Chapter 51

Niu Dashuai poured a cup of hot tea for Cen Qianshan, who was seated at the counter.
Cen Qianshan’s face was unreadable, but his hand clenched the cup twice before finally managing to hold it steady, nearly spilling the tea.
“Hey, no need to be so tense,” Niu Dashuai said. “You’re making me anxious just looking at you.”
His companion across the table didn’t reply. He just took a sip, letting the steam blur his expression.
“The real trouble is figuring out where they’re staying.” Niu Dashuai drummed his fingers on the table.
“Word is, every ten years or so, folks from the Immortal Spirit Realm slip over quietly, never announcing where they appear. If those delicate, glamorous immortal princes and ladies ever landed right in our wolf den, they’d never escape in one piece.”
“Someone must know,” Cen Qianshan spun the teacup slowly. “It’s kept under wraps, but every few years, something slips into the market, a unique artifact made with techniques nothing like ours. I’d bet anything it’s from the Immortal Spirit Realm.”
“We’re on the same page. I’ve always suspected some family over here is secretly working with them, helping them come and go, and doing a little trading on the side.” Niu Dashuai leaned in, lowering his voice. “From what I’ve seen over the years, I think... you know who I mean.”
He shot Cen Qianshan a look. Cen’s eyes flickered, and he set his teacup down carefully.
“Whatever happens, if Master is coming, I have to find her. I won’t let her land in danger.”
Niu Dashuai let out an easy laugh. “Buddy, you do worry too much. Mu Xue grew up here, didn’t she? She’s spent more years in the Demon Spirit Realm than you have!”
When Cen Qianshan glanced over, he quickly zipped his lips. “Alright, alright, enough. If she does come, we’ll treat her like crystal, like fine glass. I’ll help you guard her with my life, deal?”
Meanwhile, atop the Guiyuan Sect’s dueling stage, Mu Xue and Zhuo Yu’s match had already begun.
On one side, wild wind and slashing sleet; on the other, blazing infernos leaping to the sky.
Two stubborn, unyielding fighters, neither willing to back down.
The crowd below watched, jaws dropping ever lower.
“I, I honestly thought this morning’s match was as wild as it gets. Didn’t expect the next would be even crazier!”
“To be fair, Zhuo Yu’s skills are no joke. No wonder he’s got a bit of an ego.”
“Who’s that junior sister? I didn’t see her in the prelims.”
“You don’t know? That’s this year’s dark horse, Zhang Xiao Xue from Xiaoyao Peak, the ‘Snowbloom in Winter’ girl. Ten straight wins in the prelims; you probably blinked and missed it.”
The two on stage traded opening blows and both backed off, reining in their aura; with frost and fire pulled back, the world grew silent again.
The boy with the stormy expression let flames flicker up his arm as he spoke, voice low and challenging: “I’ve heard Uncle Xingtin from Xiaoyao Peak is a swordsman. Since fortune brings us together today, what do you say, we settle this with sword and fist? Let’s see whose path is sharper.”
Mu Xue twirled her frost-cold longsword and nodded briskly. “Agreed. Just you, me, and our skills, no Master-bestowed talismans, no cheat-code artifacts.”
The two locked eyes in solemn understanding, then dipped their heads as a signal.
In the next heartbeat, a crimson Immortal-Binding Rope and the whooshing Hunyuan Pouch appeared simultaneously in the air.
The drawstring-mouth of the pouch spread wide in the clouds, an abyss of swirling shadow, no sunlight, only gloom. Instead of releasing a gale as before, this time it reversed, sucking in with overwhelming force, trying to swallow up the sliver of red rope.
The rope, slick as a spirit snake, writhed and strained under that pull, inching reluctantly toward the gaping pouch. Just as it seemed about to lose, it froze in midair, all previous struggling a cunning feint. Suddenly, it unraveled like a blossom of velvet filaments, scarlet threads shooting out to wrap around the flapping pouch, binding the bag tightly in place.
Now the Hunyuan Pouch squirmed helplessly in midair, bulging left, swelling right, twisting in every direction. The red rope simply held fast to the bag, and, with comedic bravado, even sent out a thin “arm” to caress and tease the puffed sides, like it was playing with its prey.
A collective murmur rippled through the stands.
“That Zhuo Yu, such a schemer. Lucky our junior sister isn’t falling behind, either.”
“I can accept a bastard acting like that, but why are their artifacts such little scoundrels too?”
“Hey, these are the rules, trickery, artifacts, whatever gets you a win. Point is: whoever has deeper pockets and a thicker skin comes out on top!”
“Only players like these ever make champion. Anyone honest has been eliminated halfway by now.”
“Top ten disciples get a shot at the Righteous Path’s Demon Walk, headed for the Demon Spirit Realm itself, all for that fabled big chance. Out there, those demonic cultivators care nothing for your fancy etiquette!”
The instant the rope bound the pouch, Mu Xue flashed behind Zhuo Yu. Her sword shone with slicing cold, unleashing a snowy sword energy almost ten feet long, attacking all of Zhuo Yu’s key points.
Zhuo Yu swept his arms together. A low dragon’s roar rolled up from deep underground. Fire coiled around him, taking shape, a blazing dragon, still small but vividly scaled and furred, eyes radiant and fierce. It opened wide and spat out a stream of scorching flame, melting Mu Xue’s sword aura in an instant.
Mu Xue leapt backward. The fire dragon lashed its head and tail, flames rippling like molten lava, pouring down on her with unstoppable force.
The spectators cried out in alarm. Mu Xue’s three senior brothers and sisters shot to their feet, even the ever-unbothered Su Xingtin, usually fanning himself with indifference, strode forward to the very front of the platform, standing beside the sect leader to watch.
Mu Xue’s hand whipped out in a quick seal, and with a sharp command, three little tin puppets sprang forth. They whirred through the air, slotting together into three enormous black-iron shields, enclosing Mu Xue completely.
Flame poured over the shields; where fire touched metal, iron began to flow and melt. Even famed-for-strength black iron warped and ran beneath that terrible heat.
Molten metal dripped and light flashed, but inside the shield, Mu Xue’s red figure had disappeared.
“That’s unreal. Even a hatchling dragon, turning raw spirit into fire like that at his age? What a genius,” Su Xingtin muttered in reluctant admiration.
Sect leader Danyang sighed. “With talent like his, how could you expect me to give up on such a brilliant disciple?”
In the stands, the younger disciples whispered among themselves:
“So, he was still holding back during his fight with Xiao Changge?”
“His fire arts are brutal…I never really practiced fire spells since my teacher hates them, but now I’m rethinking that.”
“Honestly, I always thought he was cold and hard to approach, but, talent-wise, I have to bow my head.”
“Well, he earned it. You don’t know how hard he goes. Ten years on the mountain, always first to the morning lesson, lights burning in his room till daybreak. I’ve never seen him take a day off.”
“Then why does everyone act like they don’t like him?”
“Who knows? Everyone just complains about him, nobody can even say why. Guess we got used to it.”
In the sky, clouds of vapor and fire wove together, shrouding everything in mist. Amid them, a small, unassuming white cloud drifted quietly, its spiritual energy hidden. Mu Xue was crouched inside, unseen by all.
Genius really is a breed apart, Mu Xue thought, rubbing the burn on her wrist, a lesson for rushing in carelessly.
This senior was about her age, but his power was the real deal. If Mu Xue didn’t have memories from a past life, if she’d grown up as gently as him, she’d probably never match him on equal ground.
Zhuo Yu waited in the arena for a beat more, searching with his spiritual sense, but Mu Xue was nowhere to be found. He drew back the fire dragon, exhausted, and paced slowly through the scorched ground. Finally, he spoke:
“Why hide? You hate me like they do, right? So why not jump out, teach me a lesson, stand up for your fellow disciples?”
“Scared now? Admit it, you’ve got nothing on me.” Blood dripped from Zhuo Yu’s shoulder, a fresh wound from Mu Xue’s sword. He ignored it. “No matter how much you all hate me, I’m still the strongest of this generation.”
I’m about to be tournament champion, and soon, I’ll be the sect’s top disciple.
My master will finally be proud. No one will dare speak against me then.
“Why would I hate you?” A voice sounded behind him, sudden as a whip. “All you’ve really done is earn a notorious reputation. It’s not like you’re out here burning or killing people.”
Zhuo Yu spun fast, just as the fire dragon began to form, Mu Xue’s fist was already flying toward his face.
On that fair arm, a gauntlet forged by a black iron puppet clamped tight, her whole arm transformed into a hulking monstrosity, jagged with iron spikes. That iron fist tore straight through the blazing image of the Fire Dragon and crashed into Zhuo Yu’s face, sending him flying halfway across the stage.
“But you hurt my friend, and I can’t let that slide. This beating’s got your name on it, so you’d better take it like a man!”
With a teasing smile, Mu Xue’s silhouette seemed to melt into the shimmering Reflecting Sky Cloud. The iron plating around her arm sizzled and dissolved under the flames, but a fresh puppet zoomed to her side, shifting and morphing, armoring her leg in a brand-new shell.
Up in the stands, Ding Huirou, barely seated, clasped her hands. “Ah, this is… this is the Iron Armor Defense Art! I’ve covered it a thousand times in class, not one of my handpicked disciples has ever truly mastered it. But the girl who just sat in on a lecture or two? Xiao Xue just went and pulled it off, onstage, as if she’s been doing it all her life!”
She bit her handkerchief, shooting a glare toward Su Xingtin, who stood beside the sect leader. A bitter thought flashed through her mind,
It’s all his fault, stealing away my disciple! A born puppet master, wasted on the lazy Xiaoyao Peak. What a shameful waste of talent.
Zhuo Yu crashed to the ground, spit blood, and with a frustrated grunt, forced himself back on his feet.
Before long, Mu Xue reappeared behind him, sliced through his flaming shield, and, with a sweeping kick, sent him tumbling across the stage again.
This time Zhuo Yu struggled to get up, bent double and coughing blood, and only slowly managed to straighten up.
No matter where he looked, Mu Xue was nowhere to be found, he couldn’t figure out her trick, couldn’t see a way past her. A hollow, helpless sense of failure gnawed at him. Wasn’t he always the one everyone despised, everyone scorned? Only his pride had kept him going. And now, even that was being crushed underfoot.
“Just admit defeat.” The girl’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Even the referee by the stage piped up, “Zhuo Yu, do you concede? If you wish to forfeit, just raise your hand and we’ll end it.”
“No,” Zhuo Yu straightened, forcing strength into his voice. “As long as I’m standing, I will not yield. I’d rather die than give up.”
Mu Xue’s elusive form flickered all over the ring. Countless tiny puppets scurried frantically around the stage, making it clear she had endless weapons and defenses at her command.
Yet no matter how many times his face met her fists or feet, the battered, bruised teenager managed to stagger upright, again and again.
“Come on, stop, don’t you think he’s had enough? That’s just sad.”
“Hey, Zhuo Yu, just call it. There’s no shame.”
“Let it go, man. You’re not beating this junior sister.”
The crowd below the stage couldn’t help but urge him on, voices softening.
But the much-maligned boy stood stubbornly tall in the center of the ring, flames blazing around him, refusing to be snuffed out.
Watching him dig in his heels, even Mu Xue felt a rare flicker of sympathy. Whatever grudge they’d had, she’d already vented it in full. Sometimes, stubbornness like that was almost admirable.
But she had no intention of forfeiting her title. Mu Xue didn’t hand out victories, no matter how pitiful her opponent.
Suddenly, her voice echoed overhead, “Let’s be real. You wouldn’t be here if the sect leader didn’t have a soft spot for you, right?”
“Wh-What did you say!” Zhuo Yu’s swollen eyes snapped wide, voice bristling with outrage.
“You don’t know what it’s like for a kid who’s really bullied.” Her voice, icy and precise, seemed to drift from nowhere. “Kids like that… they never dare act out. When you’re crushed by malice you can’t fight, surviving means shrinking yourself down, scraping by, killing every bit of childishness just to make it through.”
Mu Xue stepped down from the clouds, pausing just outside his circling wall of fire. “But you? You’re just a spoiled kid, breaking rules and pouting because the grown-ups like you too much.”
“Nonsense!” Zhuo Yu’s eyes reddened, stubborn tears trembling. “You have no idea what I’ve lived through! With what right do you judge me?”
“And you know who’s suffered, and who hasn’t?” Mu Xue laughed, soft and sharp. “There are countless tragic backstories in this world, but not everyone acts like a drama queen the minute things go wrong. Not everyone rails against the universe like you, shouting and scowling, as if one setback is the apocalypse.”
“I have a senior brother. He grew up an orphan, begging on the streets. You think the contempt and abuse he faced were any less than yours?
But he’s always been warm and bright, surrounded by friends here on the mountain. Every year, when new disciples arrive for the Xiumu Butterfly trial, he’s the one who personally goes out to meet them, guiding and comforting them with endless patience. They even changed his old nickname, he’s just called ‘Ye Hangzhou, Ferryman of the Night’ now.”
In the stands, Ye Hangzhou coughed awkwardly and shrank back in his seat, embarrassed.
“And I have a senior sister. Fate threw her into chaos; she watched her closest family die right in front of her, nearly starved in a famine herself. But hardship didn’t make her bitter. She just learned to cook like nobody else, becoming the kindest senior sister you’ll ever meet.”
“She means Senior Sister Miao, right?”
“The chef, Miao Hong’er? Dude, besides cooking, she’s got nothing in common with this story.”
“Those Xiaoyao Peak people really do overhype their own.”
The disciples in the crowd started to whisper and snicker.
Miao Hong’er preened in her seat, fussing with her hair, delighted. “Oh, Xiao Xue, you’re too much. I wasn’t all sweetness growing up either, honestly, I was probably just as much trouble as that Zhuo Yu down there.”
“And there’s someone else I know, a boy sold into slavery as a kid. Whipped and tortured every day. Later he met his Master, who gave him a tiny sliver of care and hope, and…” Mu Xue hesitated, not going into details, “he still grew up to be a truly good man.”
Mu Xue’s voice grew firmer. “So then, tell me: who else acts like you? Did the sect leader treat you cruelly? Did your elders beat or starve you? Speak, go on, tell us!”
Zhuo Yu just stood frozen, right in the center of the ring. The floor’s flames lost their heat, dwindling to a faint shimmer. It was hard to say if Mu Xue had beaten the fight out of him, or if her words had finally shaken his heart, breaking through his spirit and burning up what little was left of his energy.
Mu Xue seized her moment and reappeared behind him in a flash, grabbing his arm before he could react, pinning his pressure point and Great Vertebra acupoint. He was immobilized and forced to the ground where the flames had died out.
"Admit defeat? Never! Don't even think about it!" The ambushed boy was furious, thrashing to break free.
"Honestly, I’ve never met anyone as idiotic as you. Everyone’s biased against you, sure, but at least you have an elder who’d go through fire for you, he’s ruined his own reputation protecting you all this time," Mu Xue’s tone was ruthless as she tightened her grip. "Instead of working hard to change people’s minds, you just make more trouble wherever you go. Aren’t you just dragging your master down with you?"
"Liar, I fought for first place in the tournament for my Master’s honor!"
"You really think so? Injuring your fellow disciples so brutally on the field, how does that not bring shame on your teacher? All you’re doing is wrecking his reputation," Mu Xue pressed on, merciless. "Have you not noticed how the sect leader’s hair is falling out just worrying about you?"
On the viewing platform, Danyang touched his still-rather-thick white hair, then glanced at Su Xingtin beside him,
"You’ve trained your little disciple well, her tongue’s something else. I think maybe that beating will sort out Zhuo’er’s issues for good."
Su Xingtin bowed slightly, "It's my fault for spoiling her day to day, she has no sense of restraint. If Sect Leader doesn’t blame her, I’m grateful."
Danyang stroked his long beard and shook his head, "No blame, none at all. I should probably be thanking her instead. Honestly, when it comes to raising disciples, I’m no match for you, brother. Only someone as attentive and caring as you could raise a group of disciples with such good hearts."
"The sect leader carries the fate of our whole school," Su Xingtin opened his folding fan, smiling. "I'm nothing like you, I've always been lazy, just focusing on my little patch of ground and these few kids."
Su Xingtin paused, then continued, "But, brother, if you already know this kid is under so much pressure, you should really pay closer attention to him. After all, people aren’t tools, you can’t just fix or recast them. At his age, kids are all nerves and feelings. They need a little extra care."
Up on the stage, Mu Xue was losing her patience, still pinning Zhuo Yu’s neck, her fingers squeezing tight. "Admit defeat, or I’ll end you."
The boy pinned to the ground had just one hand free, clutching the earth in a death grip, refusing to budge no matter what.
"Come on, just give in already. Losing to someone from your own sect isn’t the end of the world."
"Second place is still amazing. You’ve earned our respect."
"Just surrender, stop being so stubborn. There’s nothing wrong with it."
From the stands, voices started calling out in support, urging him to let go.
The boy’s knuckles were white, veins bulging in his hands as he gripped the dirt ever tighter.
Mu Xue felt awkward. Threatening to kill him was all bluff anyway; he wouldn’t listen, and she didn’t really want to keep pounding on him either. Loosening her hold, she considered just knocking him out or tying him up and tossing him off the stage.
Just then, two streaks of light flashed down onto the stage.
Sect Leader Danyang and Su Xingtin landed beside Mu Xue. Su Xingtin gave her a nod. "That’s enough, Xiao Xue. You’ve won this one."
Mu Xue let go and moved to stand at her master’s side, the champion of the sect tournament. Bouquets sailed up from the crowd, and applause echoed throughout the hall.
Even someone who’s lived two lives couldn’t help but show off a little: "Master, how about that?"
Her master leaned close, unable to hide his grin. "Keep it together, just a bit, save the celebration for when we’re home."
The new champion was soon swept away by a crowd of admirers.
Zhuo Yu pushed himself up out of the mud, his arm broken, caked in blood and dirt, a spectacle of misery he’d never known before.
His beloved teacher had come down from the stands especially for him. The old man, hair snowy white, still as gentle as ever, reached out his hand just as he had in ages past.
"Up you get, Zhuo’er." Danyang helped him to his feet.
This disciple had risen early, trained late, toiled relentlessly for years, yet now, here he was, utterly consumed by winning and losing. Maybe it was his own fault for being too busy to pay him enough attention along the way.
"Master, it’s my fault. I lost. I failed to take first place," Zhuo Yu bowed his head.
He'd lost, yet he didn't feel nearly as crushed as he'd imagined. Oddly enough, he felt a kind of relief he couldn’t name. He wiped the blood from his face and looked past his master. The crowd below was chaotic, but not filled with the jeers he’d feared. Instead, dotted throughout, some of the younger disciples were actually clapping for him.
His master’s voice rang gently in his ear, "Zhuo’er, we cultivators aren’t like ordinary folk. It’s not the ranking that matters in victory or defeat, do you know what really counts?"
Zhuo Yu was still fuzzy, "What is it?"
"It’s about the strength of your Dao heart," Danyang’s thin hand tapped his chest. "Whether you can cling to your true self in life-or-death moments. Whether battling through danger has loosened any shackles on your spirit. That is what truly counts, win or lose. Do you understand, Zhuo’er?"
Zhuo Yu clenched his fists, then let go. He knelt. "Yes, Master. Thank you for your teachings. I really just wanted to, "
Whatever he wanted to say, he left unsaid. But the teacher who’d raised him all these years understood perfectly well.
"You have always been my most outstanding disciple. I’ve always been proud of you. Seeing your growth through this duel has made me truly happy."
Zhuo Yu kept his head low, standing respectfully, but his eyes were red now.
Danyang looked down at his ever-respectful little disciple, then over to that other kid by Su Xingtin’s side, laughing and teasing his master as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He remembered what Su Xingtin had said not long ago.
The old man, a little awkward at first, tried to imitate Su Xingtin, gently patting his disciple’s head. "If you ever want to come over here and act cute with me like they do, that’s perfectly fine."