Chapter 217 (II): Craft Bordering on the Divine

Zhang Yuanqing skimmed the roster and his face lit up. "It's barely started and there are already this many star-studded competitors?"

In the Transcendent-tier tournament, hardly any big names had shown up on day one.

"There aren't many stewards to begin with," Guan Ya explained. "Even a first-tier city like Songhai only holds ten to twenty Saints, and not all of them enter the Tournament."

A lot of the older Saints did not enter the tournament unless they were confident they could crack the top ten, partly because they might skip the mid-year slaughter dungeon anyway, and partly because losing was humiliating. Stewards were the backbone of the official organizations. Elders mostly stayed out of sight on ordinary days, and so stewards were the highest leaders the official rank-and-file Walkers ever dealt with. A leader's face mattered more than anything.

Zhang Yuanqing let out an "Oh" of understanding and settled down to wait. Before long, the first pair entered.

Fengdu Ghost King looked about thirty. He was plain-faced and dressed head-to-toe in black, yet he carried an air of nobility that was hard to describe, while radiating a faint, overbearing pressure. He was impossible to look away from.

His opponent, Crossing the River on a Reed, was a soft-figured woman, delicate and composed, whose age seemed impossible to determine.

Once both combatants were in the ring, the armored swordsman called out, "Begin!"

Fengdu Ghost King unhurriedly drew out a small round mirror, checked his face in it, then snapped his fingers.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three hulking Yin corpses leapt into the ring with a sound like boulders crashing down. They were completely identical, with the same outfits, the same haircut, and the same stance.

"Does this Fengdu Ghost King have OCD?" Zhang Yuanqing joked.

"He's rigid!" Guan Ya said firmly, based on her own read.

Zhang Yuanqing took a second look at that cold expression. Rigid, severe, humorless. No wonder Yin Ji couldn't stand him and threw herself at Demon Lord instead. Demon Lord had a sweet mouth, skills in bed, and talent to spare. Clearly more attractive to a woman than some grim, buttoned-up type.

While his thoughts drifted, the three Yin corpses fanned out and charged at Crossing the River on a Reed, their heavy footfalls steady and quick, cracking the stone slabs of the arena floor with every step.

Crossing the River on a Reed's pupils shrank all at once. Her eyeballs turned amber, the pupils narrowing to slits. Thick yellow fur pushed up from under her skin as whiskers extended out from her cheeks. Her nose turned black and round, while her nails lengthened and curved into claws.

In a blink, she'd transformed into a lithe, curvy cat woman.

The cat woman sprang up, light as air, cleared all three Yin corpses in one bound, leaving them to lunge at empty air. She came down without a whisper of sound, then her figure shot toward Fengdu Ghost King like a blur, as fast as a bolt of lightning, leaving a trail of afterimages in her wake.

At the same moment, clumps of green wild grass sprouted from the slabs under Fengdu Ghost King's feet, rolling outward like a carpet until the arena floor resembled a lawn.

Fengdu Ghost King didn't so much as flinch. He sprang several meters into the air, and there, with all eyes on him, he entered Night Wandering and vanished.

The cat woman halted her charge at once, glancing warily left and right, checking the lawn for trampled tracks.

But Fengdu Ghost King might as well have evaporated.

"Where do you think he is?" Guan Ya asked quietly.

"On a Yin corpse's shoulder," Zhang Yuanqing replied immediately.

The mixed-heritage beauty shot him a surprised look. It matched her read exactly, but Yuanshi wasn't a Scout, and he wasn't wearing the Eye of the Observer. He'd reasoned it out through pure combat instincts.

Right then, Fengdu Ghost King reappeared on the shoulder of one of the Yin corpses. He still held that small round mirror, studying his own reflection, and seemed to find something in it that pleased him. He gave a soft laugh, then breathed out a long, unbroken stream of the Power of the Dark Moon. The wailing of ghosts filled the arena, and the temperature plunged.

Zhang Yuanqing, a Nocturnal Specter himself, plainly saw what was going on. Wisp after wisp of blue smoke drifted out of the stream of the Power of the Dark Moon, taking shape midair, until all manner of fierce spirits and vengeful ghosts filled the area. Male and female, old and young, some snarling and warped, others wild-haired and savage. There were easily dozens of them. Each vengeful spirit gripped a sickle as they floated and drifted about, a swarm of ghosts in a mad dance.

Zhang Yuanqing stared in disbelief.

Hang on... Are these spirit servants? That's way too many of them! No, they aren't spirit servants, but something between a spirit servant and a vengeful spirit. What kind of trick is this...?

The vengeful spirits raised their sickles high and dove at the cat woman. Every cut that landed drew a scream of pain out of her. Her agility let her dodge the Yin corpses, but she couldn't slip past these ghosts she couldn't even see.

A few minutes later, the fight was over. Fengdu Ghost King had won without expending much of anything.

That felt like watching someone bully a newbie, Zhang Yuanqing mused. Is this the power of the previous generation's undefeated Walker who is still beneath the Sovereign tier? Why does he keep checking the mirror? So far everything he's used is basic Nocturnal Specter stuff. Where's the Astral Envoy stuff?

The second pair of combatants was Ling Jun and Creamy Pink Head. The latter was a Plague God, specializing in germs and microbes, which was hard-countered by a Beast King's healing.

Even so, Ling Jun did not fight seriously. From start to finish he never once pressed the attack, because Creamy Pink Head was a mature woman of real allure.

"Which division are you a steward of, Sis?" he asked.

"Copper Province."

"Ah, I've got the advantage in this match. It's an unfair win."

"No matter. Winning or losing was never the point."

"Right, win or lose, it doesn't matter. Crossing blades with a woman as fine as you, Sis, is the biggest prize I receive from entering."

"You truly are the Flowery Young Master. What a smooth tongue."

"Are you in the tournament for the rewards, Sis?"

"I'm here to hone my skills."

Half an hour of dawdling later, the armored swordsman couldn't help but knit his brow and raise his voice. "Settle it, quickly!"

Once Ling Jun heard that, he clutched his chest. "Ahh, I'm ill. I concede."

Across from him, the mature woman blinked, her whole face blank with surprise. She was about to say something, but Ling Jun was already gripping his chest and staggering back toward the stands.

The mature steward from the Water God Palace quickly figured out the meaning behind the Flowery Young Master's move. He threw the match on purpose. He wanted to give me more rounds to hone myself.

Feeling both grateful and caught off-guard, her regard for him shot up.

***

"Fu Qingyang and Blazing Holy Fire, enter the arena!" the armored swordsman boomed.

A white-robed figure rose leisurely from a seat somewhere in the stands. He didn't leap down from the high wall like the other competitors. Instead, he pulled out an azure cloak and draped it over his shoulders.

The cloak snapped and streamed out behind him, and a whirl of air rose from under Fu Qingyang's feet, carrying him floating toward the center of the ring.

Cheers went up from the crowd.

"What a showoff," Zhang Yuanqing muttered.

"That Qingyang. He’s loved playing it cool since he was little," Guan Ya agreed with a sigh. "He’s rich as sin, but dumb as a post, yet he still fancies himself a man who wins people over through virtue. But keep this between us. Nothing we speak of leaves this row."

"My thoughts exactly."

As they spoke, a fireball rose from the stands and hurtled toward the floating Fu Qingyang like a cannonball.

Fu Qingyang's expression cooled. He flicked a finger, and the fireball blew apart with a loud boom. Out of the swelling firelight stepped a towering figure.

The man was around forty and powerfully built, with a full beard, an overbearing aura, and a fierce edge to his stare. He was the type who, if one gave him a couple of extra glances on the street, would storm over like a gangster, shouting "the hell are you looking at!" and then slamming a fist in one's face.

"Fu Qingyang!" Blazing Holy Fire boomed, "they all say you're the number one man below the Sovereign tier. I don't buy it. This is a good chance to learn from a master. I hope you're not just all ta—"

He never finished his sentence. Still drifting slowly downward, he saw Fu Qingyang draw a Han-style eight-faceted bronze sword out of thin air, its body covered with a layer of patina even while its edge remained keen. With his face cold as ever, the Rich Young Master brought the sword down in a single slash.

Blazing Holy Fire's eyes narrowed, and his body shook violently and strangely. Countless ways to dodge the slash flashed through his mind, yet each one seemed contradictory, and his mind rejected them one after another. In the end he did nothing at all, letting the edge split his chest open and cleave his breastbone.

Blazing Holy Fire slammed into the arena floor with a massive bang, blood bursting across his chest, staining the lawn red.

Fu Qingyang turned and drifted back toward his seat, the fight ended before it had truly begun.

The support crew rushed the stage, checked the wound, and called out, "Elder, he needs an injection of Life Essence."

The armored swordsman gave a small nod, and they hauled Blazing Holy Fire off and hurried away. The whole arena went quiet.

A single drawn breath coming from somewhere in the front rows disturbed the silence, and the noise came surging back like a tide.

"What? That's it? That Holy Fire Steward was bribed to lose, wasn't he?"

"That was terrible acting. Even I could dodge that slash of Fu Qingyang's. How could a steward fail? This Rich Young Master lives up to his name."

The crowd went back and forth in a stream of endless chatter, everyone accusing Fu Qingyang of fixing the match.

Zhang Yuanqing suddenly thought back to the Dark Rose Fire Sage they had faced down at Songhai Third Elementary School, back when they had gone after Black Wuchang. That one hadn't even had the nerve to close in on Fu Qingyang. This Holy Fire Steward, though, had gone charging in the second the bell rang.

Compared to that guy, this one was the real Fire Sage. That Dark Rose guy was a disgrace to the whole class.

Through the buzz, Zhang Yuanqing heard Guan Ya sigh. "This is craft bordering on the divine!"

Craft bordering on the divine...? He turned the words over in his head and found an opening to ask, "What does that phrase actually mean?"

It had nagged at him for a long while.

"I told you before. Crossing Pawn is called Little Qingyang, and you've felt Crossing Pawn's insight specialization firsthand," Guan Ya said. "Fu Qingyang's slash is the upgraded version of that. Upgraded a countless number of times over, in fact."

Zhang Yuanqing nodded. Crossing Pawn could read two or three moves ahead. The instant he raised his muzzle, one got the feeling they were going to be hit no matter what. Whether one dodged left or right, it wouldn't matter. He had it covered.

"So the Centurion can read seven or eight moves ahead? Maybe more?" he asked.

Guan Ya shook her head, her expression growing serious. "No. If that were all, it wouldn't be worthy of being called a craft bordering on the divine. His level is a full realm higher than that."

A realm higher? Zhang Yuanqing raised an eyebrow. "Meaning what?"

"I told you before, Fu Qingyang's doesn't have much talent. From childhood, the family elders looked down on him. Among the ones his age, he was always below average. But he's proud. That pride comes from the marrow. Sometimes, I really couldn't understand it. He was so obviously weak, so why was he so proud? On what grounds? And that blind pride of his got him bullied by the family kids all the time."

As Guan Ya spoke, emotion and admiration filled her eyes. "Then, the year he was fifteen, in a family tournament, he knocked me out cold with a wooden blade. It only took one stroke, but that one stroke was fast and vicious and precise, and it caught me completely off-guard.

"Later I learned that, for the seven or eight years before that, Fu Qingyang had trained only one move—the slash. He knew he was lacking in talent, so he didn't study combat forms or techniques. He only trained a single slash. He poured all his energy, all his blood, into a single move, and honed it to the very peak.

"I lost, and I lost gladly, because I knew that single stroke held all his pride, half a lifetime of blood and sweat. The moment he drew his blade, he was already unbeatable."

Guan Ya let out a breath. "After he became a Spirit Realm Walker, he folded insight into the slash and kept repeating the practice, day and night. The family elders still didn't think much of him. They all felt his road was too narrow, that knowing only one move meant he was easy to counter.

"And that was true, for a while. Back then, he was like Crossing Pawn is now. Strong, but not at the top. It wasn't until he rose to the Saint tier that we realized, to our horror, that he'd trained that one stroke into a rule."

Guan Ya noted Yuanshi's dumbstruck look and nodded. "Yes. A rule. Like the rule of a rule-type item. His slash can't be dodged. It has to be taken head on. Even a Sovereign can't avoid it. It's the same as those Red Dancing Shoes of yours, where even Elder Teddy was helpless to stop them.

"Fu Qingyang is the first person since the Spirit Realm was born to master a rule. Whether the Alliance Chiefs can do it, well, that I don't know."

Zhang Yuanqing murmured, "So that's the craft bordering on the divine..."

Suddenly, he understood. He understood why Fu Qingyang looked down his nose at prodigies, why he called them all trash, why he said the Female Marshal's talent diluted her diligence.

Fu Qingyang had the standing for it. His talent was lacking, but he had the heart of a strong man.

It's both bitter and inspiring at the same time, Zhang Yuanqing thought to himself.

Just then a soft, sweet voice drifted up from beside him. "Yuanshi Tianzun!"

Zhang Yuanqing pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked toward the voice. The one who'd appeared was a mature, striking woman. She had a round, glowing face, delicate and lovely, and lips that blazed red, like a peony in full bloom.

Zhu Rong!