### Chapter 38: The Tournament Begins
Dawn painted the sky in soft hues as the Dianxuan Sect's once-in-three-years tournament kicked off. Representatives from the other three major sects in the Xuanyin Mountains—Mengxuan Sect, Xuanling Gate, and Xuanfeng Cave—arrived as customary observers. But their interest lay solely in the inner sect matches; the outer sect's battles held no allure for them.
The outer sect tournament was relegated to a flat clearing west of Lingwu Mountain, while the inner sect competed east of the peak. In the sect's hierarchy, east symbolized honor—a silent reminder of the gulf between inner and outer disciples. Overseeing the outer sect matches were two elders, their dissatisfaction palpable. Stuck adjudicating low-stakes battles while their peers presided over the prestigious inner sect clashes, they radiated barely concealed resentment.
…
The western clearing teemed with over five hundred outer disciples. Ranging from teens to forty-somethings, they formed a lively throng. Those unqualified to compete (below the Second Level of Qi Refinement) ringed the field in a half-circle, while the eligible stood in ten neat rows, their faces alight with excitement.
Outer disciples were a motley bunch: most bore Four Spiritual Roots, with only a handful—like Lin Yi—cursed with Five. Lin Yi, in fact, owed his place to a stroke of luck: saving Elder Lei years prior. Any disciple with Three Spiritual Roots was immediately inducted into the inner sect, a privilege the outer disciples could only dream of.
At the front of the eligible rows stood Mu Rongfeng, his reputation as the outer sect's strongest earning him the prime spot. Lin Yi, despite being the sect's newest Fourth Level cultivator and second only to Mu Rongfeng in others' eyes, lingered不起眼 in the middle of the fifth row.
Even so, he felt the eyes around him—admiration mingled with envy. Fellow disciples greeted him warmly, and he replied with easy affability, disarming any lingering resentment. Small talk flowed, forging tentative bonds—until a cold prickle of杀意 jolted him.
He glanced up to find Yan Song, one of the thugs who'd harassed him at his cottage, glaring daggers. Yan Song's lips curled into a sneer, his hostility unmasked.
"Pathetic," Lin Yi muttered. "If you've got guts, settle it in the ring. Staring won't win you anything."
He returned to chatting, ignoring Yan Song's simmering rage. *Enjoy your moment of glory*, Yan Song fumed. *Mu Rongfeng will crush you soon enough.*
Beneath the buzz of conversation, a long table draped in yellow cloth stood opposite the disciples. Behind it sat the two elders and two outer sect stewards, with a scribe poised to record results. The mood shifted as one elder snapped, "Steward Qiao, begin the proceedings."
Steward Qiao rose, bowing deeply. "Silence!" His voice cut through the din. The crowd quieted, and he launched into a tedious speech—recounting the tournament's history, praising past glories, and urging the disciples to strive for greatness. It was the same rhetoric spouted every three years, and veteran disciples stifled yawns, their patience wearing thin.
Finally, he reached the climax: "Let the 65th Outer Sect Tournament begin!"
A roar of applause erupted. "All eligible disciples, draw lots at Steward Zhang's table!" Qiao sat, relieved to be done with the formalities.
Steward Zhang presided over a wooden box holding 406 tokens, each marked with a number. Disciples lined up to draw, then registered their numbers with the scribe—measures to prevent cheating. An unspoken rule governed the outer sect: any Fourth Level cultivator automatically qualified for the top ten finals. Mu Rongfeng, who'd reached Fourth Level five years prior but missed the last tournament, should've competed in the inner sect by now. Yet here he was, alongside Lin Yi, at the opening ceremony.
Once the draws concluded, the real matches were set to start. Neither Lin Yi nor Mu Rongfeng cared to watch lower-level bouts. They departed simultaneously, their paths crossing at the stone steps leading downhill.
Mu Rongfeng's eyes narrowed, a flicker of malice in his gaze. "Our duel is inevitable. You've had your moment in the sun—don't disappoint me in the ring."
"Tch, whatever," Lin Yi scoffed, striding past without a second glance.
In the Yunmeng Marsh, he'd slain countless Fourth and Fifth Level cultivators. Mu Rongfeng's posturing amused him. Even without relying on the *Five Spirits Body Tempering Technique*, Lin Yi was confident of victory—his spiritual energy, mutated by the technique, carried a subtle nobility that gave him an edge. Besides, he planned to break through to the Fifth Level before challenging the core disciples.
Mu Rongfeng's fists clenched, knuckles whitening. *Arrogant fool*, he seethed. *I'll make you regret those words.*
…
Back at his cottage, Lin Yi immersed himself in studying the *Guicang Sword Art*. Pan Yu, oblivious to his return, meditated outside, his focus unwavering. Freed from menial tasks and fueled by Lin Yi's generosity, he clung to the hope of shining in the next tournament.
Lin Yi divided his nights: first half cultivating the *Eternal Life Art*, second half honing the *Five Spirits Technique*. Without concentrated spiritual energy sources, tempering his meridians through ambient qi进展缓慢; only a couple had strengthened noticeably. Still, he inched closer to the peak of the Fourth Level, his *Eternal Life Art* refining the last dregs of energy from the Great Replenishing Pills.
The *Guicang Sword Art* continued to baffle him. Its three stances hid infinite variations, a puzzle he'd only begun to unravel. But with the tournament looming, he prioritized mastering its basics—relying on pure spiritual energy and swordplay in the ring, lest the elders detect the *Five Spirits Technique*'s异样 power.
As night deepened, Lin Yi's breathing steadied, his aura swelling faintly. The Fourth Level peak was within reach—and with it, the strength to challenge even greater foes.