Stepping into the main lobby, Lao Xie took in the sight without much thought. Counters were lined up as always, disciples swarming them to check brackets, place their bets, or argue loudly about the day's results. Further in, the familiar passage stretched toward the colosseum within, where the arena platform stood surrounded by tiered seats and the roar of countless voices.
None of it was new to him, yet the atmosphere was undeniably more heated compared to the earlier rounds.
Lao Xie drew more than a few gazes as he stepped through the lobby. His name had already spread across the outer sect, and by now, he had somehow gathered his own group of supporters. Strangely enough, many of them were female disciples.
Whispers and gasps followed him.
"Isn't that him?"
"Look, that's Lao Xie. His match is coming soon!"
Some disciples craned their necks for a better look, their eyes shining with excitement.
"He looks even more handsome than you described."
"Right? And to think he was considered talentless not long ago…"
"Now look at him—already one of the rarest talents."
A few bold voices even shouted nicknames, titles they had playfully given him after his recent victories. Some praised his calm demeanor, others admired the mysterious way he fought without revealing his full strength.
Lao Xie ignored most of it, his steps steady as he walked the central path. Yet in the corner of his mouth, a faint smirk tugged at the thought of how quickly admiration could turn into something useful.
The noise grew louder as he moved deeper into the hall. By the time he passed through the final archway, the colosseum spread out before him in full view. Tier upon tier of stone seats rose high, filled with disciples waving slips of paper and spirit stones as they shouted over one another, either calling out bets or jeering at the fighters already on stage.
The air seemed thicker than before, charged with heat and anticipation. Compared to the earlier rounds, this was no longer a casual spectacle—every disciple knew the next few matches would decide who stood among the final contenders.
While a wave of whispers followed Lao Xie, another chant rose on the opposite side of the colosseum. A group of Ming Yu's supporters had gathered together, their voices united as they praised his name. Unlike Lao Xie's curious mix of admirers, Ming Yu's supporters carried themselves with sharp discipline, eyes filled with absolute confidence.
"Senior Brother Ming Yu will crush him easily."
"That Lao Xie's tricks won't last long. Against real talent, he has no chance."
The split in the crowd was clear—one side buzzing with awe and curiosity toward the dark horse, the other roaring with certainty for the long-established genius.
The roar of the Martial Hall blended into a restless hum as Lao Xie's steps carried him toward the arena platform. The sound of wagers, arguments, and heated predictions faded slightly when a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the noise.
"Outer disciple Lao Xie, step forward!"
It was Elder Mu's voice, echoing across the grounds.
A faint curl touched Lao Xie's lips. Behind the chanting of Ming Yu's supporters and the chatter of those convinced of his defeat, the elder's call rang clear. The crowd might believe he would be crushed, but he walked as though none of it mattered, his calm smirk an answer in itself.
The Martial Hall stirred even louder the moment he appeared in view. Cheers and jeers clashed with equal force, disciples shouting over one another about who would take the match. Some argued fiercely that Ming Yu's long-proven strength would leave no suspense. Others, caught by the mystery surrounding Lao Xie's past victories, insisted he was far from finished.
On the platform, Elder Mu stood in his usual place, hands clasped behind his back. As always, it was him officiating. By coincidence or design, every one of Lao Xie's matches had fallen under this elder's gaze. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Lao Xie ascend the steps.
"You're late again, boy," Elder Mu said, his tone clipped, though not without a faint edge of annoyance.
Lao Xie paused for a moment, his gaze distant, before turning to meet the elder's eyes. "I had matters to attend to." His voice carried no rush, only calm indifference.
Elder Mu exhaled through his nose, clearly unconvinced, but chose not to press further.
When Lao Xie shifted his eyes ahead, the figure waiting for him came into focus. His opponent stood poised at the opposite end of the platform, dressed in a neatly layered hanfu. The inner garment was a deep blue, its collar and sleeves showing beneath the outer folds, while the white outer layer draped cleanly over it, each line and fold sharp as if not a thread were out of place.
He carried himself with a natural elegance, his features striking enough to draw attention even without the reputation that preceded him.
Ming Yu's eyes locked onto his, the silence between them weighing heavier than the crowd's thunderous noise. For a moment, the two simply stood there, measuring one another without words.
It was Ming Yu who broke the stiffness first, his lips curving in a faint smile. "It has been a long time, Brother Lao."
Then Ming Yu broke it, his lips curving faintly. "It's been a long time, Brother Lao."
Lao Xie's answer came unhurried, his tone as steady as his eyes. "Nine years, Ming Yu."
A soft laugh escaped Ming Yu. "That long… so it has."
The words carried easily through the hum of the crowd, enough for nearby disciples to catch fragments. Confusion spread like ripples in a pond.
"What did he say? Nine years?" one whispered, leaning forward.
"Wait—are they saying they know each other?" another murmured, voice full of disbelief.
"That makes no sense. Ming Yu's been the sect's brightest talent for years. Lao Xie… he was nobody."
"Then how—?"
Guesses tangled through the stands, but not a single answer felt certain.
Far from the noise, Ling Ruxin sat in her usual quiet corner. The seats around her were empty, as always, her presence forming a silent circle within the restless tide of disciples. Her fingers paused on the edge of her sleeve as she watched the two figures on stage.
"He's facing Ming Yu…" she whispered to herself.
A low voice rose behind her before she could sink further into thought. "This will be a hard match—harder than any before, for both of them."
Ling Ruxin turned sharply. Surprise flickered across her eyes when she saw the figure standing there. "Elder Yao…?"
The woman offered a faint smile, her steps unhurried as she moved closer. "Did you think I wouldn't come?"
Ling Ruxin gave a small nod, her voice softer this time. "I just… didn't expect you to come. You missed two of his matches."
Elder Yao's smile held a trace of apology as she lowered her gaze for a moment. "I had some matters to handle at the Resource Pavilion. Couldn't slip away, no matter how much I wanted to." Her eyes shifted back to the arena, their calm surface glinting with a quiet edge of interest. "But this one… this match is different. It would've been a shame to miss it."
Without waiting for permission, she stepped closer and settled gracefully beside Ling Ruxin. For a while, neither spoke. The cheers of the crowd washed over them like waves against a distant shore, yet in the stillness between them, understanding seemed to bloom without words.
Elder Yao's gaze stayed fixed on the two figures standing opposite each other on the arena platform. Her voice, when it came — it was low and measured. "From the moment I saw the brackets, I knew this would draw every eye in the sect. But for me…" She paused, as if tasting the thought on her tongue before letting it go. "…for me, it's more than just a fight."