Sensing the growing restlessness, Chairman Xie deftly shifted the topic to break the tension. He cleared his throat and unfurled a long scroll with a crisp snap. "Before we proceed with further matters," he announced, "we shall commence the formal roll call for the sects in attendance."
One by one, the names of sects echoed through the towering pavilion, each announcement met with proud replies from the sect leaders, their voices ringing with pride and formality. It was a ritual of status, a declaration of presence. Names of ancient sects, rising factions, and distant schools reverberated one after the other.
But as the list neared its end, a slight frown appeared on Chairman Xie's face when his eyes fell on one particular name. He hesitated, his tone growing curious as he read aloud.
"Surging Storm Sect... Is the master of this sect present?"
Around me, heads turned, eyes searching, whispering.
With a breath to steady myself, I slowly rose from my seat and clasped my hands respectfully. "Luo Fan," I declared, my voice even. "Leader of the Surging Storm Sect."
A brief silence followed, before Chairman Xie's gaze sharpened, recognition flickering across his features. His lips curled slightly as if suppressing amusement, but his words came sharp and direct. "Priest Luo Fan," he said, his voice carrying further now, "aren't you that infamous fugitive from the Silang Empire? The one rumored to have… shall we say… relieved a certain marquis of his manhood?"
The reaction was immediate. Murmurs broke into laughter, rippling across the chamber like a wave. Even some of the most stoic and reserved sect leaders couldn't restrain their amusement. Chuckles, smirks, and muffled giggles filled the air.
I lowered my gaze, heat rising to my face. After all these years… and still this story followed me, clinging like a shadow.
I exhaled quietly, wishing—just for a moment—that the floor beneath my feet might open and swallow me whole.
Before the noise fully subsided, a clear voice rang out from the upper tier, slicing through the lingering laughter like a blade. "If I'm not mistaken, Priest Luo Fan is otherwise known as Wei Fan—the former Divine Mage, and the missing crown prince of the Kan Empire's previous emperor. Am I correct?"
The unexpected declaration sent murmurs cascading through the pavilion. A new wave of whispers swept across the sect leaders like ripples on a still lake. My entire body stiffened. My mind raced, searching for the speaker even as my pulse quickened.
A lone figure leapt gracefully from the upper tier, landing beside Chairman Xie with practiced ease. His long green robes shimmered under the lantern light, embroidered patterns catching the eye as he turned to face me directly.
Yin Wu.
"I am Yin Wu," he announced, though his words were aimed more at the gathered sects than at me. "Acting sect leader of the Illusive Ghosts Sect."
Of course. I recalled that Zhu Hanyi, the true sect leader, had gone into seclusion. With Ji Yun dead, it was only natural that Yin Wu would assume temporary leadership. The rumors surrounding Yin Wu's relationship with Ji Yun now made his presence—and his hostility—perfectly clear. He likely already suspected that I had played a role in Ji Yun's death. His narrowed eyes, filled with veiled malice, confirmed it.
Maintaining my composure, I clasped my hands and greeted him respectfully, neither avoiding nor inviting conflict.
Yin Wu wasted no time. His voice carried a sharpness meant to pierce through any façade of neutrality. "May I ask, Priest Luo. Being a dual-core cultivator, you stand neither with the light nor the dark path. You call yourself neutral. So why have you come to this congregation? And why, I wonder, have you positioned yourself against the Kan Empire's army—your own people?"
The eyes of the entire pavilion shifted toward me, their stares heavy with expectation. I met his gaze without flinching.
"I have not yet decided whether to fight or not," I replied evenly, my voice steady despite the stir his words provoked.
Yin Wu's lips curled into a thin, mocking smile. "Then that can mean only one thing," he said, letting his words hang before delivering the accusation. "You are here as a spy for the Kan Empire."
The tension thickened instantly, murmurs rising again like rustling leaves in a growing wind. A few sect leaders exchanged wary glances.
I drew a slow breath, steadying my irritation before it could betray me. "Kan Empire is no longer my home," I said firmly. "I severed all ties long ago. I have no allegiance to that land, nor to its throne."
Yin Wu's eyes narrowed. His voice lowered, laced with quiet venom. "If you're not a spy… and you claim no loyalty to Kan… then why are you here, Priest Luo? Surely not just to sip tea and enjoy the spectacle."
"I have come to listen," I answered, keeping my tone calm, deliberate. "To observe. To fully understand the situation before deciding my stance."
His smile grew sharper. "And, I presume, to report all you hear back to the emperor of Kan?" His voice now dripped with accusation, baiting me before the entire assembly.
I exhaled once more, letting the tension pass like a wave against a stone. "Sect Leader Wu," I said coldly, letting my voice carry through the stillness of the pavilion, "you speak as though you possess evidence for your accusations. If you do not, then you insult both this congregation and your own master's reputation by slandering without proof."
For a moment, silence crushed the room. The weight of my words seemed to hang like a blade over Yin Wu's head. His smirk wavered briefly, though he quickly masked the crack behind another cold smile.
Chairman Xie's gaze moved between us, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp, measuring every word, every glance exchanged. Around us, the sect leaders sat frozen, their breaths held, as though waiting for the next strike to fall.
The air was charged, heavy—like the moment before a storm breaks.
Yin Wu stepped forward, his voice slicing cleanly through the heavy silence that had settled over the pavilion. "Priest Luo," he called out, his tone sharp and deliberate, "I challenge you to a duel. No qi. No wind. Just weapons."
I paused, gripping my bamboo stick firmly. My pulse quickened, but I kept my voice even. "I did not come here to fight."
Yin Wu's smirk deepened, laced with mockery. "Oh? Has the once-glorious Surging Storm Sect fallen so far as to shelter cowards now? If memory serves, your sect's ancestors were the heroes who sealed away the former bearer of the demonic core centuries ago. Was that not your sect's legacy? To stand as guardians against the darkness?"
He paused deliberately, letting his words hang in the air before delivering the true strike. "And yet here we are—" His gaze shifted briefly upward, toward the highest tier where Ruan Yanjun sat, composed and silent like a mountain above the storm. "—with the current bearer of the demonic core freely walking among us, unchallenged. You choose silence. Submission." The accusation dripped with venom, a thinly veiled provocation aimed not only at me, but directly at Ruan Yanjun himself.
Yin Wu turned back to me, his voice rising with the full force of theatrical righteousness. "Tell me, Priest Luo. If you cannot even stand against a mere grandmaster in open combat, how can you possibly claim to defend this world from the havoc that the demonic core may yet unleash again?"
I exhaled slowly, tightening my grip on the staff as I forced back the swell of irritation. This wasn't a simple duel. It was a public spectacle meant to undermine me, and by extension, Ruan Yanjun. His provocation was not subtle, but it was effective. He wanted to drag me onto this stage—and I could no longer refuse.
I stepped forward, my footsteps steady as I crossed the polished marble floor toward the center of the pavilion. The murmur of the crowd faded beneath my words. "For the honor of the Surging Storm Sect," I declared, my voice clear and unwavering, "I accept your challenge."
A flash of triumph crossed Yin Wu's face as he unsheathed his sword with a sharp hiss. The blade gleamed beneath the light of the pavilion, its razor edge catching every glimmer like a serpent poised to strike.
"Let's keep it simple," he said smugly. "If you can still stand after twenty moves, I will concede defeat."
Before I could respond, a familiar sound cut cleanly through the tension—a low, sardonic chuckle. My heart skipped as the voice I knew all too well rose, smooth and deceptively casual, carrying easily over the assembly.
"Yin Wu," Ruan Yanjun spoke from his seat above, his voice calm but laced with quiet amusement, "do not make the mistake of underestimating a dual-core cultivator."
The pavilion fell into a hush as all heads turned toward him.
"I guarantee you—" Ruan Yanjun's voice now sharpened with an edge of cruel grace, "—you will lose. And when you do, your humiliation at the hands of a mere sixth-level sect leader from an obscure sect will be whispered across all five empires for months. Perhaps even longer. You'll drag shame upon the Illusive Ghosts Sect for all to see."
Gasps and murmurs rippled across the hall, the sect leaders shifting uneasily at the bluntness of his words. Yin Wu's face flushed despite his attempts to maintain composure, his grip tightening around his sword.
I kept my expression composed, but inside, I felt a surge of conflicted pride. For Ruan Yanjun to speak so openly, so confidently on my behalf—it was both unexpected and... deeply stirring. Even now, after everything, he still shielded me.
Yin Wu recovered quickly, raising his chin and smirking up at Ruan Yanjun. "You seem to have quite a bit of confidence in our little priest, Sect Leader Ruan," he drawled, his voice loud enough for the entire pavilion to hear. "Could the rumors be true, then? That you know each other rather… too well?"
The innuendo was sharp and deliberate, and at once the atmosphere in the pavilion shifted. A low hum of intrigue swept through the gathered sect leaders. Whispers rippled like waves as gazes darted between me and Ruan Yanjun. I stiffened where I stood, pulse quickening, unsure whether I should speak. But, as always, Ruan Yanjun answered without hesitation.
"Not as well as I know you," he returned smoothly, his voice like silk laced with blades. "Including that mole beneath your buttocks."
For a beat, there was stunned silence—then the entire pavilion erupted into laughter, some unable to suppress open cackles, others covering their mouths in amusement. Even the distinguished sect leaders chuckled, no longer able to maintain their carefully cultivated stoicism.
Yin Wu's face flushed deep crimson, his composed facade crumbling beneath the humiliating blow. His fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword as he struggled to keep his rage in check. The mockery cut deeper than any blade. Meanwhile, I stood frozen, unable to hide my own shock.
How… does Ruan Yanjun know that?
I had always known Yin Wu harbored feelings for Ruan Yanjun, but this suggested a far more intimate history. And suddenly, the hostility Yin Wu had shown me for months now took on a different, much more personal shade. His resentment wasn't only born from Ji Yun's death—it was jealousy. Bitter, poisonous jealousy.
Forcing his breathing to steady, Yin Wu inhaled sharply, trying to salvage his dignity.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice taut and cold. "Let's make it fifty moves, then. I'll give the priest some extra room to surprise me."
The laughter subsided, replaced by a thick, charged silence. All eyes turned toward us as the challenge was set.
I took my position, steadying my breath, my grip tightening around my bamboo stick. I could feel the weight of the entire pavilion pressing down on me. This was no longer a duel of strength—it was a spectacle, a performance in front of some of the most powerful cultivators in the empire.
For Yin Wu, this was his chance to humiliate me—to eliminate a rival. For me, this was not simply survival. This was a test of everything I had worked for, everything my sect once stood for. My honor. My sect's name. My pride. And somewhere deeper beneath all of that—a silent, unspoken need to prove myself before him.
The duel began.
Yin Wu struck first, launching himself forward. His sword gleamed as it sliced through the air with precision honed from years of disciplined practice. But I was already moving, my feet gliding across the polished floor, my robes fluttering behind me as I narrowly evaded his first strike.
The moment his blade missed its mark, I retaliated. My bamboo stick, lighter and more flexible than any sword, became an extension of my will. I lashed out, quick and sharp, aiming for his wrist, forcing him to adjust his stance and deflect.
Despite Yin Wu's slender build, his strength was undeniable. Every clash of our weapons sent vibrations up my arm, and his relentless pursuit left little room for error. His swordplay was elegant—every swing deliberate, every movement calculated to leave me no opening.
Again and again, I slipped just beyond his reach, ducking beneath his slashes, twisting my body at impossible angles, using the flexibility of my bamboo staff to strike where his guard faltered. Sharp blows landed against his shoulder, his hip, his thigh—each one forcing him to adapt and tighten his form.
The crowd watched in rapt attention, the rhythmic crack of our weapons filling the vast pavilion like a drumbeat. Fifty moves. That was the condition. I counted each exchange silently in my mind.
Ten strikes.
Fifteen.
Twenty-five.
A sheen of sweat coated Yin Wu's forehead now, though his confidence hadn't yet wavered. His strikes grew more aggressive, angling for my legs, my throat, trying to force a decisive blow.
Thirty moves.
Forty.
My muscles burned, but I kept my breathing steady. Each time his sword whistled past me, I danced further inside his guard, landing clean strikes to his ribs or knees, making him stumble momentarily.
By the forty-fifth move, I saw the faintest tremor in his footwork. His stamina was thinning. His perfect rhythm was beginning to crack.
I pushed forward.
The pavilion echoed with the sharp rhythm of clashing weapons, each strike resonating like drumbeats in the thick silence of the hall. Yin Wu pressed forward relentlessly now, his strikes growing sharper and more ruthless. His blade whistled through the air, aimed to overwhelm me with raw aggression.
A sudden downward slash arced toward my head, a strike with enough force to split stone. I pivoted and brought my bamboo stick up just in time, deflecting the blow with a loud crack. The impact sent a jolt up my arms, forcing me to slide backward several steps across the polished floor. My breath grew heavier, my muscles ached, but my footing remained steady.
Yin Wu's lips curled into a smirk as he advanced, emboldened by my retreat.
Using the momentum of his charge against him, I shifted my weight and swept in low, striking his exposed ribs with a quick, precise snap of my staff. The impact earned a sharp grunt from him, and for the first time, I saw the flicker of frustration behind his eyes.
The pavilion murmured with growing excitement, the audience hanging on every movement. This was no longer simply a test of skill—it had become a contest of will, endurance, and pride. My bamboo stick moved in steady arcs, constantly shifting to redirect his sword's power while I searched for the tiniest crack in his defense.
My breath burned in my chest, but I kept my focus razor-sharp. His blade was stronger, his strikes heavier—but speed and patience were my allies. I studied his patterns, memorizing the rhythm of his footwork.
Finally, the opening came.
In his eagerness to end it, Yin Wu committed to a wide horizontal sweep, throwing his full weight into the swing. His balance shifted forward, his wrists momentarily overextended—exactly what I had been waiting for.
With precision, I stepped into his guard, angled my bamboo stick upward, and struck sharply at the base of his sword's hilt. The force of the impact jarred his grip open. The sword spun from his hands, clattering across the marble floor of the pavilion. Silence fell like a blanket over the room.
I pressed the tip of my bamboo stick lightly beneath his chin. Yin Wu froze, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on mine.
The duel was over.
The crowd erupted into applause, the tension finally breaking. Even among the grandmasters, murmurs of approval and astonishment swept through the hall. I lowered my weapon and stepped back, breathing hard.
Yin Wu stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides, his face pale and flushed with humiliation. He refused to bow, refused even to acknowledge his defeat. His pride held him frozen in place, trembling.
But then his hand moved.
In a flash, he reached for a hidden dagger at his waist. The crowd gasped, but before the blade could leave its sheath, a bolt of dark energy streaked across the pavilion like a viper. It struck his wrist with brutal precision. The dagger clattered to the floor, and Yin Wu recoiled, gripping his injured hand.
"You've sealed your own disgrace," Ruan Yanjun's voice rang out, cold and merciless. His voice sliced through the pavilion, carrying the weight of absolute authority.
I looked up.
Ruan Yanjun was leaning forward now, his gaze burning with disdain as he stared down at Yin Wu from the elevated tier. "And now you cannot even accept defeat with dignity? You're a disgrace to your sect. Leave."
His words were final.
The entire pavilion watched as Yin Wu stood there, exposed and humiliated under the weight of their silent judgment. The last of his pride shattered beneath their gazes. Unable to withstand it, he turned sharply and fled, his retreating figure disappearing beyond the doors of the grand pavilion.
A heavy silence remained. It was Chairman Xie who finally broke it.
"Sect Leader Luo," he said, his voice clear but now carrying a respectful tone, "that was an impressive display of skill. Please take the seat vacated by Sect Leader Wu."
I shook my head politely. "No need. I'll return to my seat."
Without waiting for further persuasion, I turned and walked back toward the lower rows. As I passed through the narrow aisle, dozens of eyes followed me—eyes that once dismissed me as an unknown priest now watched with cautious respect.
Some nodded at me, others whispered quietly among themselves. A few grandmasters even allowed faint smiles to cross their lips. I had proven myself—not merely as the obscure leader of a forgotten sect—but as someone worthy of standing in their presence.