Chương 67: Finals (Part I)

Both finalists were granted a three-day grace period before the final bout. Privately, Bai Ning suspected the delay was less about consideration for the contestants and more about giving the organizers time to squeeze out every last spirit stone from the betting pools by stretching the timeline. She kept the thought to herself. In truth, she was grateful for the reprieve. The three days gave her the space she needed to steady herself, plan her approach to the fight, and breathe.

Unfortunately, the nagging had reached unbearable levels.

"-all I'm saying is that you don't need to fight. You've already come far enough. There's no need to risk-" Bai Ning crushed the voice transmission talisman between her fingers, exhaling softly as it dissolved, then flicked the remnants aside. With a sharp motion of her hand, she beckoned the next talisman – one of nearly a hundred hovering nearby – to come forward. It obeyed, swelling into a red glow as a voice emerged.

"Bai Ning, quit hiding. This Lan Wu-" Her reflexive fireball reduced the talisman and a patch of the cloud garden beneath it to ash before the message could finish. The acrid scent of scorched cloud blossoms lingered in the air, mingling with her rising irritation. Frowning deeply, she gestured for the next talisman. This voice was familiar as well, but far less grating.

"Sister Bai, it's been two days, and the fight draws ever closer. I suppose you don't have time to meet, but please don't forget that we're cheering for you. If you need anything-" The message was abruptly cut off by another, louder voice overlapping it.

"-tell her Brother Chen and I are wishing her luck-""I will, if you stop interrupting me," Yue Shuangyi snapped. Bai Ning smiled and set the talisman aside, her mood lifting noticeably. Compared to the messages from her parents, after she had refused to speak to them, at least her friends were supportive. In fact, aside from Master Mo Jian, they were the only ones who were. Everyone else she knew; her parents, Senior Fan Mei, even a surprising message from Jin Rou, had urged her to give up.

Fu Zhan was too strong, stronger than anticipated, they said. She should withdraw. As if. Only Master Mo Jian understood. When she had told him that she wanted to fight, even wanted to win, he had studied her face in silence for a long moment before agreeing. Just like that. Her parents, however, had protested immediately. Senior Fan Mei had joined them, trying to sway her.

The argument had gone in circles until Bai Ning refused to budge, her mother teetering on the brink of hauling her back to the Greater Dharma Sect "for her own safety." In the end, Master Mo Jian had expelled everyone from his residence and secluded himself with her. The choice was hers, he had said, so long as she was certain. She was. This was not youthful impulse or envy-driven bravado. She believed she could win. More than that, she wanted to try.

And so she sat now, sorting through the pile of voice transmission talismans that had accumulated over two days of seclusion. Master Mo Jian had suggested she take a break and listen to them – advice delivered while he himself endured a scathing note from Senior Fan Mei, berating him for his recklessness and, by extension, hers. There was no need to go this far for a tournament, Fan Mei had written. Bai Ning had rolled her eyes.

For all that she had learned to tolerate Fan Mei, the message only highlighted the gulf between them, and between Fan Mei and her master. They may have entered the tournament at Fan Mei's urging, but they stayed for their own reasons. Bai Ning would never have agreed in the first place if her resolve were so fragile, and Master Mo Jian would never have allowed her to continue if he did not have reasons of his own. She waved another talisman forward. This one burst into both sound and color.

A hovering image of a halberd painted itself into the air above her as the red glow of the talisman issued forth words.

"Fairy Bai Ning, the Heavenly Halberd Store was much enamored of your performance in your last fight. Such sights are rarely seen. Truly, you are one in a million. In admiration, the store wishes to present you with one of our signature halberds for your upcoming match. If you agree to wield it in that fight, we will offer a discount of-" Rolling her eyes, Bai Ning crushed the talisman before the message could finish.

She had reached the truly worthless ones now: advertisements, meaningless messages from strangers, and recruitment notices. Snorting softly, she rose to her feet and drew in a deep breath of the floral fragrance around her. The cloud garden attached to the private estate Master Mo Jian had chosen was not half as grand as the one adjoining Fan Mei's residence, but Bai Ning found it far more homely. There were no living sculptures of cloud beasts or meticulously trimmed hedges of spirit fruits.

Instead, rows upon rows of cloud blossoms swayed endlessly, petals drifting through the air in a slow, lazy dance, carrying a charm all their own. The ascending sun painted everything in warm gold and scattered blue, the air sweet and light. This far in, beneath the protective formation, no sounds from the outside world intruded on the peace. Bai Ning stretched lazily, feeling her qi circulate through her meridians in a gentle, unhurried flow, before making her way toward the residence.

Stepping through the doorway, she was greeted by an empty room carpeted in a plush rug, with four braziers set at each corner, filling the space with softly curling incense. Mosaics adorned the walls, though her gaze barely lingered on them; she had seen them too many times over the past month. She moved deeper inside, passing the tea room and the calligraphy room, only slowing when she reached the visiting hall.

For a room designed to host guests, its placement was surprisingly poor, tucked deep within the crescent-shaped residence. It was also the largest room by far, dominated by a cloud blossom tree growing straight from the floor. Its roots spread outward, forming the ground beneath her feet, while the ceiling was a lattice of interwoven branches heavy with blossoms. Along one wall rested a single cloud shaped like a crescent moon, large enough for several people to sit and converse.

It was there that she found Mo Jian, seated upon the cloud and listening to a voice transmission talisman of his own. The message was clearly meant to be secretive; the voice issuing from it was barely more than a whisper. He looked up as she entered, then shook his head. The talisman burst into flame and vanished into motes of red light. Bai Ning raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

"What was that about?" Mo Jian frowned.

"A message from an old acquaintance," he said.

"An explanation, thanks, and an offer of help, should we need it. Unexpected, I must say, though it answers a question I've had ever since that fight." He was being cryptic, and deliberately so. Bai Ning pouted.

"Master, explain properly." She made sure to let her voice rise at the end, a perfectly practiced whine. Mo Jian winced.

"It's not important right now," he said. Then, before she could press him further, he continued, "More importantly, were there any messages of note among the ones you received?" Bai Ning narrowed her eyes, debating whether to needle him further or let it go. She knew from experience that it would take time before he relented and shared the details, and she didn't want to waste what little time she had. She lifted her chin, adopting an imperious expression.

"Just my loyal friends cheering me on. Nothing worthwhile beyond that." Mo Jian gave her a look that suggested he understood exactly what she wasn't saying, but he didn't ask. He merely nodded.

"I've had a significantly less pleasant experience," he said dryly.

"If not Fan Mei, then your mother has done her utmost to flay me verbally. A refreshing change, really, compared to how deferential she used to be." A twinge of guilt stirred in Bai Ning's chest. She didn't understand why her parents were so opposed to her fighting. Yes, Fu Zhan's dragon form and its breath attack had been a nasty surprise, but she had already devised a counter. Even Master Mo Jian believed her strategy could work, provided her timing was right. More than that, shouldn't they respect her choices?

Or at least listen to Mo Jian? He was, after all, a Core Formation cultivator. Apparently not.

"Sorry," she muttered as she took a seat beside him on the cloud, apologizing both for what he was facing on her behalf, and for the choice she had made. He shook his head at once.

"Don't be. This, too, is a master's duty to a disciple, and I wouldn't have assented if I didn't agree with your decision. The others see this as an important match; perhaps the most important of your life, Bai Ning, but I don't. Whether you win or lose, you are destined to go much further. If you wish to test yourself, then by all means do so. I'll be ready to ensure that you survive the encounter."

Warmth bloomed in her chest, though she wished his words were a little more encouraging and a little less steeped in notions of losing or death. Still, having his support mattered. She would never have fought if her master had truly forbidden it, no matter how much she wanted to. That was enough heavy talk. She was on a break, and she had no intention of wasting it on grim thoughts.

Since leaving the estate would only invite another round of well-meaning but relentless nagging, that left-"Master," she said, drawing herself up virtuously and painting an expression of pure innocence across her face, "how about a game of Go? The winner gets one wish from the loser. Exciting, don't you think?" Mo Jian instantly narrowed his eyes and flicked her on the forehead with a finger – infused with qi. Bai Ning recoiled, clutching her forehead.

"Master!" she protested.

"Why did you hit me?" He snorted.

"As if I'd ever agree to those terms. Knowing you, you'd try to make me fetch a dragon soul or lend you the Heaven Enshrouding Ding for some mischief." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. She straightened further, indignation evident in every gesture.

"Slander," she declared.

"I am a proper disciple." Mo Jian snorted again.

"If you're that bored, why not finish your work on the Netherworld Domain map? Didn't you assure me last time that you'd almost figured it out?" Bai Ning narrowed her eyes, unable to refute him. This-this was checkmate. That map was a nightmare, and she was no closer to unraveling it than she had been a month ago. Master Mo Jian knew it too, and always brought it up when he wanted to defeat her utterly. Still, Bai Ning refused to concede. When she finally solved it, the look on his face would be priceless.

She smiled winningly and rose to her feet, tossing her hair back.

"Of course. And remember what you promised, master. If I figure it out, the treasure of that realm is mine." Mo Jian waved her off, a smug smile on his face, one he probably thought she hadn't noticed. Bai Ning noticed.

'Oh, just you wait,' she thought.

'I will unlock that map.' …………………………………............................ The day of the final fight arrived with yet another flurry of messages. Bai Ning, who had only just reconciled with her parents (read: her father had caved and dragged her mother along with him), waved them all aside. Nervous tension coiled tight in her chest, though she took care not to let it show on her face.

Master Mo Jian, calmly sipping from his tea, deftly plucked one of the hovering talismans from the air and let it play itself out over the table.

"Fellow Daoist Bai Ning, I have ten thousand spirit stones riding on you lasting at least five minutes against Fu Zhan. How about you drag your surrender out until then, and I'll split-" The talisman vanished as Bai Zing swatted it aside, her hand dropping as her expression darkened.

"Seriously," she muttered.

"Do these people have no shame? Some people…" Master Mo Jian, however, looked entertained.

"Hmm," he mused.

"Ten mid-grade spirit stones is no small sum. What do you think, Bai Ning?" He waggled his brows at her meaningfully. Bai Ning ignored him with practiced serenity, lifting her own cup; tea, not wine; her mother was watching, and taking a deep swallow. She exhaled slowly before setting it down. From the side, Bai Zhou gave a discreet shake of his head.

"You joke, Senior, but that really isn't a small amount. And I doubt that fellow was anyone important. Just how much do you think the betting halls are raking in right now?" Mo Jian paused, brow furrowing as he actually considered it.

"I don't have an exact figure," he said slowly, "but I'd be surprised if it were anything less than a hundred mid-grade spirit stones per hall. Somewhere around that range." Bai Zhou nearly spat out his drink, eyes bulging.

"Such wealth," he said forlornly.

"Cultivators at higher realms really do play by different rules. Shouldn't we get a piece of the pie, seeing as Bai Ning is our daughter?" At that, the serene mask Bai Ning had been wearing finally cracked. She turned to her father with disbelief, but Master Mo Jian looked no better. He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Now that you mention it, I tend to agree. We really should have a stake. In fact, what if we place a bet ourselves? The odds are bad enough that we could haul away a fortune." Bai Zing's expression, which had been growing progressively less amused, finally hardened. She slapped a hand down on the table.

"If the two of you are quite done," she said sharply, "perhaps we can move on to what actually matters." She turned to Bai Ning.

"Be careful in the fight, all right? And forfeit as soon as you see the need. Don't let pride trap you in a battle you can't win." Bai Ning froze, her face stiff, which was better than replying with the first words that sprang to mind. She had only just made up with her parents, after all, and she didn't want to head into the fight with another argument hanging over her. Still… what kind of support was this? Her mother sounded as though she were humoring her, not truly expecting her to fight, much less win.

At least her father and Master Mo Jian were genuinely on her side, their terrible senses of humor aside. The levity was brief lived, anyway. A chime rang through the estate: deep, resonant, and unmistakable. It reverberated through the air, passing effortlessly through the protective formations and into Bai Ning's bones. The summons for the fight. The conversation cut-off at once. Bai Ning set her cup down and rose to her feet.

The nervous tightness she had been holding finally sharpened into something clean and focused. This was it. Master Mo Jian stood as well, already adjusting the fall of his robes. For a heartbeat, he looked as though he might speak, but instead he only nodded. Bai Ning returned the gesture. No words were needed. The flight from the residence to the inner curve of the cloud ring passed in a blur. One moment she was stepping out of the door and into the open sky; the next, they had arrived.

Her parents said something: perhaps encouragement, perhaps yet another reminder to be careful, but the words never quite reached her. She descended the final stretch alone, dropping through thinning cloud to the pale white stone of the arena. Wind roared briefly past her ears before settling as her feet touched down. Fu Zhan was already there. He looked much as he always did: fair of face, framed by long, loose hair falling to his shoulders, almost feminine in its softness.

His robes were pink, chased with silver and gold, embroidered with sparrows in flight. They hung loosely, revealing a glimpse of muscled chest beneath, a striking contrast to his delicate features. Even his face was a study in contradictions, smooth and almost gentle, yet marked by a prominent nose that lent it unexpected strength. In one hand, he held the Sanguine Blood Banner, already deployed. The square red flag hung limply for now, concealing the intricate embroidery Bai Ning knew was woven into its surface.

He offered her an easy smile, and once again Bai Ning was struck by the fact that he could be quite handsome.

"It's not often I meet someone near my age at my cultivation level," he said mildly.

"I'm impressed. My grandfather once told me I was the youngest Foundation Establishment cultivator in the Islands. It seems he was mistaken." Bai Ning jolted, surprise flashing across her face.

"You can tell my age?" she asked cautiously. It was unexpected. The secret was out, yes, but not to everyone. More importantly, the effects of the pill Master Mo Jian had given her to conceal her bone age should still have been active. Fu Zhan snorted.

"My cultivation art grants insight into blood, bone, and spirit. Such details are easy for me to discern." His smile thinned.

"Don't fret. I don't care about your age. Impressive or not, you won't be walking away alive today." Bai Ning clenched her jaw but offered no reply. He was right about one thing: words no longer mattered. Only the fight did. Once again, there was no announcement. Fu Zhan snapped the banner upward and twirled it with lazy precision. Red mist spilled forth at once, engulfing him and his side of the arena. Bai Ning reacted instantly.

Her Crimson Parasol and Green Karma Sword shot from her storage pouch and settled into her hands as her protective barrier flared to life, enclosing her in a translucent sphere of force. Yet the mist did not surge outward to swallow the entire arena as it had in his previous matches. Instead, it thickened, more and more, yet remained confined to Fu Zhan's half of the ring, swirling inward upon itself as though drawn toward an unseen center.

The colors around it warped: white bled into snowy brightness, red deepened into crimson, blues darkened into cobalt and indigo. The mist itself churned violently, streaked through with darker whorls of red, before beginning to take on a familiar shape. Scales formed first: hard, compacted plates of blood-red armor layering themselves along a long, sinuous body. A massive head followed, jaws wide, fangs etched in carmine.

Blood-red horns curled upward as the dragon completed its form, releasing a roar of exultation that shook the air. Only then did the noise from above reach her. Tier upon tier of spectators filled the cloud ring, their voices crashing together into a roaring tide of cheers, speculation, and hunger. Bai Ning exhaled slowly, grounding herself. So, Fu Zhan had chosen to open with the move that had ended his last match. He likely saw no point in holding back or hiding anything now. One decisive strike to end the fight.

Could she disrupt him? No, Bai Ning decided, watching as the mist-formed dragon opened its jaws and began to condense an orb of deep red between its fangs. The chances of an interruption succeeding were slim, and failure would cost her precious time; time she needed for defense. Fu Zhan likely expected her to dodge, to rely on speed, or to take to the air with a flying tool. None of that would work against an attack of this scale. Instead, she would take it head-on.

Bai Ning dismissed her sword, freeing both hands to wrap firmly around the shaft of her defensive treasure: the Six-Trigrams Dragon-Scaled Crimson Parasol. She stilled her thoughts and planted her feet. The defensive barrier around her began to change as she poured qi into the artifact. The smooth sphere of force fractured into layered patterns before stabilizing into overlapping dragon scales. She couldn't sustain this for long, but long enough to do what she needed to do.

Besides, Fu Zhan faced the same limitation. Nascent Soul-level artifact or not, Bai Ning refused to believe it was so miraculous that it consumed less qi than her own techniques. The red orb between the dragon's fangs pulsed, growing brighter with every heartbeat. Its blood-red light painted the arena, painting the edges of her vision with a searing heat even before it moved. Bai Ning planted herself firmly, her parasol braced in both hands.

The dragon-scale reinforcements she had layered onto the Six-Trigrams Crimson Parasol would hold, had to hold. Without them, she would never have dared to face this attack head-on. Her skill, her qi, her timing; everything depended on it. Even as she centered herself, movement caught her eye. Four cultivators descended through the air, hovering atop the curved formation dome that encircled the arena. They spread out, their qi spilling outward, flowing into the dome.

Lines of talismanic characters flared across its surface, glowing with protective power. Bai Ning understood. They were reinforcing the barrier: the last time Fu Zhan had unleashed this attack, it had cut straight through. She tore her gaze away, forcing every thought back to the task at hand. The breath attack was almost fully charged. Her legs flexed, her grip tightened, and then- The orb exploded. It erupted into a colossal beam of crimson energy, slicing through the air like a blade forged from molten blood.

The roar of its release rattled the arena, and the wind ripped at Bai Ning's robes as she braced herself. She planted the Crimson Parasol before her, her arms straining as the beam slammed against it with the force of a mountain collapsing. The impact was cataclysmic. For a heartbeat, the world became nothing but red. The sheer intensity of the attack radiated power that blistered the stone beneath her feet. Dust and small fragments lifted violently into the air, whipped into a furious cyclone by the shockwave.

The barrier around her trembled, jagged seams forming along the dragon-scale pattern, threatening to shatter at any instant. Crimson light cascaded across her vision continuously. The parasol in her hand vibrated, force rippling up her arms, as she gritted her teeth and endured. Her legs bent instinctively, absorbing the recoil, but the bubble of force around her began to fracture at the edges, the cracks widening in the dragon-scale pattern. Bai Ning's teeth clenched.

She poured every ounce of qi into the parasol, matching the violent rhythm of the relentless attack. Sparks of crimson energy danced along the surface, lashing outward where the force threatened to breach. A ringing tore through her ears, sharp and insistent, but she refused to yield. Her legs bent, absorbing recoil, grounding herself against the relentless assault. Then, with a sound like the sky tearing apart, the beam split against her barrier.

Two massive streams peeled off at jagged angles, striking the formation dome surrounding the arena. The dome flared with searing light, and for a moment, her vision was consumed by brilliant afterimages. The pressure against her eased, the main force diffused around her instead of driving straight through. As the smoke and light faded, the arena lay scarred before her. A massive trench had been gouged into the stone floor, its edges glowing red-hot, steam rising from the cracks like the breath of a dragon.

The trench cut deep, almost splitting the arena in two. Bai Ning's chest heaved, sweat streaking her temples, her legs trembling from the strain, yet her parasol still hovered before her, glowing faintly with residual qi. Her barrier had stabilized, shrinking back into its seamless, protective bubble. The roar of the crowd returned, surging through the cloud ring like a tidal wave. Cheers, gasps, and shouts reverberated across the arena, washing over her in a storm of sound.

The crimson dragon of mist that had accompanied the attack began to waver, its body unraveling and pooling at the fractured floor. In the center, Fu Zhan hovered, banner in hand, descending gently. His eyes were fixed on her, shock – and something else she couldn't name – etched across his face.

"How…" he murmured, more to himself than to her. Bai Ning's hand twitched, tempted to strike while he hesitated, but she needed a moment to steady her qi. The clash had nearly drained her completely. Fu Zhan landed gracefully, his gaze never leaving her. Then, slowly, a wild smile twisted his features, spreading into a crazed, exhilarating grin.

"Ha… ha… ha. Amazing. This is how it should be. Looks like it's going to be a fight, after all." Without warning, he spun the Sanguine Blood Banner. A fog erupted, thick and cloying, rushing outward to consume the arena. The red mist spilled across the broken stone like blood pouring into a bowl, climbing the walls of the formation dome, filling the space until the arena seemed trapped under its oppressive glow. The crimson wave rolled over Bai Ning, enveloping her in its bloody, suffocating embrace.

She tightened her grip on the parasol, letting qi flare in response, feeling the barrier strain, and bracing herself for the storm about to crash down.