...
The next day, at the crack of dawn, Fushan Square was already bustling with a clamor of voices.
The disciples of Lingxi Peak arrived in groups.
Yang Jing walked among the crowd, his gaze sweeping across the square. He soon arrived at the foot of the tournament stage.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing that Fushan Square seemed a little different today.
Besides the familiar figures of the Xuanzhen Sect disciples from various branches, there were also some new faces dressed in lavish attire, carrying themselves with an extraordinary air. They gathered in small groups, conversing in low voices, their expressions a mix of anticipation, curiosity, and a hint of restraint.
"Ziheng, look over there. Why are there so many new faces?" Yan Chenglong had also noticed the change in Fushan Square and asked, somewhat puzzled.
