Chương 118: Book 2 Chapter 32: Confluence

Book 2 Chapter 25: Ants Wang Ping kept his head down, doing his best to ignore the pounding in his skull, and the steady trickle of blood from his nose. It had taken only a single glance. One fleeting, foolish look at the arrow Senior Wei Shentong had loosed at the very start of the duel with that colossal giant of his, and Wang Ping had felt like death warmed over. If Senior Bai Ning hadn't intervened… hadn't forcibly torn his gaze away… He shivered, as though death itself had just brushed the nape of his neck.

The fine hairs along his arms prickled, rising into goosebumps. The worst part – the absolute worst – was that the arena still stood. The formation remained intact. Which meant neither of the Nascent Soul seniors were fighting at full strength. They were holding back, consciously and deliberately. And even so, merely trying to watch them had wounded his mind and spirit. It was like trying to perceive something fundamentally beyond him, something too vast and too profound.

His soul had recoiled, unable to comprehend it. Something-"Divine, yes," came Senior Bai Ning's voice, laced with quiet understanding. Wang Ping flinched despite himself. He knew he shouldn't; she had saved his life mere moments ago, again, but instinct overruled reason. She regarded him with open concern… and a trace of pity.

"The first time I witnessed a Nascent Soul battle, I fared little better. You handled it well. Besides, the fight is over now." His heart skipped a beat. He jolted upright.

"It's over?" he asked, hating the hoarse, almost disbelieving relief in his voice. But how could he not feel it? Just leave, a voice inside him pleaded. Leave, and never come back. A mere Foundation Establishment cultivator like me has no place among Nascent Soul monsters like you. Ordinarily, he took pride in his cultivation. True, he wasn't some grand figure, but reaching Foundation Establishment meant security.

He would never struggle for survival; he would have work, a roof over his head, and a life of relative comfort. There were hundreds of thousands of Foundation Establishment cultivators in the capital, yes, but so what? He had no desire to abandon it all. Besides, he had heard of those who lived beyond the cities, reclusive cultivators dwelling in caves they had carved out with their own hands. The thought alone made him shudder. No, Foundation Establishment was respectable. More than respectable.

Of course, Core Formation cultivators lived better, with greater wealth, connections, and influence. He didn't know a single one who didn't enjoy a charmed life. But still, his own realm was enough. The only path that might surpass it was passing the Imperial Keju and entering the government, regardless of cultivation level. But the competition there was monstrous. Millions of Qi Condensation cultivators sat for it, and only a fraction passed.

At Foundation Establishment, it was worse, with hundreds of thousands competing for mere tens of thousands of slots. Wang Ping had never seriously considered it. He had been content with what he had. Nascent Soul cultivators, though… they were something else entirely. He had always known that. But this… this was the first time he had truly felt it. And what he felt was not ambition or longing, but fear. He did not dream of that power. He did not crave that authority. He only wanted distance. Leave, he prayed again.

Beside him, Senior Bai Ning, still terrifying, still powerful, yet far more human than the monsters she stood among, nodded.

"It is. The duel was to first blood. I saw Wei Shentong slam into the cliff. Master's form was sloppy, and the punch wasn't elegant, but it knocked a tooth out. So… first blood." Wang Ping listened, horror churning in his stomach. Senior Mo Jian had punched Senior Wei Shentong? Wei Shentong had lost a tooth? And… why was she telling him this? What was he supposed to do with that information? Then the words truly registered, and he nearly squeezed his eyes shut in pain. By all the deities in Heaven…

he would have to confirm it himself, wouldn't he? He was the arena manager. It was his duty to call the end of the match. Steeling himself, Wang Ping summoned the jade badge that controlled the Greater Illusory Formation from his storage pouch. He sent a thin thread of spiritual sense into it, and almost recoiled at what he found. The formation was barely holding together. Its restrictions clung on by the thinnest margin. One more surge of powerful qi, and it would shatter completely. He let out a slow breath.

Do your job, he scolded himself. Then, more quietly: So these monsters leave… and I never have to see them again. His awareness merged with the space inside the formation, his senses sweeping across the arena. He tried not to stare at the scale of the devastation. The mountains were nearly gone, ripped apart like sandcastles before a rising tide. The once-lush forest had been reduced to a patchwork of green and brown, more trees uprooted and shattered than left standing.

Chunks of fractured jade lay scattered across the ground like fallen stars, each piece still radiating more qi than he possessed in his entire body. And near the center of the arena, embedded halfway into a cliff, was Wei Shentong. His eyes were open. One cheek had already darkened into an ugly bruise. But aside from that, and the small matter of being lodged in solid rock, he seemed… fine. There wasn't a single drop of blood in sight.

Then Wei Shentong's gaze snapped upward, straight toward where Wang Ping's spiritual sense hovered. A vast, furious pressure slammed into him. Wang Ping's soul nearly fled his body. Without the slightest concern for dignity or consequences, he severed the connection instantly, stumbling back as cold sweat drenched his robes. I almost died, he realized, heart hammering. If he had lingered even a moment longer, the senior might have killed him for witnessing him in such a state. And yet, his job wasn't finished.

The thought alone made him want to cry. Hopefully, Senior Mo Jian would be in a better mood. He had won, after all. And last time… last time he had protected Wang Ping. Though whether that had been kindness, or simply an unwillingness to waste time waiting for a replacement should the arena manager get killed, Wang Ping truly couldn't say. He sent his spiritual sense into the jade badge again, this time sweeping across the sky within the restriction. He found Senior Mo Jian at once.

The man hovered in midair, examining something floating above his palm. A dull, stubby ding, blue and black, with a metal scorpion for a handle, hung at his side. Mo Jian raised an eyebrow as he sensed Wang Ping's presence, but made no move to stop him. Instead, he obligingly lifted his hand slightly, allowing the object floating above it to come into clearer view. Wang Ping's breath caught in his throat. It was a small tooth, the tip of its root faintly stained red. Proof positive.

For a moment, he stared at it entranced, ugly and vulgar as it was, before common sense returned. Hurriedly, he adjusted the formation to ensure his voice would carry clearly throughout the arena.

"First blood," he announced.

"Winner: Senior Mo Jian." Then, before he could reconsider – or worse, overthink it and make matters worse – he withdrew his spiritual sense and dispelled the formation. The arena flickered once. The forest vanished, replaced by a stone floor beneath an open sky. The enclosing walls came back into view, along with the upper halves of the formation flags belonging to the Greater Illusory Formation.

Three figures stood revealed within the arena: Mo Jian, still hovering in the air; Wei Shentong, standing on the ground, his entire body shrouded in a halo of green light that obscured his face; and, off to one side, as far from the others as possible, Duan Cheng, his expression smooth and flat as a wax mask. Senior Bai Ning took the initiative.

She rose into the air, wrapped in her qi, and then – presumably out of consideration, though it made Wang Ping want to weep – swept him up along with her, carrying them both to the center of the arena, directly to where Senior Wei Shentong stood. At the same time, Senior Mo Jian descended from the sky, the ding at his side vanishing, while even Senior Duan Cheng began to make his way over, slow and deliberate, still keeping his distance. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform.

Support original creators! Wang Ping had been hoping the nightmare was over. The duel was finished, so surely they would all just leave, right? His hopes were dashed immediately.

"Any objections?" Mo Jian asked, his tone edged with challenge, directed squarely at Wei Shentong. A pressure as vast as the ocean, and heavy as a mountain, crashed down onto Wang Ping's back as Wei Shentong's aura unfurled. Only Bai Ning's qi barrier kept him from collapsing, like an ant crushed beneath a boot.

"The fight was to first blood," Wei Shentong said. Each word came slow and weighty, like stones dredged from the seabed, as if reluctant to surface.

"I will keep my word." Hope bloomed again in Wang Ping's chest at those words. Good. If the result of the fight wouldn't be disputed – and just thinking that it might have been made his stomach twist – then they would all leave. Hurry up, he urged silently. At that moment, Wang Ping made a firm decision: the next time a Nascent Soul senior asked him for a favor, he would pretend to be sick. No, not pretend. He would swallow a poison pill and make it real. Deathly ill.

On his last breath, hovering at the brink of the grave. That would still be far preferable to getting dragged into something like this ever again. Unfortunately, the universe seemed intent on punishing his thoughts. Instead of leaving, or rather than celebrating his victory elsewhere by leaving, or simply leaving to discuss this in in private like a reasonable person, Senior Mo Jian chose this moment to continue the conversation.

"Good," he said, sounding thoroughly satisfied.

"We'll reach out in the coming days to settle the terms of the duel. Also, I expect that recommendation to be sent as soon as possible." Once again, Wei Shentong's aura pressed down upon the world, vast, and furious, and suffocating. And once again, he nodded in reluctant agreement, the motion looking as though it had been dragged out of him by force. Mo Jian smiled.

"Then, we are done here. Let us leave and-" Wang Ping was just about to slump in relief. He was on the verge of offering a hundred blessings to his ancestors. He was a heartbeat away from freedom, from escaping these monsters, when-"Actually, pardon my interruption, Senior, but would you spare a moment?" Wang Ping jumped. The interruption was untimely, unkind, and practically demonic. Worse, a moment ago, there had been no one there. Now, a figure stood right beside him.

They were cloaked head to toe in concealing black robes, a yellow veil covering their face. That shade, he recognized it instantly. Anyone in the city would: a court messenger. None of the seniors reacted to the newcomer's presence. Whether that was because they had far better control over themselves, or they had been aware of them beforehand, he could not say. Since Wang Ping couldn't discern their cultivation, nor even their gender, he kept his head bowed, even as he cursed bitterly in his mind.

Couldn't this messenger have interrupted these seniors somewhere else – anywhere else – but his arena? ……………………………………………… Not a single person seemed surprised by the court messenger's appearance, Mo Jian noted with quiet amusement, except for the unfortunate arena manager, who leapt a full foot into the air at the sight of him. Yes, him. While the man's concealment technique was decent, it was entirely ineffective against anyone present.

Mo Jian and Wei Shentong were Nascent Soul cultivators; a mere Core Formation cultivator – no matter how gifted – stood little chance of hiding from them. Bai Ning possessed her own advantages when it came to heightened senses. As for Duan Cheng… perhaps it was bias, but Mo Jian suspected the man hadn't sensed the messenger in advance at all. Instead, he simply maintained such perfect control over his reactions that he appeared utterly unflappable.

Whatever the case, Mo Jian had detected the messenger's arrival near the end of his fight with Wei Shentong, just as he suspected Wei Shentong had. He hadn't reacted, nor even spared the man a glance, for much the same reason he believed Wei Shentong hadn't. This was a court messenger; making a scene would be pointless. Imperial Court Messengers were an interesting lot.

Mo Jian had heard plenty about them, and he also had his own impressions from the book, particularly from the chapters in which Ye Chen encountered several of them. They were strictly organized by cultivation realm, with only the highest-ranking members reaching Core Formation. That alone meant this man was no ordinary courier delivering trivial items; he was here on official business. For the most part, court messengers handled the transmission of messages and parcels between the Imperial Palace and the city.

They also served within the city itself, relaying information between guard towers and watch posts. In times of crisis, they acted as scouts or vanguard units. Each carried a Yellow Sand Buddhist Flag, a magical tool refined by palace cultivators. These were not bonded or natal artifacts, but rather mass-produced treasures with a distinctive ability: they allowed the wielder to transform into invisible mist and traverse vast distances at extraordinary speed.

Given the scale of the city, such tools were indispensable for their work. It wasn't as though these treasures were impossibly rare. Any Core Formation cultivator could, with some effort, produce something similar, or perhaps even superior in certain respects. Yet none of those attempts would yield something truly identical. Because of that, the flags had become emblematic of the court messengers, just as much as the yellow veils that concealed their faces.

In fact, the empire's postal service employed comparable tools. While the majority of their work relied on Myriad Distance Talismans and a widespread network of personnel stationed across the empire, high-end couriers were occasionally equipped with such treasures to carry out their duties more efficiently. That thought aside, the messenger was still waiting for an answer, posture perfectly deferential.

"I am always willing to hear what the court has to say," Mo Jian said calmly.

"I am sure brother Wei Shentong has no objections either." Wei Shentong remained silent, the light obscuring his form as rigid as stone. The messenger seemed to take that as assent. Bowing deeply, he produced a yellow scroll from his storage pouch – the same shade as his veil – and presented it with both hands. Mo Jian made a small gesture, lifting it telekinetically and drawing it before him. Another flick of his fingers, and the scroll unfurled.

There were only two lines of text, black ink on yellow silk, with dense, flowing characters rendered in flawless calligraphy, each stroke perfectly balanced: Mo Jian, overseer of the Kanchi Spirit Jade Mine, District Forty-Eight, Division Nine Hundred and Twelve, Tiger Province, Third Quadrant, is hereby summoned to sit the Inner Examination on the first day of the eighth month of the Great Xiang Calendar.

Bai Ning, overseer of the Kanchi Spirit Jade Mine, District Forty-Eight, Division Nine Hundred and Twelve, Tiger Province, Third Quadrant, is hereby summoned to sit the Inner Examination on the first day of the eighth month of the Great Xiang Calendar. Something like surprise settled in Mo Jian's stomach. Something like accomplishment bloomed in his chest. And something like dread coiled quietly in his mind. My plan is succeeding perfectly… and that is exactly what puts me on edge. He pushed the thought aside.

Whether or not this aligned with someone else's designs didn't matter. He was getting what he wanted. The rest… he would deal with when the time came. Rolling the scroll back up, he became acutely aware of the attention fixed upon him, every eye in the arena, save for Wang Ping, who continued to stare stubbornly at the ground.

"We are honored," Mo Jian said evenly.

"Of course, we accept." The messenger bowed once more. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he produced a small yellow flag no longer than an inch, its triangular cloth fluttering faintly. In the next instant, his form broke apart into wind, scattering into the air and vanishing as the breeze carried him across the city. Mo Jian watched him go, pretending not to feel Bai Ning's piercing curiosity drilling into the side of his head. Instead, he casually tossed the scroll toward Wei Shentong.

The other man hesitated for a fraction of a second before a strand of olive light caught the scroll and unfurled it before him. He read. And then he stilled completely, utterly motionless for a full ten seconds. Mo Jian counted.

"It seems," Wei Shentong said at last, his voice carefully even, "that you no longer require my recommendation. The situation has changed." He paused. Then, in a tone that carried something sharper beneath its surface: "Are you a man of your word, Mo Jian?" Mo Jian knew what he meant: the promise made before the duel, to bring Wei Shentong with him to the court, when the time came. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"As long as you fulfill your end first, I will not go back on my word," he replied.

"However, this is not the place to discuss it. Bai Ning and I are expected back at the mine." They weren't, but matters like this were best settled in private, after careful consideration. And besides, he suspected that the poor arena manager would cough up blood if any of them lingered longer. Wei Shentong said nothing for a moment. The olive light around him flickered once, then steadied, as if settling alongside his thoughts. Finally, the scroll snapped shut in his grasp.

"Very well," he said.

"I will await your word." Mo Jian inclined his head slightly, as though the matter were already settled, because, in his mind, it was. Only then did he turn, acknowledging Bai Ning at last.

"The Inner Examination," she guessed, having already pieced it together. In truth, there was little else that would make sense. Mo Jian grinned, which was confirmation enough. Bai Ning's answering smile was radiant, as another piece of their plan came together with perfect timing. Mo Jian's eyes lifted briefly toward the distant skyline of the city, where unseen forces were already shifting into place. The board is set, he thought. And this time, he intended to be more than just a piece.