“You have a keen eye for talent, Zhao Fei,” Tian Hao said, raising his glass in a subtle toast, only to accidentally spill a little wine in his nervousness. 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… there's a quiet strength there, a disciplined focus that’s rare among cultivators our age.” He paused, taking a sip of his wine, his eyes meeting hers. “I sensed a similar focus in you during the formation demonstration. It’s as though you could command the very energy of the heavens with just a flick of your wrist.” He hoped the flattery, while slightly exaggerated, would at least pique her interest.
Zhao Fei’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. For a moment, 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. This was it – an opening. 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, a mix of eagerness and apprehension in their eyes. 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 attention completely captivated by the unfolding events, her earlier conversation with Tian Hao forgotten. Tian Hao sighed inwardly. His quest, it seemed, was not going to be easy.
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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 formal exchange, while brief, held the weight of tradition, a mutual acknowledgment of skill before the clash.
The duel began with a flurry of motion, the two disciples circling each other warily, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust that hung in the lantern-lit air. The crowd leaned in, their murmurs growing hushed, a collective tension palpable in the atmosphere. Each step was deliberate, their bodies poised, the energy crackling around them like a brewing storm, vibrating with barely-contained power. Liang Chen, his movements fluid and precise, deflected his opponent's attacks with effortless grace, his sword a blur of silver in the lantern light. The Blazing Sun disciple, his movements more aggressive, more forceful, pressed his attack, his fiery energy radiating outwards in waves.
The air crackled with the clash of opposing energies, each strike sending vibrations through the courtyard. The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through the air, punctuated by the gasps and murmurs of the assembled guests. Liang Chen fought with a quiet intensity, his movements economical, his focus unwavering. He deflected his opponent’s attacks, waiting for an opening, his eyes searching for a weakness, a vulnerability he could exploit. The Blazing Sun disciple, his initial confidence wavering, grew more reckless, his attacks becoming wilder, less controlled.
After a tense exchange of blows, Liang Chen, sensing an opening, lunged forward, his sword arcing through the air in a blinding flash of silver. As he struck, his blade seemed to hum with an added surge of Qi, a faint blue aura shimmering along its edge. The energy amplified his strike, the air rippling around the blade as it cut through with precision and force. Fang Wei, caught off guard, stumbled back, his crimson robes torn, a thin trickle of blood tracing a path down his arm. Liang Chen, his expression unchanged, bowed respectfully to his opponent before returning to his seat, the murmurs of admiration and relief echoing through the courtyard.
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 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, his tone implying that Tian Hao was nothing more than a spoiled, talentless wastrel. “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 he refused to be humiliated, to be 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, a mixture of anger, and frustration rising within him. 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 like a whetstone against steel. 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.
A part of him couldn't help but see this as an opportunity—a chance to prove himself, not just to 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 him past 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 unwavering as he met the Golden Feather disciple’s mocking stare. A slow smile spread across his face.
'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.