under his control, glances around at other people present in the inn. He then leans forward, almost planting his face into the table.
“Can I trust you, Brother Kang?”
“Of course, you can.”
“I’m actually…” – he hiccups – “I’m actually not talented at all. You see, back then, I was fishing at a river near my village. It was a normal day, a normal morning until a black mantis burst through one of the fish I caught.”
“I was so scared, I tell you, I tried to hit it with my rod, but it casually dodged and pressed me down, before it forced open my mouth and hopped inside.”
“I thought I was going to die… But when the mantis settled in my stomach, I somehow understood its purpose. I needed to feed it Qi of other beasts, which it would refine: taking half for itself and letting me have the rest.”
“That’s how I cultivate so fast. I just kill things and the mantis makes my Dantian grow.”
Deng Peng continues his story, but, at this point, Yao Kang has been consumed by greed so intense, words refuse to register in his ears. He stares at Deng Peng, drooling like an addict drools at True Paradise Leaves. If only Deng Peng hasn’t been drunk out of his mind, even someone naïve as him would’ve understood: Yao Kang he knew was long gone.
“Brother Peng.” – Yao Kang interrupts, his voice cracking underneath the nervous excitement – “I’ve forgotten that I got you a present.”
“You did?! What is it?”
“We need to go back to the Shadow Forest to get it.”
“Alright, just let me finish thi-“
Yao Kang grabs his wrist.
“No, it can’t wait. We have to go now.”
“Alright, alright… Brother Kang, can you free my arm? It hurts.”
“Sorry.” – Yao Kang apologizes, already near the exit door – “Don’t fall behind.”
Deng Peng strokes his wrist, which has turned red, before following.
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In the forest, surrounded only by its eerie sounds and tall trees, Deng Peng squints his eyes.
“Where’s the present, Brother Kang?”
“It’s here, but I’m afraid the present is for me.” – says Yao Kang, who, standing right behind him, pins a piece of paper to his chest.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t get an answer. The last thing Deng Peng hears is a swish, as Yao Kang’s fist crushes his skull with the same ease a sledgehammer cracks open a walnut.
His lifeless body falls on the ground, limp and motionless, but Yao Kang doesn’t care: he puts his hand through Deng Peng’s gut, searching for something until he grins like a man possessed and pulls back his arm.
A mantis is clenched inside his palm. The insect hisses, escapes his grasp, and pounces at Yao Kang: but the talisman he equipped activates, incinerating into nothingness and sending a ray of golden light toward the mantis. It freezes in the air and drops down.
Yao Kang picks the mantis up, as careful and cautious as if he held a newborn baby, and stares at it with a gaze that burns with ardent desire.
Just then, a terrifying pressure descends, arriving straight from the Heavens above, and a clap of thunder resounds, its soundwave knocking him off his feet.
When Yao Kang, brought out of his transfixed state, looks up, the previously clear night sky has been blackened by dark clouds that span the whole horizon. Lightning bolt flickers after lightning bolt, revealing a pristinely white gate in the midst of this darkness.
“Mother…” – Yao Kang mutters, putting the mantis in his pouch, before rushing back home.