Chapter 496: The Martial Arts Tournament Begins

Before the sky had even brightened, Cheng Feng woke up.

He lay in the darkness with his eyes open for a moment, the sound of drums faintly reaching his ears from afar, beat by beat, neither hurried nor slow.

That drumming had not stopped since last night, but it was closer now, as if it were traveling directly from the Great Drill Ground in the center of the city into the courtyard walls of Lan Yuan.

Cheng Feng rolled out of bed and pushed the door open to go out. A few lingering stars still hung at the edge of the sky, and the air was filled with the scent of sugar-roasted chestnuts mixed with cooking smoke; the old man at the mouth of the alley had already set up his stall.

He took a deep breath of the cool morning air, and the slight tightness in his chest instead settled down.

The lights were on in the front hall. Huo Luan was already sitting there, wearing a crisp black martial outfit, the cuffs embroidered with cloud patterns in silver thread, her dark hair pulled up high and secured with a small jade crown.

She was wrapping protective bandages around her wrists, circle by circle, her movements very slow, as if performing some kind of ritual.

Liu Yu sat beside her, that Narrow Saber hanging at her left side, the scabbard wrapped in coarse cloth, revealing only a section of the tsuba, which glinted with a cold light.

"Up?" Liu Yu glanced at Cheng Feng. "The kitchen has hot porridge and steamed buns; eat before we go."

Cheng Feng gave an "mm," went to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of porridge and a few buns, and ate them in a few mouthfuls along with some pickled vegetables.

Gu Niangzi also came out from her room, holding the last bun and eating it in small bites.

She was wearing a deep cyan short-sleeved martial outfit today, the skirt hem altered into trousers, her hair coiled extremely tightly, not a single stray strand on her forehead.

That Red Armored Beetle was perched on her shoulder, its wings folded tight, as if it too sensed the difference in today.

Wang Ji was the last to come out.

By the time they finished breakfast, the sun had already risen.

Led by Wang Ji, the group left Lan Yuan, and the sky had completely brightened. The streets outside the Great Drill Ground were packed with people.

There were commoners here to watch the competition, Martial Artists who had rushed in from all over, scions of noble families carrying swords and sabers, and peddlers selling melon seeds and peanuts.

There were also groups of betting brokers wearing various colored vests weaving through the crowd, shouting out the odds for this team or that person. The entire street was like a pot of boiling porridge.

After passing through two checkpoints, having their registration plates verified, and walking through a long bluestone corridor, the view suddenly opened up.

The Great Drill Ground was shockingly large. The square venue was hundreds of zhang long and wide, the ground paved with large blocks of dark blue-black hard stone, the surface covered in old marks from saber slashes and axe chops, with dark brown stains remaining in some places, as if ancient Blood Seals had seeped into the stone.

Circular spectator stands had been erected all around, likely holding tens of thousands of seats, and they were already seven or eight-tenths full by now. The sound of people was like a tide, pouring in from all directions, vibrating until one's eardrums hummed.

On the high platform to the north sat a wide purple sandalwood desk, and behind the desk was a row of chairs covered in bright yellow silk, where several people were already seated.

Cheng Feng raised his head and looked from afar; he could not see their faces clearly, only vaguely perceiving official robes, python robes, and several piercing, snow-bright gazes.

On both sides of the high platform, a dozen or so slightly higher viewing stands had been set up, constructed from green bamboo and plain silk, their style elegant and completely out of place with the surrounding clamor.

There were not many people in those places, no more than three or five in each, but every person sitting there made Cheng Feng instinctively feel a chill.

Like facing a formidable enemy.

Are these the people from the Immortal Sect?

They were not dressed particularly luxuriously, some even wearing nothing but coarse hemp Daoist robes, but the composure that emanated from their very bones, compared to the sweltering heat of the tens of thousands of people in the arena, felt like two different worlds.

Cheng Feng only swept a glance and withdrew his gaze, not staring for long.

Some things, if looked at too intensely, would instead attract unnecessary attention.

However, some of the stands were occupied, while others were empty.

Cheng Feng did not know what this situation was...

The teams from various prefectures, noble families, and sects arrived one after another.

Cheng Feng stood at the edge of the field, observing those people with the corner of his eye. Some teams wore uniform standard-issue martial outfits and stood straight, clearly from the military;

Others wore varied clothing, in twos and threes, but their eyes were one more vicious than the next;

There were also a few teams with the most imposing momentum; though their numbers were few, every one of them exuded undisguised True Qi fluctuations, and the leaders were even more unfathomable.

"Damn, these are all young True Qi Realm Martial Artists."

Huo Luan suddenly lowered her voice and pointed with her chin to the left: "Look over there, the people from the Pingbei Prince Mansion."

Cheng Feng looked in the direction she pointed and indeed saw a team of men in dark red martial uniforms, five in total. The leader was a man in his thirties with a slender build, holding a Point Steel Spear taller than himself; the spear tip was wrapped in oilcloth, and the spear shaft was pitch black, gleaming with an oily sheen.

That man seemed to sense the gaze, turned his head to sweep a look this way, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's.

Huo Luan grinned at him, but the other party showed no expression and turned back.

"Zhou Tieyi," Liu Yu said in a low voice. "The eldest son of the Pingbei Prince. True Qi Realm Mid-stage. Those four retainers beside him are all battle-hardened veterans retired from the military, with extremely tacit coordination."

Cheng Feng memorized Zhou Tieyi's appearance and shifted his gaze to the other side.

The team over there was even more eye-catching: five people in identical snow-white long robes, the collars and cuffs embroidered with golden flame patterns, swords at their waists, standing like pines.

In the very center was a young man with a face so handsome it was almost demonic, his long hair neither tied nor crowned, draped casually behind his shoulders, yet not a single strand was out of place.

His eyes were half-closed, a faint, elusive smile playing on the corners of his lips, and the surrounding clamor seemed to automatically bypass him when it reached him.

"Huaiyang Bai Clan," Liu Yu's voice carried a hint of gravity. "That long-haired one is called Bai Wugou. At last year's Luoshui Martial Arts Gathering, he defeated seventeen people in a row with a single sword, without a single hair harmed. He is an Immortal Seed, fire-attributed."

Cheng Feng's heart sank slightly. An Immortal Seed. Once such a person stood on the ring, the number of ordinary Martial Artists lost its meaning.

"Time is almost up," Wang Ji said, interrupting their observation.

Sure enough, on the northern high platform, a middle-aged man in purple official robes stood up, walked to the front edge of the platform, held a scroll of bright yellow imperial edict in both hands, and after unfolding it, his voice rolled over the entire arena like muffled thunder, bolstered by some kind of sound technique: "By the grace of the Emperor, the decree states—the Great Zhou Martial Arts Tournament begins today! Heroes of the world, gather in Tianqi; regardless of status or background, all may enter the arena to contend. For the victors, the Imperial Court will not be stingy with high official positions, noble titles, gold, silver, or cultivation techniques; if one possesses Immortal Fate, the Superior Sect will naturally select and recruit talent. I hope you all strive with all your might and do not fail your lifelong learning!"

As the voice fell, the entire Great Drill Ground was silent for a moment, then erupted with cheers like a mountain collapsing and a sea overturning, accompanied by the sound of weapons being drawn from their sheaths.

Cheng Feng felt the bluestone beneath his feet trembling slightly with the sound waves; the pressure brought by tens of thousands of people shouting in unison was more ferocious than the aura released by any single Martial Artist.

Servants brought out huge copper tripods, lining up nine of them in front of the high platform.

Each tripod burned with a flame of a different color—red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple, white, and black—nine-colored fire pillars shot into the sky, illuminating the entire Great Drill Ground in a surreal, bizarre light.

"Begin entry!" someone on the high platform waved a command flag.

Thousands of teams filed into the arena from all sides. Cheng Feng followed behind Wang Ji, stepping on the sound-filled ground as he walked toward the center of the field.

Under the light of the nine-colored flames, the old marks and bloodstains beneath his feet appeared exceptionally ferocious. On the surrounding spectator stands,

countless gazes shot over like arrows, carrying excitement, anticipation, greed, and schadenfreude.

He raised his head and took a deep breath. The air was filled with the smell of fireworks, the scent of blood, and the sweat and killing intent of thousands of people.

Cheng Feng tugged at the corner of his mouth and said in a low voice: "Let's begin."