Hard work pays

The arena buzzed with anticipation as the National Sects Tournament officially commenced. The colossal stands, crafted from polished obsidian and inlaid with glowing runes, thrummed with the energy of thousands of spectators. The royal capital’s grandeur extended even here, where cultivators and onlookers from all walks of life gathered to witness the unfolding spectacle.

Wei Xiao stood among his fellow Spirit Moon Sect representatives, his gaze scanning the arena. The central platform shimmered faintly, reinforced by spiritual arrays designed to withstand the mightiest clashes. Above it, banners of various sects fluttered in the breeze, each bearing the emblem of its respective faction.

To one side of the arena stood an area reserved for the Four Great Sects. Elevated on a dais of crystalline stone that refracted the light into shimmering rainbows, this section exuded prestige. Each sect’s banner hung from intricately carved pillars, glowing faintly with spiritual energy. The Spirit Moon Sect’s emblem stood proud among the others: Blazing Sun Sect, Eternal Void Temple, and The Frost Jade Pavilion. The seating arrangements were grand yet unified, reflecting their shared role under the dynasty’s governance. Rows of luminescent cushions arranged in semicircles provided an unobstructed view of the arena.

Opposite them, just as magnificent, was the seating for the Four Master Clans. Their area was set upon a raised platform of polished gold-veined marble, with an ethereal barrier of shimmering spiritual energy enclosing it. The Azure Dragon, Vermilion Bird, Black Tortoise, and White Tiger banners loomed high, their rich colors woven with threads of starlight that seemed to ripple with life. Sculpted dragon and phoenix motifs lined the railings, a testament to their ancient legacies.

Wei Xiao’s gaze lingered on the Master Clans’ section, drawn to the imposing figure seated prominently in the Black Tortoise Clan’s area. Huang Zhong, the clan leader, commanded attention with his presence alone. His dark green robes, embroidered with the emblematic black tortoise entwined with waves of silver and jade, shimmered faintly as if alive with suppressed energy. penetrating gaze exuded an aura of unyielding authority, as if the weight of his clan’s history rested effortlessly on his broad shoulders.

Wei Xiao’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto Huang Zhong, seated amidst the dignitaries of the Black Tortoise Clan. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face before he muttered under his breath, “What is he doing here?”

Qiu Ning, catching his tone, turned her attention to him. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Huang Zhong,” Wei Xiao said quietly, his gaze unwavering. “He’s the leader of the Black Tortoise Clan. What’s he doing at a tournament like this?”

“Oh, him?” Qiu Ning raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “You really don’t know how the other 32 participants get in, do you?”

Wei Xiao frowned, crossing his arms. “Enlighten me.”

Qiu Ning leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to explain. “The tournament isn’t just for sect disciples, you know. There are 64 slots in total. Thirty-two of them are reserved for the sects under the dynasty’s governance, like us. But the other thirty-two? Those are up for grabs. Independent cultivators, clans, even wandering prodigies—they can all fight for a spot in district tournaments held across the kingdom.”

Qiu Shen, standing nearby, nodded. “The district tournaments are brutal. Only the strongest fighters make it through. Some of the participants you’ll face didn’t get here through sect training but through sheer willpower and skill. The Four Master Clans usually send some disciples to represent them—and there’s been talk that Huang Zhong’s second son might be participating this year. Wouldn’t be surprising if he’s here to watch.”

Zhen Fang, his voice steady and calm, added, “The rules are fair. A cultivator’s strength speaks louder than their affiliations. And if someone from the Black Tortoise Clan is here, it’s because they’ve earned their place.”

Wei Xiao’s jaw tightened as he processed the information. His eyes darted back to the Black Tortoise Clan’s section, where Huang Zhong sat in stoic silence, surveying the arena. The Black Tortoise emblem, etched into the back of his robes, gleamed under the sunlight. If his second son really was participating, it would mean facing a prodigy nurtured under the weight of the Black Tortoise’s legacy.

“That explains a lot,” Wei Xiao muttered, glancing around at the other participants gathered near the arena. Some bore the distinctive robes of their sects, while others dressed in simpler, more practical attire, their auras no less fierce.

“Exactly,” Qiu Ning said, her smirk softening. “The independent fighters are wild cards. They’re unpredictable and usually don’t follow the same cultivation paths as us. You’d better be ready for anything.”

“I will be,” Wei Xiao replied firmly, his gaze hardening. “The sect has trained us well. It doesn’t matter if they’re from a clan or the wilderness—I’ll face them all.”

As their group continued toward their seats, the significance of the tournament began to weigh on Wei Xiao in new ways. The participants weren’t just prodigies from sects but also self-made warriors, each with their own story and struggles. The tournament wasn’t merely a stage for sect pride—it was a battlefield of ideologies, of different paths to power and mastery.

The thought both excited and unsettled him.

The official’s voice broke through the hum of the crowd, calling for the tournament to officially commence. The first match was about to begin, and the excitement in the air reached a fever pitch.

Wei Xiao glanced at the central platform, its shimmering surface reflecting the sunlight like a mirror. “This is it,” he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides. His thoughts flicked back to the whispered suspicions from earlier, the rigged pairings that pitted his sectmates against one another. A shadow of doubt loomed in his mind, but he pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on conspiracies. Now was the time to fight.

“Focus,” Ying Mei said softly, her silver hair catching the light as she stood beside him. “Your first opponent isn’t some faceless challenge. Every cultivator here has earned their place. Treat them with the respect their skill deserves.”

Wei Xiao nodded, appreciating her words, even if they were laced with her usual air of superiority. “Respect, yes,” he said. “But I won’t hold back.”

Ying Mei’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Good. Neither will they.”

The first match featured a cultivator from the Burning Sun Sect against a scrappy independent fighter who had clawed their way through a district tournament. The battle was fierce, a clash of polished sect techniques against raw, unorthodox strength. The crowd roared with every strike, their cheers echoing through the arena.

As the fight concluded with the Burning Sun Sect’s victory, Wei Xiao’s gaze remained fixed on the platform. His turn was coming, and with it, the chance to prove himself—not just to the world but to the Spirit Moon Sect and his own expectations.

Zhen Fang’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

Wei Xiao turned to him, nodding once. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

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