The spring breeze was like a pair of scissors—snipping away at the willow branches, gently melting away the years. That tender, warming wind was reminiscent of a sudden, delicate summer zephyr that stirred the bamboo curtains into a languid, swaying dance, filling one's heart with a burst of enlightenment.
Gazing upward toward the tender bamboo leaves fluttering in the courtyard, Li Yan, clad in his deep ink-green robe adorned with a golden bamboo insignia at its cuff, strode slowly toward the exterior of the courtyard.
The day of the Condensation Competition had finally arrived.
On a massive, elevated platform halfway up Old Lord Peak, twenty battle platforms had now risen. With far more participants among the Condensation stage disciples than before, the number of platforms was visibly increased. However, whereas each Foundation battle platform had spanned as much as fifty li, the range of each Condensation platform had now shrunk to a mere five li—a clear sign that the battle zone for Condensation practitioners was several times smaller than that of the Foundation stage.
Li Yan surveyed the vast, sprawling courtyard divided into five sections filled with thousands of disciples. Yet even so, he sensed that the numbers were far fewer than during the previous Foundation Grand Contest. Taking stock, he noted that among the peaks, each already boasted many elite Foundation masters who would one day blossom into future legends. From his own Bamboo Peak, only a handful had come: Li Wu Yi, Wei Chituo, Yun Chunqu, Gong Chenying, Lin Daqiao, and himself. Even the three junior disciples who might normally have joined were absent, choosing instead to remain in seclusion atop the mountain to cultivate.
Among the arriving Foundation contenders, only the top forty-nine had been invited to participate, while the remainder—most being onlookers similar to Lin Daqiao—had come merely to cheer on their friends.
In contrast, from other peaks Li Yan glimpsed notable names: from Four Symbols Peak he saw Gan Shi, the Chu brothers, and Wei Feng; from Ling Chong Peak, Wang Tian alongside his Daoist partner Zuo Shengyan, Li Zhi, and Zhang Cai Lian; while Old Lord Peak's representatives included Bai Liyuan, Ning Qingqing, and Zhang Tai, among others. However, Zuo Shengyan's gaze when she looked toward Bamboo Peak was strangely cold, though she had not yet found Wen Xinqiang; Wang Tian too kept his eyes fixed in that direction. On the oblique side, the contestants from Li Peak remained shrouded from view—but it was assumed that Li Changting and Zhao Min were among them (both having secured places within the top forty-nine). The mere thought of Zhao Min's lithe, graceful figure stirred in Li Yan an inexplicable, pounding surge in his heart.
Before long, the next stage—the Golden Core Grand Contest—was set to commence. As always, fewer practitioners attended this round than in the Foundation matches; only a dozen or so arrived. The ensuing process was familiar: after Yan Longzi offered a few terse remarks, a sect Enforcement Hall elder took the floor to announce the rules. With a casual sweep of his hand, he scattered a shower of tiny red arrows into the air, summoning Li Yan and all those present to step forward and draw their lot numbers, and then declared the competition officially underway.
This time, the twenty battle platforms would each be supervised by one extraordinary Foundation-level combat expert. These twenty masters were selected from various peaks. Yet to allow the forty-nine primary Foundation competitors—which would later venture into the Secret Realm Gathering—to observe the entire contest, some of these elite experts were not assigned to officiate. For example, Li Wu Yi had been given responsibility for one of the battle platforms as the overseer.
At that moment, Li Yan peered down at the golden red-ink inscription on his own cuff—"33"—beside the small bamboo motif. Gazing up at the thousand-li flowing mirror overhead, he watched as tiny blue characters in different regions slowly began to coalesce and announce lottery numbers; yet he could not find his own number appearing on the crystalline screen. Inwardly, he recalled the names Li Wu Yi had warned him to keep an eye on before his own turn came—he hoped desperately to witness their bouts before he was called for his own match.
Almost as soon as the forty lines of blue script on the crystal screens faded, from all directions brilliant beams of light erupted. Dozens of translucent "escape rays" of various hues shot forth toward the different battle platforms.
After scanning all twenty crystal screens, Li Yan finally fixed his gaze on one particular platform. At its edge, a blue protective dome cycled continuously with flowing energy, while right at the center he saw two figures separated by several hundred meters, standing in solemn mutual regard. Unlike Foundation cultivators—who fought in protection domes and eventually took positions suspended dozens of li away—Condensation warriors did not fight from such distant vantage points. Since they possessed no inherent power of flight, these fighters depended on spirit artifacts to carry them onto the high arena. Typically, on entering the battle arena both combatants would stow away their flying devices. Not only did such devices consume precious spirit stones, but they also drained spiritual energy during battle. Condensation practitioners, unlike the brawny Foundation fighters whose energy reserves were vast, could ill afford to squander such power; one misstep mid-air might leave them suddenly depleted of spiritual energy, an outcome they could ill afford.
Li Yan's eyes locked onto the clash unfolding on that one platform. One of the combatants was of medium build, roughly twenty years old, with hair shorn to a close-cropped style that stood upright like bristles. His expression was as resolute as it was unyielding; his skin was deeply tanned, and he wielded a pair of curious little wooden drum mallets roughly one chi in length. He was a disciple of Li Peak—whose names were often spoken of with reverence—and was known as Zhu Gaotai. Opposite him stood a disciple from Ling Chong Peak; this fighter was accompanied by his spirit beast. Though around the same age as Zhu Gaotai, he was taller and slender, with a hawkish face that exuded stern determination. On his right shoulder perched a red mantis—a creature nearly the size of a human, its entire body a vivid, burning red. At that very moment the mantis kept tilting its head, its large eyes circling restlessly as they occasionally flickered toward Zhu Gaotai. The creature's aura, emanating with palpable ferocity, had reached an advanced stage of spirit beast refinement. In its grasp were a pair of enormous, black-and-red curved blades that interlocked with a constant friction; along their edges ran rows of serrated teeth, producing a sound so grating it could curdle one's very teeth. Of course, that grating noise would not be audible through the thousand-li mirror.
Li Yan had focused on this platform for two reasons: both Zhu Gaotai and his opponent had been subjects of Li Wu Yi's prior detailed instruction. Zhu Gaotai was a renowned Condensation practitioner at the pinnacle of the tenth layer—a standout among Li Peak's Condensation disciples. It was said he ranked among the top three outside the Li Peak main gate. His basic immortal arts were almost perfected by the late mid-stage, and he wielded his skills with an ease that belied their sophistication. Particularly, he mastered an ability known as "Urn Thunder Bug" (Weng Lei Gu), a poison-infused insect technique for which he ranked 630 on the sect's toxic creatures list. Though this bug was only two inches long, it could emit a thunderous roar that reverberated across the battlefield. When its sound clung to an enemy's body, it forced the victim's flesh to swell uncontrollably—and if the waves of vibration proved too great, the unfortunate target would shatter into a mass of flesh. The technique depended on generating a sound from thin air: while its noise might shake the heavens, its true terror lay in the fact that when the insect's claws dug deep into an enemy's skin and then activated its sonic pulse, the resulting shockwaves would propagate through the limbs, causing the body to bloat as if it were being inflated until it burst.
Opposite Zhu Gaotai, the Ling Chong disciple was also a Condensation specialist at the tenth layer. His name was Fei Ling. A master of the wood element, he possessed a unique natural affinity with his spirit beast—an aggressive "Blood-Brown Knife Mantis" whose refined nature attested to its fire-element ferocity. With a ranking of 637 on the toxic list, the creature was notorious for its brutality and its penchant for devouring the sinews of living beings. Equipped with a pair of massive, curved forelimbs like scythe blades, its strikes were deceptively violent. In the instant that these blades sliced into an enemy's flesh, the serrated tips would seize hold of vital blood vessels and sinews. The intense heat generated by the friction would cause the victim's lifeblood to stick to the scythe, and then, with savage force, the mantis would yank the vessel violently—pulling it out so that the enemy writhed in unbearable pain, as though their very body were being shrunk and contorted. Finally, with a savage bellow, the mantis would open its mouth and bite deep into the exposed wound before moving on to tear at another vital thread.
It was unexpected that these two formidable adversaries were pitted against one another right in the first round. After Li Yan had scanned all twenty battle platforms on the thousand-li mirror, his eyes had latched onto this one contest with instant clarity.
On the platform, the two combatants stood in silence for a prolonged moment. Neither uttered a word; instead, both continuously exuded mounting auras, each striving to drive their spiritual energy ever higher. Then, almost imperceptibly, as the tensions reached a fevered pitch, Fei Ling did not wait for their auras to crest fully. In a single fluid motion—testament to his deep-seated battle experience—he vanished from his original spot. In that subtle disruption of the anticipated rhythm, his movement betrayed the calm precision of a veteran warrior.
In the next instant, his fading figure reappeared and disappeared cyclically—an ephemeral silhouette that, within barely a few heartbeats, had advanced to within a few dozen meters of Zhu Gaotai. The latter, seemingly oblivious to the sudden intrusion, continued to steadily raise his own aura, as if preparing to channel a torrent of wind and thunder. Suddenly, in an almost shocking moment, Fei Ling's silhouette—its form now blurred by motion—materialized mere zhang away from Zhu Gaotai. It was the optimal striking range for a swift attack. "Whoosh!" A series of slender, crescent-shaped wind blades, tinted a cool blue, were launched simultaneously toward Zhu Gaotai's neck, chest, abdomen, and legs in one seamless burst. In that fleeting moment, there was only a gentle sound—minimal and almost imperceptible. Fei Ling had chosen the classic "Wind Blade Technique," perfected over his long years of study. In this optimal range, the wind blades, infused with a needle-sharp precision, were the quickest and most direct assault.
Almost simultaneously, a sudden fluctuation in the air on the opposite side heralded the appearance of the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis. In a blink, it had materialized roughly two zhang to the left of Zhu Gaotai. Li Yan could scarcely tell how the mantis had reached that vantage point so swiftly. In an audible "clang," its massive, interlocked black-and-red blades collided, and at their intersection a dark red beam—arrow-sharp and as fierce as a lightning bolt—was launched directly toward Zhu Gaotai's head. Such a strike, if it were to land, would leave even an enemy protected by a robust safeguarding of spiritual energy at risk. The mantis, after sending forth its lethal red beam, surged forward as if in rapid pursuit, its huge forelimbs whirling in a savage arc.
In effect, Zhu Gaotai now found himself caught between the twin onslaughts of these two exceptional Condensation masters. At the precise moment when both attacks were about to connect, Zhu Gaotai's normally steadfast expression shifted into an eerie, enigmatic smile. As if dissolving into nothingness, his body abruptly vanished from that spot. Several of the blue wind blades, now finding no immediate target, ricocheted swiftly outward into the distance; simultaneously, a dark red arrow of light was flung upward into the air. In the blink of an eye, the formidable figure of the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis now appeared exactly where Zhu Gaotai had just stood. Its paired blades, still smoldering with dark flame, cut through the air with deadly intent.
At that moment, several zhang away on the ground a tremor rippled through the surface. A ghostly silhouette—once buried in the earth—rapidly rose upward. As the apparition coalesced from vapor into a tangible form, it was seen hurling a wooden drum mallet high into the air. In an instant, each mallet transformed into a gigantic cylindrical shield measuring roughly seven or eight zhang tall and spanning about twenty zhang in width. These massive, levitating tubes descended to encapsulate an area spanning several dozen zhang, casting a protective barrier over the entire region.
Li Yan's pupils constricted in awe. A spirit artifact of this magnitude was exceedingly rare among Condensation practitioners—its power far surpassed that of the small spirit sword he wielded in his hand, by a factor of ten or more.
This astonishing scene was not lost on the many spectators gathered at other battle platforms. Several eyes glimmered with envy as they murmured, "Who would have thought that Brother Zhu possessed such a spirit treasure? This is something we had not known before!"
One voice remarked, "I have heard whispers, though I only caught a glimpse of it earlier when Brother Zhu revealed these drum mallets. It is said that a year ago, he and a few senior brothers discovered a small palace beneath a barren desert. Among those present were some ten members of the Tai Xuan Sect, and a fierce fight broke out over the treasures within that palace. Brother Zhu's team lost two while the opposition suffered eight or nine casualties. In the end, each side wrested away some precious treasures—so it seems that this spirit artifact was acquired during that ordeal."
At that moment, Li Yan's focus was entirely fixed on the tumult within the arena. His eyes returned to the two massive cylindrical shields created by the mallets. They were clearly defensive in nature—if one were ensnared inside, escaping would be nearly impossible. At the precise center of these two huge tubes stood Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis; if they attempted to vanish in an instant, it would likely be too late.
Then, as if the very fabric of space were contorting, something even more astonishing occurred. In the same heartbeat that the drum-mallet shields draped themselves over the ground, somewhere about one li away the space twisted—and Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis were suddenly seen materializing there. At that moment, Fei Ling's expression was ashen, and his aura faltered unpredictably. Zhu Gaotai's features momentarily registered shock before hardening into resolve. In an instant, he darted to the side of one of the great shields. All at once, an eerie "shhh" sound was heard as several thick, serpentine vines—like giant, coiling tendrils shot up from the ground—burst forth and struck at the very spot where he had stood. Had he been even a fraction slower, these enormous, spiked vines would have struck him. Although he was aware that senior Foundation experts were nearby to ensure his safety, the likelihood of sustaining grievous injuries or even falling in defeat was all too real.
Before he could react further, Zhu Gaotai's face changed indescribably once more; his figure flashed away from that perilous area. When he reappeared it was atop one of the massive cylindrical shields. With a single decisive gesture, that very shield was transformed into a streak of dark light that zipped into his hand—still in the form of a mighty drum mallet. Looking back at the area where he had just stood, he saw that the spiked vines were now dissipating like a thin mist over the air. Then he turned toward Fei Ling, who was roughly one li away, and commented coolly, "Brother Fei, your techniques are formidable indeed. Who would have guessed that, besides your Ling Chong Peak wood-element roots, you also have an exceptional wind-element affinity? Only with that could you escape my spirit treasure's 'Heaven-Breaking Hammer' transformation so swiftly. I never imagined you would be capable of leaving behind even an afterthoughted hidden strike—and even more so, synthesizing 'Frost Vine Thorns' in the process. Such a wood elemental formation is extraordinarily rare. Aside from the natural attack modes of vines—entangling, piercing, and wrapping—it releases a nearly imperceptible toxin. Merely inhaling its pollen or having it contact the skin for a few breaths would render an opponent's body stiff, casting them into severe stupor. That is one of the innate predatory traits of the Frost Vine Thorns."
Fei Ling's face was as pale as chalk. Clearly, the wind technique he had just unleashed had pushed his elemental abilities—and the burden of his current cultivation—to their limits. "My apologies," he murmured faintly, "it appears my wind element has exceeded what my current state can comfortably sustain."
As Li Yan watched all this with a deep, thoughtful frown, his mind churned with questions. Such a figure—so formidable and yet so unpredictable—would be a daunting challenge should fate ever pit him against such a foe.
The vivid spectacle unfolding on the battle platform was etched indelibly in Li Yan's memory. Every detail—the clash of spirit energies, the graceful brutality of the wind blades, the savage, relentless charge of the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis, and Zhu Gaotai's resourceful maneuvers—spoke volumes of the exquisite yet perilous world of Condensation-stage duels. In that intense instant, as mighty auras raced and collided, the flow of battle seemed dictated by an unspoken code: one moment a silence, the next a burst of violent, harmonious motion. Zhu Gaotai, renowned for his steady countenance and mastery of the "Urn Thunder Bug" technique, now stood seemingly trapped between the calculated assaults of two top-tier Condensation experts.
Li Yan's gaze was unyielding as he absorbed every nuance. The protective dome of blue energy shimmered ceaselessly at the platform's edge, while the crystalline numbers danced upon the thousand-li mirror, recording the fate of each combatant. Observers around the arena exchanged hushed, admiring remarks. One senior disciple murmured, "Who would have thought that Brother Zhu possesses such exquisite spirit treasure? We had never seen such brilliance before." Another added, "I've heard whispers about this artifact—it is said that during a fierce skirmish in a barren desert palace a year ago, Brother Zhu and his team clashed with members of the Tai Xuan Sect. In that bloody contest, we lost two men while our foes suffered heavy casualties. In the end, both sides scavenged what they could; I suspect this spirit treasure was acquired in that grim battle."
Li Yan's mind raced as he tried to reconcile the overwhelming display of martial prowess with the intricate subtleties of technique. His focus shifted from the dramatic interplay of offensive strikes to the defensive measures—the enormous drum mallet shields that, when transformed, provided a nearly impenetrable mantle over dozens of zhang. These spirit treasures were seldom seen at the Condensation stage, and indeed their power far outstripped that of the humble spirit sword he now wielded. Even as Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis scrambled within the confines of those colossal cylinders, any attempt at a hasty retreat was fraught with danger; breaking free of such an impregnable area would be nearly impossible in an instant.
Just then, an even more unexpected phenomenon rippled across the battlefield. In one startling moment—as the two drum-mallet shields continued to envelope the ground—a spatial distortion manifested one li away. In that brief, flickering interval, Fei Ling and the mantis were seen appearing in that distorted area. Fei Ling's face, drained of color, betrayed a momentary lapse in concentration. Zhu Gaotai, observing the shift, recognized the inherent danger. In a flash, he shifted his position, sidestepping toward the edge of one of the great shields. Immediately afterward, with a series of muffled "shhh" sounds, several enormous, serpentine vines shot up from beneath the ground. They erupted like giant, coiled spears—if Zhu Gaotai were a heartbeat slower, these living vines might have struck him fatally. Even though he knew that several Foundation masters were overseeing the battle to prevent mortal casualties, the threat of debilitating injury or eventual defeat loomed large.
Before anyone could react further, Zhu Gaotai's normally steadfast expression twisted into an uncanny smile. In an almost impossible feat of evasion, his figure seemed to evaporate from that dangerous area. When he reappeared, he had taken refuge atop one of the massive cylindrical shields. With one swift gesture, he caused the shield to contract, morphing it into a streak of dark, condensed light that flew straight into his grasp—again, manifested in the form of a sturdy drum mallet. Glancing back at where he had stood mere moments before, he watched as the serpentine vines gradually diminished into a fine, drifting mist. Then, turning his attention toward Fei Ling—who was still about one li away—he commented with a controlled, measured tone, "Brother Fei, that was an excellent maneuver. Who would have guessed that besides your wood-element roots, you carry an exceptional wind affinity? Only with that could you break free using your spirit treasure, that 'Heaven-Breaking Hammer' transformation. And to think you also managed to unleash 'Frost Vine Thorns'—a wood-element formation so rare and intricate. Such thorns, besides their typical entangling and cutting actions, emit toxins that, if inhaled or brushed onto the skin, will quickly cause one's body to stiffen and lapse into a grave stupor. This is the cunning predatory trait of the Frost Vine Thorns."
Fei Ling's complexion turned ashen as he acknowledged the critique. It was clear that employing his wind techniques had stretched his current state to its limits—he could not hide the toll that his elemental strain had taken.
Watching all of this unfold, Li Yan's expression grew gravely pensive. In his mind, he wondered: if he were ever to face such a formidable opponent with unpredictable methods and multi-elemental techniques, on what basis would he hope to prevail?
As the duel raged on, every detail of the confrontation was a lesson in martial artistry. Zhu Gaotai's reputation as a Condensation expert at the pinnacle of the tenth layer was well deserved. Renowned for his formidable mastery of fundamental immortal arts—nearly perfected by his late mid-stage level—he wielded a unique technique known as "Weng Lei Gu" which, though modest in size, carried devastating potential: even the slightest miscalculation could trigger a chain reaction that would leave an opponent's body swelling alarmingly before eventually rupturing. His opponent, Fei Ling—a fellow tenth-layer Condensation disciple from Ling Chong Peak—was a specialist in wood-element techniques. His companion, a fierce "Blood-Brown Knife Mantis," was known for its relentless appetite for sinews and lifeblood, its razor-sharp forelimbs ready to slice vital tissues with lethal precision.
The duel reached such ferocity in its opening moments that both combatants, while initially locked in a silent contest of rising auras, began to blur and vanish like phantoms. Fei Ling, with experienced misdirection, quickly disrupted the expected rhythm, his figure darting from one spot to another with such fluidity that Zhu Gaotai's soaring aura remained unfazed despite being assailed from multiple angles. Then, in one blink of an eye, a series of blue wind blades—each honed to a semi-moon shape—spun toward Zhu Gaotai's vulnerable points: his neck, chest, abdomen, and legs. In that fleeting instant, the clash of techniques was nearly imperceptible save for a soft "whish," yet its impact was monumental.
Almost concurrently, a sudden ripple of energy in the air heralded the appearance of the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis. Without warning, it emerged two zhang to the left of Zhu Gaotai. Its massive blades, clashing with a metallic "clang," generated a concentrated burst of dark red light that shot forth like an arrow toward Zhu Gaotai's head. The strike was so powerful that even a well-fortified barrier of spirit energy might have faltered in its grip, leaving Zhu Gaotai exposed to mortal danger. And as though following this lethal trajectory, the mantis surged forward, its gigantic limbs carving through the air with relentless fury.
Caught in the crossfire, Zhu Gaotai found himself trapped between these two devastating assaults. Then, in a moment that defied expectation, his normally firm and resolute face broke into a strange, knowing smile. In the blink of an eye, his form vanished entirely, leaving the blue wind blades to strike empty air before ricocheting outward. Simultaneously, a dark red beam, fired in a clean, arching trajectory, was flung into the sky as though seeking to write its own violent destiny. Soon after, the imposing presence of the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis reappeared exactly in the position where Zhu Gaotai had last stood, its gleaming scythe-like forelimbs still blazing with dark, simmering flames.
Then, from several zhang away on the ground, the very earth itself seemed to tremble. A spectral figure emerged from underground, its form shifting quickly from insubstantial to distinctly real. In its hand—raised high into the air—was a wooden drum mallet. In the span of no more than a heartbeat, each drum mallet transformed, expanding into colossal cylindrical shields roughly seven or eight zhang tall and twenty zhang in width. These enormous, hovering tubes descended with breathtaking speed, enveloping a vast area of several dozen zhang and creating a near-impenetrable defense over the battleground.
Li Yan's eyes widened as he processed the sight. Such a spirit artifact was extremely rare in the Condensation stage—a treasure so potent that its power dwarfed even the novice spirit sword he carried. Its appearance was a testament to the heights to which a cultivator could rise, and it filled him with a sense of wonder and trepidation.
This spectacular scene was quickly noted by many onlookers amid the other battle platforms, their expressions a mixture of admiration and envy. "Who would have thought that Brother Zhu possesses such a precious spirit treasure?" someone murmured in awe. "I've heard that during a fierce desert skirmish a year ago, Brother Zhu and a group of senior disciples clashed with members of the Tai Xuan Sect over a small palace. The carnage was unimaginable—theirs was a ferocious contest from which these treasures arose."
Li Yan's attention, however, stayed riveted on the battle unfolding before his eyes. He watched as the two enormous drum mallet shields—now transformed into robust cylindrical barriers—dominated the scene. Their power was evident: once an opponent was sealed within, escape would be nearly impossible without massive sacrifices of time and energy. At the center of these shields, Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis labored to regroup. Their attempts to vanish or reposition under the relentless pressure seemed doomed by the implacable nature of the protective barrier.
Then, in an even more staggeringly surreal moment, as the massive shields remained in position, a sudden distortion of space occurred one li away. In that brief temporal fracture, Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis were seen reappearing, their forms blurred by the contortions of shifting reality. At that moment, Fei Ling's face was ashen and his aura disordered—clear evidence that he had impelled his technique beyond its usual limits. Zhu Gaotai's eyes widened as he registered this development; without hesitation, his body darted toward the side of one of the giant shields. A series of muffled "chit-chit" sounds echoed as enormous, serpentine vine-like spines shot out from the earth, striking the spot he had just occupied. Even though he knew that senior Foundation masters were on hand to ensure his survival, the inevitability of a heavy injury, or even a loss, hung over him like a dark omen.
Yet, before Zhu Gaotai could take further action, his face shifted again into an enigmatic smile. In a marvel of speed and deft maneuvering, his form melted away from the perilous area, only to reappear atop one of the towering cylindrical shields. With a swift, deliberate gesture, he caused the shield to compact into a concentrated streak of dark light that immediately accelerated toward his hand—again, manifesting as a mighty drum mallet. Glancing back toward his former position, he saw the vines that had erupted from the ground slowly dissipating into a thin mist. Then, turning his gaze toward Fei Ling—who was still pursuing his own evasive maneuvers—Zhu Gaotai spoke calmly, "Brother Fei, your technique is formidable indeed. I never imagined that aside from your wood-element affinity, you also nurture a rare wind-element root. Only such duality could enable you to escape the encroaching clutches of my spirit treasure's transformation. And to think you have also managed to release 'Frost Vine Thorns'—a rare wood formation that both lashes and emits a potent toxin. Their danger is such that merely inhaling their spores or having them touch the skin for a few moments can render an opponent immobile, as if their very body had been frozen in time."
Fei Ling's face turned as pale as fresh snow—a clear sign that the wind technique he had attempted had overtaxed his current cultivation state. Li Yan watched, his expression somber and introspective, as he absorbed every nuance of this high-stakes confrontation. In his heart he wondered: should fate ever force him to confront such a warrior with techniques so multifaceted and elemental, upon what might he rely to secure victory?
As the duel continued, every movement and every burst of energy spoke through the language of battle. Zhu Gaotai, a master of the tenth layer of the Condensation stage, was renowned for his ability to dispatch foes with the sound of his "Urn Thunder Bug"—a technique that could force an enemy's flesh to swell and shatter if left unchecked. Across the battlefield, Fei Ling's style evoked the raw, ruthless force of nature: cunning, agile, and intertwined with the powers of both wood and wind. His spirit beast, the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis, was not simply a creature of brute violence; it symbolized an evolutionary stride toward savage efficiency. Its enormous scythe-like forelimbs were capable of lacerating vital sinews, and when its serrated blades caught an opponent's blood vessel, the resulting trauma was as devastating as it was swift.
During this first round, the two warriors clashed with a near-silent intensity that belied the torrent of energy flowing between them. Zhu Gaotai's measured aura rose steadily as if preparing to unleash a torrent of wind and thunder—a force that promised to shatter the very air—and Fei Ling, ever the tactician, disrupted the rhythm with movements so fluid that each shift seemed to rewrite the rules of engagement on the spot.
Then came the moment of reckoning: as slender blue wind blades soared from Fei Ling's outstretched form, Zhu Gaotai maintained an unyielding focus until, in a split second, his whole being seemed to dissolve from sight. The attack passed him by, the blue blades missing their intended target, and as if driven by an inner urge too powerful to constrain, Zhu Gaotai vanished—only to reappear on top of his protective cylinder. In that position of newfound safety, he brandished his transformed drum mallet anew, sending out a flash of dark, concentrated light.
All around the arena, onlookers gasped in awe at the display. Whispers spread among them about the spirit treasure that Zhu Gaotai wielded—a treasure whose very existence was shrouded in legend. "Brother Zhu's spirit treasure is beyond compare," murmured one. "I heard that during a fierce desert skirmish, he and several senior brothers waged a bloody fight over a small palace of treasures. It is said the relics he won from that battle are what empower him now." Their voices were filled simultaneously with admiration and secret envy.
Amid the clamor, Li Yan's eyes remained fixed on every nuance of the unfolding contest. He marveled at the interplay of offensive and defensive techniques—the brilliant, scorching blue of the wind blades, the savage flash of dark red energy streaking toward an enemy's head, and the almost otherworldly appearance of spirit artifact shields that could transform in an instant. The entire scene was a raw demonstration of battle mastery at the Condensation stage, where every move was measured in fractions of a second and every decision carried the weight of life or death.
Then, as if reality itself were bending under the sheer force of elemental power, a strange distortion appeared one li away. Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis were suddenly flung to that distant location, their figures materializing in a warped flash of light and shadow. The sudden shift left Fei Ling's expression drained, his aura jittering with the strain of overexertion, while Zhu Gaotai's eyes widened in alarm. Realizing the precarious nature of this interlude, Zhu Gaotai quickly maneuvered toward the side of one of the giant cylindrical shields. In that critical moment, with a series of muted "chit" sounds, massive vine-like spikes erupted from the earth—thick, coiling tendrils that hurtled upward with merciless intent. Had he been but a fraction slower, these vines might have struck him dead on.
Yet, before any consequence could fall upon him, Zhu Gaotai's normally unassailable demeanor shifted into an enigmatic smile. In a flash, he vanished from the immediate vicinity of the danger and reappeared atop one of his protective cylinders. With a single, fluid motion, he caused that very shield to compress into a streak of dark, luminous energy that quickly flew into his grasp—again manifesting as a colossal drum mallet. He glanced back over the past area, watching as the venomous vines softened into a mere mist, then turned his keen eyes back toward Fei Ling. "Brother Fei," he said evenly, "your tactics are indeed formidable. I never imagined you carried not only the wood-element within your spirit but also a refined wind-element. Only such a combination could enable you to escape my spirit treasure's transformative defense so nimbly. And you have managed to synthesize 'Frost Vine Thorns'—a marvel. Such a formation, with its natural capacity to entwine and deliver a potent toxin that can paralyze an opponent in but a few breaths, is a rare and dangerous gift of nature."
Fei Ling's face, now a portrait of strain and exhaustion, betrayed that his wind technique had indeed pushed him to the very edge of his capability. His breathing was ragged and his aura flickered with uncertainty. Li Yan, absorbing every detail, could not help but wonder how he himself might cope if ever forced to stand against such intricacies—a question that roiled in his mind with both anxiety and a fierce resolve to one day master these formidable techniques.
As the battle raged on, every second was a symphony of survival and strategy. Zhu Gaotai, whose reputation as one of Li Peak's most outstanding Condensation practitioners was well known across the sect, demonstrated an artistry that blended iron discipline with natural, almost instinctive flair. His mastery of fundamental immortal arts, honed nearly to perfection, allowed him to manipulate energy with breathtaking precision—even as he wielded the deadly "Urn Thunder Bug" technique, a method capable of shaking an enemy's very core.
On the other side, Fei Ling's approach was as much about misdirection as it was about raw power. His movements were calculated to disrupt the enemy's cadence, and his integration of wind and wood elements allowed him to slip through defenses with an elegance that belied its lethal intent. The savage strikes from his Blood-Brown Knife Mantis added a visceral edge to his performance—a ferocity that left no doubt about the price of failure.
In the midst of this dazzling confrontation, the atmosphere itself seemed charged with magic and imminent danger. The protective blue dome that circumscribed the arena glittered steadily, a silent witness to a battle where every pulse of energy, every turn of the wind blade, was measured as if by a cosmic metronome. Overhead, the thousand-li mirror continued to display cascading delicate blue inscriptions—a record of fates that shifted with each heartbeat of the contest. Yet Li Yan could find no trace of his own number amid those swirling characters, leaving him to reflect on the names and faces that Li Wu Yi had urged him to note beforehand.
Among those whose matches had already begun, many names from other peaks shone through the glimmer of the thousand-li mirror: Gan Shi of Four Symbols Peak, the distinguished Chu brothers, Wei Feng, and on the Ling Chong side, the formidable Wang Tian along with Daoist partners Zuo Shengyan, Li Zhi, and Zhang Cai Lian. Still, there was an undercurrent of tension in the eyes of those on the opposing side—Zuo Shengyan's cold, penetrating gaze as she looked toward Bamboo Peak, and Wang Tian's fixed stare that revealed an unspoken rivalry. The mere thought of Zhao Min—the ethereally graceful maiden whose hidden ferocity had unsettled Li Yan during the Foundation matches—stirred in him complex emotions, agitating long-hidden feelings he did not yet fully understand.
Soon enough, the moment of reckoning arrived. As the golden core competition's participants gathered, only a dozen or so appeared—a stark contrast to the earlier throng of Foundation warriors. After Yan Longzi's concise prelude and a brief rule announcement by a disciplined sect Enforcement Hall elder, the familiar ritual began. With a flourish, red arrows were once again scattered through the air, inviting the contestants to draw their lot numbers. Then, with the proper ceremonial cadence, the competition was declared open.
This time, twenty Foundation masters—each a revered expert chosen from various peaks—were tasked with observing, judging, and commenting on the bout. Although these experts came from all over, some, like Li Wu Yi, were designated solely to supervise one battle platform so that all forty-nine primary Foundation contestants could devote their full attention to the contest.
At that moment, Li Yan's eyes drifted to the golden red inscription on his own sleeve—a small, vibrant "33" nestled beside the bamboo emblem. He kept his gaze fixed on the thousand-li mirror as different regions of the screen showed swirling blue texts and voices announcing preliminary numbers and matchups. He searched anxiously for his own number yet found nothing, and in his heart he silently recalled the names of those Li Wu Yi had advised him to watch—hoping that before his own turn arrived he might glean valuable insights from their performances.
Then, as if on cue, the blue script on the twenty crystal screens began to fade, and brilliant beams of light burst forth from every direction. Dozens of colorful "escape rays" streaked toward the individual platforms, marking the onset of the competition in earnest.
Li Yan scanned all twenty battle platforms meticulously before his eyes locked onto one particular arena. Here, at the edge of a continuously shifting blue protective dome, two figures stood at its center—separated by several hundred meters yet seeming to share an unspoken connection. Unlike the Foundation stage combatants who fought from positions suspended many li away after breaching their protective domes, Condensation fighters had to stand relatively close since their ability to fly was nonexistent without auxiliary spirit artifacts. In general, once within the battle arena both opponents would recall their flight devices, as the cost of their operation—consuming precious spirit stones and depleting vital spiritual energy—was far too high for those at their cautious level.
On this selected platform, one combatant was particularly eye-catching—a youthful figure of medium build with a measured presence, his hair cut into a close-cropped "buzz" style that stood like upright bristles. His face was marked by a steely determination, and his skin bore the deep hues of one who had long been tempered by the sun. In his hands, he gripped a pair of unusual drum mallets approximately one chi in length. This was none other than Zhu Gaotai, the celebrated Condensation expert from Li Peak, whose reputation as a master of the tenth layer was nearly unmatched. His entire being exuded the quiet authority of a warrior who had reached the upper echelons of his cultivation. He was said to be among the top three outside the main gate of Li Peak, and his command of immortal arts was almost seamless.
Opposing Zhu Gaotai was a martial artist from Ling Chong Peak named Fei Ling. Equally at the coveted tenth layer, Fei Ling was lean and agile, with a countenance as sharp as a falcon's—his eyes glittered with intensity. Perched on his right shoulder was his fearsome spirit beast: a mantis of nearly human proportions, its entire body a searing, flushed red. At every opportunity, the creature tilted its head, its large eyes revolving ceaselessly in a predatory manner as it kept a constant, assessing gaze on Zhu Gaotai. The mantis's presence was imposing; it radiated the aura of a refined spirit beast, its power on par with those classified at the latter stages of the Condensation phase. Clutched within its formidable grasp were two massive, interlocked blades—black and red in a fearsome dance—with serrated edges that produced a sound so abrasive and grating, one could almost taste its metallic fury (though, of course, the thousand-li mirror rendered such sounds mute to distant audiences).
Li Yan had chosen to focus on this battle for more than one reason. Both Zhu Gaotai and his opponent, Fei Ling, had been subjects of prior detailed instruction from Li Wu Yi—names spoken with similar reverence in previous sessions. Zhu Gaotai's impeccable mastery had already set him apart at Li Peak's Condensation ranks, while Fei Ling's hybrid style, combining both wood and wind techniques, promised a dazzling contest. Their match, occurring in the very first round, would be a display of all that their extensive training had imbued in them.
For a prolonged moment the two combatants stood facing each other without uttering a word, each cultivating their inner auras until the atmosphere itself vibrated with the tension of impending attacks. Then, without warning and before their energies reached their maximum, Fei Ling's figure shimmered as though dissolving into the air. With fluid, practiced ease, he departed his original spot—its disappearance marking a masterful disruption of the expected rhythm.
In the very next heartbeat, Fei Ling's form reappeared and then melted away again, his phantom-like silhouette dancing stealthily across the arena. In less than a full breath, he had advanced to within only a few dozen meters of Zhu Gaotai. Despite the sudden intrusion, Zhu Gaotai remained composed, his aura steadily intensifying as if gathering the very forces of nature to unleash soon. In an explosive burst—accompanied by a gentle "whish" that belied the ferocity of the attack—several slender, crescent-shaped blue wind blades were launched simultaneously. They cut with precision toward Zhu Gaotai's neck, chest, abdomen, and legs. The technique was none other than the perfected "Wind Blade Technique," a method refined over years of dedicated practice; at that immediate range, it was the most rapid, direct, and devastating means to attack.
Almost concurrently, a ripple of unsettling energy began on the opposite side of the arena. Out of that turbulence, the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis emerged as if materializing by magic. In what seemed like a single, instantaneous motion, it appeared two zhang to the left of Zhu Gaotai. Li Yan could not quite discern how the mantis had managed such a manoeuvre so swiftly—its massive, dark-and-red blades clashed with a metallic "clang." At their intersection, a searing burst of dark red light shot forth like an arrow, racing toward Zhu Gaotai's head with an intensity that promised devastation. Even if Zhu Gaotai's protective spirit energy were at its peak, such a blow would have shattered any defense. Immediately after launching the beam, the mantis surged forward aggressively—its huge claws slicing through the space with visionary brutality.
In that moment, Zhu Gaotai found himself caught in a deadly crossfire, effectively trapped between these two masterful Condensation techniques. At the critical instant when both attacks threatened to land, Zhu Gaotai's normally stolid expression transformed into a strange, almost otherworldly smile. As though obeying an inscrutable tactic, his body suddenly dissolved from sight. The blue wind blades—now aimless—whirled in empty air before rapidly dissipating and being flung off into the distance. A dark red beam streaked upward, and the mantis's imposing form soon reappeared in the very space Zhu Gaotai had just occupied. His predicament now was clear: trapped between the fierce assaults of two adversaries whose techniques were as diverse as they were deadly.
Then, from several zhang distant on the ground, the very surface of the arena trembled. A ghostly figure, once hidden beneath the earth, surged upward in a flash of spectral light. In moments, its form solidified and it was seen hurling a wooden drum mallet high into the air. Almost magically, the mallet transformed—the two relics expanding into towering cylinders about seven or eight zhang in height and nearly twenty zhang in breadth. They hovered in midair, instantly enveloping an expanse spanning several dozen zhang with a protective shield.
Li Yan's heart skipped a beat as he registered this rare spirit treasure. Such a safeguard—so potent—was seldom seen among Condensation practitioners and was markedly superior in power to the modest spirit sword he held. Its presence was a signal that this contest was not only an exhibition of martial might but also a display of treasured legacy and secret art.
Many onlookers around the platform murmured in admiration. "I never imagined Brother Zhu possessed such a spirit artifact," one whispered. "I heard that last year, during that desperate battle under the desert palace, Brother Zhu and a group of senior disciples clashed with members of the Tai Xuan Sect—and it is said that this very treasure was won in that deadly contest."
Li Yan's eyes, however, remained fixed on every unfolding detail. The enormous drum-mallet shields now roared with latent energy, and within their confines the fierce duel raged unabated. Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis—caught in a delicate balance within these colossal protective tubes—could barely muster an escape if needed, for even a moment's hesitation might trap them indefinitely.
Then, as if the boundaries of space were being rewritten, an even more bizarre spectacle occurred. At the very moment when the two great cylindrical shields draped themselves over the arena, a sudden spatial twist rippled through the air one li away. In that disorienting moment, Fei Ling and the mantis were seen reappearing in that altered space. Fei Ling's face was ghostly pale, his breathing uneven as he struggled to maintain control of his rapidly fluctuating aura. Zhu Gaotai's eyes narrowed in alarm; without delay, he pivoted his form and dashed toward the side of one of the giant cylinders. Almost instantly, there came a series of thudding, subdued "chit-chit" sounds as several massive, serpentine vines erupted from the earth. They shot upward like enormous, coiling spears aimed squarely at the spot where he had just stood. Even a minor delay would have meant being impaled by these venomous tendrils. Though Zhu Gaotai knew that senior Foundation masters were nearby to prevent a fatal injury, the likelihood of sustaining a debilitating wound—or even suffering a setback in the contest—was very real.
Yet before any of that danger could be fully realized, Zhu Gaotai's face shifted once more into an inscrutable, paradoxical smile. In a flash, he vanished away from the perilous zone, reappearing atop one of the colossal cylindrical shields. With a single, deliberate motion, he manipulated the shield's energy until it contracted into a streak of dark light that sped straight into his grasp—again revealing itself as a formidable drum mallet. Once more he glanced back at the area he had just vacated; the once-threatening vines were now nothing more than a dissipating mist. Turning his attention toward Fei Ling—who was still struggling to recover his footing—Zhu Gaotai commented pleasantly, "Brother Fei, your techniques are truly remarkable. Who would have guessed that aside from your Ling Chong Peak wood-element, you also harbor an uncanny wind-element affinity? Without that, you surely could not have escaped our spirit treasure's crushing barrier, and by the same token, you managed to release the elusive 'Frost Vine Thorns.' Such mastery of wood-element formations is nearly unheard of. Their lethality lies not only in their physical assault—entangling and piercing—but also in the subtle toxin they emit, which can immobilize an adversary within mere breaths."
Fei Ling's face paled further. It was evident that pushing forth his wind element in such an extreme manner had disrupted his fragile equilibrium. His aura, normally so controlled, now flickered with uncertainty as he struggled with the burden of his technique.
Li Yan, absorbing it all, felt a deep pounding in his heart. He wondered silently that if his path ever brought him up against such masterful combatants—men and women whose very elemental bonds allowed them to perform feats of sublime brutality—how could he ever hope to prevail? The question echoed in the depths of his mind even as he stood transfixed by the mesmerizing spectacle that unfolded overhead.
Slowly, the battle evolved into a symphony of collision and counter—each move a blend of precision, raw elemental energy, and centuries-honed martial instinct. Zhu Gaotai's refined control over his internal power made every of his silent gestures decisive. His mastery of ancient immortal arts allowed him to channel energy that not only repelled his opponent's assaults but also prepared him for a devastating counterstrike. Across from him, Fei Ling's fluidity in movement—marked by sudden shifts in direction, rapid veils of wind, and the ferocious interjections of his spirit beast's razor-edged blades—spoke of a warrior who had spent years perfecting the art of tactical retreat and swift, lethal offense.
The overwhelming intensity of this duel was heightened by the shimmering protective domes that circumscribed each battle platform, the ethereal blue glow of pulsating energy serving as both shield and stage. The thousand-li flowing mirror overhead continued to cascade cryptic inscriptions in its steady blue luminescence, a silent chronicle of each combatant's fate. Yet for Li Yan, this display instilled a fierce hunger for knowledge; every fleeting moment of this contest was to be absorbed like water, each subtle nuance recorded in his mind for the apprenticeship that awaited him.
Then, in an even more surreal and unanticipated moment, the fabric of space itself—seemingly influenced by the volatile exchange of elemental energies—twisted. Without warning, Fei Ling and his vicious spirit beast were seen reappearing one li away, their forms momentarily blurred by the unsteady distortion of reality. Fei Ling's expression was one of strained determination marred by exhaustion; his aura, normally steady and protective, now quivered with the burden of overdone elemental strain. Zhu Gaotai's eyes flashed with quick calculation—understanding that in that fractured second, the balance of power might tilt against him if he did not act decisively.
Reacting with veteran precision, Zhu Gaotai pivoted sharply towards the injured zone, his lithe form moving almost as if in slow motion. A series of deep, muffled "crack-crack" sounds echoed as tremendous vine-like protrusions erupted from the ground where he once stood. These living, coiling brambles—sharp, heavy, and swathed in venom—shot upward with the force of a cannon blast. If he had been even a second slower, his vulnerable form might have been impaled by the earth's sudden wrath. Even with the comforting presence of the senior instructors nearby to ensure his survival, such moments of vulnerability were stark reminders of the unforgiving nature of martial combat at this level.
Yet, as if guided by an inner wisdom well beyond mortal ken, Zhu Gaotai's normally stern visage softened into that inscrutable smile once more. In an almost magical reversal, he vanished from the immediate danger and reappeared atop one of the great spirit-shields. With a single, graceful gesture that belied the turbulence of the moment, he contracted the shield's energy into a concentrating jet of dark light that raced straight into his waiting hand—once again materializing as a formidable drum mallet. Peering back at the dissipating tendrils of venomous vines, he then shifted his gaze toward Fei Ling, remarking with cool composure, "Brother Fei, your method is as masterful as it is dangerous. I never imagined that, considering your renowned wood elemental aptitude, you also wield a wind nature so refined that it allows you to slip past even the most formidable defenses. Truly, your capacity to manifest 'Frost Vine Thorns' is nothing short of extraordinary."
Fei Ling's eyes glinted with both pride and strain—he knew full well that every burst of elemental power exacted a toll upon his spirit. Li Yan, absorbing every word and movement, could not help but be struck by the raw intensity and multidimensional complexity of the combatants' techniques. His thoughts raced: if a confrontation with such multifaceted warriors ever came to pass, how might one hope to match that level of artistry?
All around the arena, the contest continued with breathtaking speed and elegance. The protective domes glowed with a steady blue radiance, and the crystalline mirror overhead recorded every moment—every subtle shift of aura, every whispered incantation of power. The names of renowned disciples from various peaks shone like constellations in that vast canvas: Gan Shi, the Chu brothers, Wei Feng, Wang Tian, and many others, each with their unique style and elemental affinities. Among these, the cold, piercing gaze of Zuo Shengyan—who had once been the picture of grace—haunted Li Yan's thoughts, stirring an inexplicable beacon of emotion within him.
As the contest pressed on, the battle on the platform where Zhu Gaotai and Fei Ling clashed grew even more dramatic. In an almost choreographed sequence, Zhu Gaotai's stoic dignity and intricate mastery of inner energy faced the combined, ferocious assault of Fei Ling's fleet, deadly wind blades and the savage charge of his spirit beast. The clang of colliding blades, the hissing rush of wind, and even the silent flash of light as dark energy burst forth—all wove together into an unforgettable tapestry of martial artistry.
In one particularly heart-stopping moment, after a rapid exchange of attacks, Zhu Gaotai's form appeared to vanish completely, leaving behind only the echo of his presence as the blue wind blades missed their mark. Then, as quickly, his image reappeared atop his protective shield—a reminder of his indomitable spirit and mastery over the battlefield. His transformation of the shield into a concentrated burst of dark light and its subsequent capture in his hand was a sight to behold. The onlookers murmured in hushed admiration, while some even speculated in low tones about the origins of his rare spirit treasure—a prize seemingly won in the crucible of blood and strife during a legendary desert skirmish.
Li Yan, meanwhile, continued to watch intently. Every detail—from the elemental fluctuations to the interplay of spirit energy and the fleeting manifestations of secret techniques—was a treasure trove of knowledge for him. He could not help but reflect on how such advanced combat techniques, honed to near perfection, might one day be incorporated into his own arsenal. Yet, even as he marveled, a heavy thought settled in his mind: what if, when faced with such overwhelming mastery, his own nascent skills proved utterly inadequate? The question was both terrifying and oddly motivating.
Then came a final, unexpected twist. As the two enormous drum mallet shields enveloped the ground and their protective energy persisted, Li Yan noticed a spatial anomaly—a distortion that rippled through the air nearly one li away from the furious melee. In that surreal instant, Fei Ling and the Blood-Brown Knife Mantis were seen reappearing at this abnormal locus. Fei Ling's face was ashen, and his aura flickered dangerously as if his energy reserves were teetering on the brink of collapse. Zhu Gaotai's eyes narrowed as he quickly calculated his next move. Without hesitation, his body dashed toward the margin of one of the spirit towers. In a series of muffled "chit" sounds, several gigantic, serpentine vines erupted from the ground like nature's own spears—each one lashing out with lethal intent. Zhu Gaotai's swift maneuvers saved him from certain disaster, but the near miss underscored the relentless brutality of Condensation-stage combat.
In that moment, as if in response to an inner mandate, Zhu Gaotai's expression broke into that enigmatic smile once more. His body shimmered and then vanished from that treacherous spot, reappearing atop one of the colossal energy cylinders. With a deliberate, deft gesture, he caused the cylinder to contract into a jet of dark light that he caught in his hand, again assuming the form of his mighty drum mallet. He glanced momentarily at the dissipating state of the venomous vines—a final reminder of the danger he had so narrowly evaded—and then turned to regard Fei Ling, who was still laboring under the strain of his advanced elemental attacks. "Brother Fei," he observed, "your skill is truly formidable. I never imagined that your mastery of wood would be coupled with wind so fine that it allows you to elude even our spirit treasures' crushing force. And to see you forge 'Frost Vine Thorns'—a marvel of natural weaponry—is something beyond my wildest expectations."
At these words, Fei Ling's eyes betrayed both pride and the strained agony of pushing beyond his limits. Li Yan, lost in the grandeur of these unfolding events, remained rapt in observation as each combatant bled their spirit energy onto the battleground—a vivid reminder that mastery in this realm was the result not only of discipline and training but of the convergence of nature's forces themselves.
Even as the duel at that one vital platform reached its zenith—the combined onslaught of wind, wood, and toxin coalescing into a storm of elemental ferocity—Li Yan's gaze drifted back to the broader contest. The countless disciples spread across the five zones, though fewer in number than during the previous Foundation Grand Contest, still radiated the intense anticipation and determination of warriors on the cusp of greatness. From his vantage point, he noted many familiar names from the other peaks: Gan Shi, the formidable Chu brothers, Wei Feng, Wang Tian, and the reticent yet deadly figures of Ling Chong Peak, as well as the various luminaries of Old Lord Peak. Yet there was a peculiar chill in the eyes of Zuo Shengyan when she looked toward Bamboo Peak, and even Wang Tian's gaze, fixed and relentless, seemed to direct his focus toward Li Yan's own faction. The subtle interplay of rivalry and quiet admiration was in full display—and the mere memory of Zhao Min's slender, graceful form, now revealed as possessing a hidden ferocity in combat, stirred in Li Yan an array of mixed emotions he could hardly articulate.
As the day's early bouts gave way to the more elite matches, the atmosphere became thick with both excitement and tension. Slowly, the Golden Core contestants began to trickle in. Only a small handful were present—a far cry from the overwhelming numbers seen at the Foundation stage. Once more, Yan Longzi's brief preamble was followed by the ritual of drawing lot numbers. This time, the process was overseen by twenty legendary Foundation masters, carefully selected from all the peaks. Li Wu Yi, among others, ensured that the contest was conducted fairly, allowing all participants the chance to observe the intricate dance of magical combat.
Li Yan's own number had still not appeared on the crystal screen, and as he concentrated on the swirling blue characters and soft-chanting announcements, he silently recalled Li Wu Yi's advice: to watch closely the battles of powerful peers before his own turn arrived. It was an opportunity to glean every nuance of technique, every subtle adjustment in strategy, and every spark of creative ingenuity—a lesson he knew would be indispensable for his own eventual rise.
Finally, as the voices over the thousand-li mirror declared the competition's start, Li Yan's heart thundered with anticipation. His eyes wandered over the myriad contestants and the luminous crystal screens capturing every moment of the grand spectacle. The shift from the expansive, freewheeling nature of the Foundation battles to the more confined, razor-precise arena of the Condensation stage was stark. With each platform now measuring only a fifth of the previous length, every move was amplified, every gesture laden with significance.
Then, amidst the orchestrated chaos of elemental forces and surging auras, Li Yan's gaze returned to the two combatants at the chosen platform. He studied their every motion—every flash of determination, every ripple of energy—and wondered silently at the efficacy of such techniques. Zhu Gaotai, with his calm intensity and innovative defensive maneuvers, and Fei Ling, combining the agility of wind with the raw power of wood, were in a duel that seemed both brutal and beautifully choreographed. Their confrontation was a microcosm of the entire martial world: delicate yet uncompromising, precise yet fiercely dynamic.
In that charged moment, as the echoes of clashing energy reverberated across the platform, Li Yan's thoughts turned inward. He was reminded once again how crucial it was to grasp not just the raw techniques but also the underlying philosophies that informed them. Every strike, every parry, every hidden technique had its roots in centuries of ancient wisdom and meticulous training. And though he still had much to learn, moments like these ignited within him a burning determination—a desire to one day harness that same brilliance, to emerge from his own trials as a master in his own right.
As the contest continued in earnest and the day wore on, the scene before him became a living, breathing tapestry of martial artistry. The interplay of light and shadow, the dynamic patterns of swirling protective domes, and the reverberating silence between each clash all combined to create an experience that was as breathtaking as it was enlightening. Amidst it all, Li Yan remained steadfast—each observation, each learned lesson, each emotion etched deep into his memory a stepping stone on his arduous path of growth.
And so, as the Condensation Competition unfolded all around him, Li Yan's heart swelled with both trepidation and hope. He knew that with every passing moment he was being sculpted—tempered by fire, refined by adversity—so that when his own time came, he might meet the world head-on, equipped with the wisdom gleaned from observing these giants of the martial realm. He silently vowed then that he would not only survive these trials but emerge as something greater than he was before.