parentshiftbook Chapter 11 Final Selection 1
Chapter 11 Final Selection 1
The following morning, at the Forum.
The atmosphere of the final election was completely different from that of the preliminary and semi-final elections. The number of spectators in the square was twice that of the previous two days, and even the window seats in the restaurants on both sides were booked at high prices, with crowds of people packed behind the windows. The elders of the three major sects were all present, and even the Qingzhou City Lord's Mansion sent people to attend the ceremony—after all, no one dared to neglect the presence of the Holy Maiden of the Central Continent Immortal Sect.
When Ling Chen led Ling Xue into the square, he was stunned by the sea of people in front of him.
"Brother, there are so many people!" Ling Xue clung tightly to his clothes, her face showing both excitement and nervousness.
"Scared?"
"I'm not afraid!" The little girl puffed out her chest, then shrank back. "It's just... I'm a little nervous. Brother, who are you going to face today?"
"It'll be decided by drawing lots." Ling Chen ruffled her hair. "No matter who he faces, you'll be watching from the audience. Watch how your brother wins."
Ling Xue nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling.
The contestants' seating area was set up directly in front of the arena, with ten chairs lined up in a row. When Ling Chen arrived, Han Tie was already in his seat, carefully wiping his new sword with a white cloth. The sword was entirely pale gold, with fine inscriptions engraved on its blade, clearly a level above the one from yesterday.
"A new sword?" Ling Chen sat down next to him.
"Yes. I borrowed it from my master last night." Han Tie didn't look up, his tone serious. "This sword is called 'Golden Scale,' it was my master's sword when he was young. He said if I lose to you again today, he'll expel me from the sect."
"...Is it that serious?"
Han Tie looked up and grinned, "Just kidding. But my master did say that losing isn't scary, what's scary is not improving after losing. I won't hold back today."
Looking into his clear, unblemished eyes, Ling Chen suddenly felt a pang of envy.
Han Tie lived a simple life. He focused on cultivation, combat, and becoming stronger, without many schemes or grudges. His life was like the sword in his hand—straightforward and sharp.
My life has never been simple since I was five years old.
"Ling Chen," Han Tie suddenly lowered his voice, "be careful of Meng Hu."
Ling Chen's gaze sharpened slightly: "What do you mean?"
"This morning I passed by the players' lounge and heard him talking to someone. I didn't hear who it was, but I heard your name." Han Tie frowned. "He said—'We must succeed tonight.' He stopped immediately after he saw me outside the door."
"Thank you." Ling Chen said solemnly after a moment of silence.
"You're welcome." Han Tie waved his hand. "I'm not trying to help you. I just think it's more fun to beat you in the ring. It's too unpleasant to be tripped up off the ring."
As they spoke, the other contestants arrived one after another. Wen Ruyu, dressed in a light blue robe, walked gracefully past Ling Chen, offering a slight smile and a nod. Zhong Lingxiu, still in her flamboyant red attire, walked straight to her seat without glancing to either side. Luo Lie and Xiong Shan, two cultivators specializing in external martial arts, walked side by side, discussing something as they went. Meng Hu sat at the very end, his face grim, having remained silent since entering the arena.
Ling Chen glanced at Meng Hu. The other man had his head down, his hands clasped on his knees, his knuckles slightly white from the tension. He exuded an unnatural tension, like a fully drawn bow.
Feeling guilty? Or nervous?
Neither. It's more like... enduring something.
"The three elders have arrived—Fairy Su from the Central Plains Immortal Sect has arrived—"
The referee's announcement interrupted Ling Chen's observation.
On the high platform, the three elders took their seats in turn. The elder from the Azure Cloud Sect was dressed in a formal sword robe today, the long sword he carried radiating a chilling aura even from its sheath. The old woman from the Sunset Valley held a jade cane, her smile kind, but her eyes held a shrewd glint. The burly man from the Iron Sword Sect was unusually dressed today in a clean robe, though the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as usual, revealing a pair of calloused, iron arms.
Su Qingyuan sat down in the private seat at the head of the table. She was still dressed in white, her face covered by a light veil, her expression as cold as ice.
"Final Selection Rules." The referee unrolled the scroll and read aloud—
"The ten seeded players will compete in pairs, with the winners advancing and the losers being eliminated. The order of the matches will be determined by drawing lots."
"Weapons may be used in the competition, but the use of talismans, elixirs, or other external aids is prohibited, as is the intentional killing of others."
"In the first round, ten are narrowed down to five. In the second round, five are drawn by lot, one receives a bye, and the top three are determined. In the third round, three are drawn by lot, one receives a bye. In the final, two compete for the top spot."
"Now, please have ten contestants come up to the stage to draw lots."
Ling Chen stood up and walked onto the arena with the other nine people.
The bamboo divination sticks were personally sealed by the elders of the Qingyun Sect, and the tube was engraved with an array to isolate divine sense, ensuring that no one could cheat. Ling Chen reached into the tube and randomly picked one stick. The bamboo stick was cold, and a small character "丙" was engraved on the end.
He raised his head.
Han Tie also looked up, and the same words were clearly engraved on the bamboo skewer in his hand.
丙。
The entire audience erupted in uproar.
"Ling Chen versus Han Tie again? This draw is unbelievable!"
"What a coincidence! I didn't get enough yesterday, so here's another one today!"
"No, this isn't fate—it's God wanting to see who's stronger between these two!"
Han Tie looked down at the bamboo stick in his hand, then looked up at Ling Chen, and suddenly burst out laughing.
"I take back what I just said."
"What did you say?"
"I shouldn't have helped you from below the ring." Han Tie's smile vanished, replaced by a burning fighting spirit in his eyes. "From this moment on, we are enemies."
Ling Chen smiled too. Han Tie is Han Tie—once he's in the ring, he doesn't care about family or friends.
"Let's wait and see."
The two turned around simultaneously and stepped off the ring. They couldn't wait any longer.
On the high platform, Su Qingyuan's gaze swept over the bamboo slips drawn by Ling Chen and Han Tie, and she nodded slightly. No one noticed her subtle movement, and no one knew that this draw was not entirely fate—before the slip container was sealed, she had made a very subtle mark with her divine sense. It wasn't cheating, but simply to ensure that Ling Chen and Han Tie would inevitably draw from the same group.
She wanted to see Ling Chen draw his sword one more time. Not for admiration, but to confirm. To confirm whether the chaotic aura within that sword light truly matched the Myriad Paths Returning to Nothingness Diagram recorded in her master's secret scroll.
"First match—Wen Ruyu versus Zhong Lingxiu!" the referee announced loudly.
Two women stepped onto the arena. Wen Ruyu, dressed in a green robe, possessed a gentle and refined demeanor. She held a slender sword, its blade as thin as a cicada's wing—the Flowing Cloud Sword, a direct descendant of the Falling Cloud Valley. Zhong Lingxiu, on the other hand, wore a bright and flamboyant red dress. The hilt of her longsword was inlaid with a thumb-sized fire-elemental spirit stone, its blade flaming with flames—the Crimson Flame Sword, the treasured artifact of the Zhong family.
The two stood facing each other, one in green and one in red, one still and one in motion.
"Sister Wen, please." Zhong Lingxiu drew her sword first. The flames on the Crimson Flame Sword surged, and the sword's momentum was like a raging fire, sweeping and powerful, even distorting the air above the arena.
Wen Ruyu remained calm and composed. The Flowing Cloud Sword seemed weightless in her hands, its movements as fluid as flowing water, each strike perfectly neutralizing Zhong Lingxiu's attacks.
This duel between women lasted for one hundred and twenty moves. The final decisive moment came in the one hundred and twenty-first move—Wen Ruyu seized upon a slight delay in Zhong Lingxiu's spiritual energy connection, and thrust out the Flowing Cloud Sword at an unbelievable angle, knocking away the Crimson Flame Sword.
"Sister Zhong, you flatter me." Wen Ruyu sheathed her sword, her breathing slightly disordered, but she still maintained a composed smile.
"It's because my skills are inferior." Zhong Lingxiu was quite straightforward. She picked up her sword, clasped her hands in a salute to Wen Ruyu, and turned to walk off the stage.
The second match – Luo Lie vs. Xiong Shan.
A direct disciple of the Iron Sword Sect faced off against a successor of the Iron Palm Clan. Their fighting styles were identical—head-on clash, physical strength against physical strength. Every punch landed with a visceral impact, every move aimed to the bone. The deafening sounds of their impact echoed through the plaza with each exchange, making the audience's teeth ache. Ultimately, Luo Lie used the Iron Sword Sect's secret Bone-Shattering Fist technique to shatter Xiong Shan's thick earth shield, advancing to the top five.
The third match. Ling Chen vs. Han Tie.
The moment the two stepped onto the ring, all the whispers below fell silent. No warm-up, no build-up needed. The mere presence of their names together was the biggest draw of the day.
Han Tie slowly drew his Golden Scale Sword. The golden inscriptions on the sword lit up one by one as spiritual energy was poured into it, unleashing the full power of a peak Qi Gathering expert, and an invisible gale swept across the arena.
"Ling Chen, I have a question for you." Han Tie pointed his longsword diagonally at the ground, not in a hurry to attack. "What was the name of that strike you made yesterday?"
"Rending Wind".
"Rending Wind..." Han Tie chewed on these two words, his eyes filled with a pure, almost burning fighting spirit. "A good name. I want to experience it again today."
"It's not about being curious about how strong it is. It's about being curious—where exactly are your limits?"
Ling Chen slowly drew his Po Jun Blade.
The blade reflected the morning light, gleaming with a cold, silvery sheen. Within his dantian, a vortex of chaotic spiritual energy spun rapidly, channeling pure primal power into his limbs and bones.
"Brother Han, please."
As soon as the words were spoken, the two of them moved at the same time.
There was no probing. The two figures clashed in the center of the arena, their swords meeting in a deafening clang. A shockwave emanated from the two figures, causing the flags along the edge of the arena to flutter wildly, and the spectators in the front rows involuntarily took a half-step back.
Han Tie's swordsmanship has changed.
No longer the myriad sword shadows of the Thousand Edges Sword Technique, he concentrated all his spiritual power onto a single sword, simplifying the complex. A dazzling golden light shone at the tip of the sword—a phenomenon produced by the compression of metal-type spiritual power to its limit. With a single thrust, the air was pierced, producing a sharp sonic boom.
The sharpness of the metal elemental energy was brought to its fullest potential. Han Tie's tactic was simple—since your swordsmanship can find weaknesses in my sword net, I'll simply leave you with no weaknesses to exploit. One sword against one saber, let's see who gives up first.
Ling Chen had changed too. His Rending Wind attack was no longer the relentless, all-out strike of yesterday; he dismantled it, breaking it down into smaller parts. His blade movements were like willow catkins in the wind, unpredictable and elusive, weaving freely through the myriad sword shadows. Each clash of swords precisely struck the weakest point in Han Tie's swordplay, dismantling the opponent's spiritual energy impact layer by layer.
"He's dismantling Han Tie's sword!" someone in the audience exclaimed.
"Impossible, right? Han Tie changes the angle of his sword strike every time. How can he possibly land the perfect blow every time?"
"It wasn't about finding—it was about guiding. He used his sword technique to guide Han Tie's sword in the direction he wanted it to go, just like digging a drainage ditch in advance where a flash flood is bound to pass."
"How precise does that judgment need to be? A hair's breadth off and it would have been a sword through the chest..."
Han Tie's sword, Ling Chen's blade. Two beams of light, one gold and one blue, intertwined and collided on the arena, each clash erupting with dazzling sparks. Amidst the flashing blades and glints of swords, the two figures moved so fast that ordinary spectators could only see blurry afterimages.
Only the important figures on the high platform could see clearly.
The Qingyun Sect elder leaned forward slightly, his hand unconsciously tightening on the armrest. Even in the Qingyun Sect, renowned for its abundance of sword geniuses, it was rare to find someone at the early Qi Gathering stage who could wield such swordsmanship. If Su Qingyuan hadn't snatched him away, he would have taken this young man under his wing no matter what.
The old woman in Luoxia Valley wasn't observing his swordsmanship, but rather Ling Chen's spiritual energy. A swordsman in the early stages of Qi Gathering should have exhausted his spiritual energy long ago to unleash such a powerful attack. Yet, each of his strikes was imbued with abundant energy, showing no signs of depletion. His spiritual energy recovery rate was exceptionally fast.
The burly man from the Iron Sword Sect rubbed his calloused fists, his eyes gleaming with predatory delight. A promising talent, born to train his body at the Iron Sword Sect. If Ling Chen didn't make it into the top three, he would definitely bid to snatch him away.
Su Qingyuan remained silent, her gaze on Ling Chen growing increasingly intense. Each strike was more precise, each imbued with a denser aura of chaos. He was growing stronger through battle, refining his skills in real combat. This rate of growth reminded her of someone—someone she had only heard of from her master, someone who had perished ten thousand years ago.
On the ring, the two had already exchanged more than seventy blows.
Han Tie suddenly sheathed his sword and retreated, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath, sweat trickling down his temples. Yet his eyes remained as sharp as ever.
"Are you using me as practice for your sword?"
Ling Chen did not deny it: "Brother Han, you noticed?"
"I'm not blind. You're testing the variations of Riftwind's moves—diagonal slash, horizontal cut, upward sweep, downward chop—each strike has a different angle. You're using my sword to test the limits of these variations." Han Tie gave a wry smile. "To be honest, being used as a sparring partner is very unpleasant."
"But what about it?"
"But—" Han Tie slowly raised the Golden Scale Sword, and the golden inscriptions on the sword lit up again, this time more brilliantly than ever before, "I am also observing you."
"Your swordsmanship is indeed exquisite, but it has a fatal weakness. The Rift Wind technique consumes too much energy. With your initial Qi Gathering stage spiritual power, you can only last for about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea. Meanwhile, I still have 70% of my spiritual power left." A cunning glint flashed in Han Tie's eyes. "So my tactic is simple—to wear you down until you're exhausted."
"Are you sure you still have 70% of your spiritual power left?" Ling Chen asked back.
Han Tie frowned and looked inward, his expression changing slightly. Subtle traces of chaotic sword energy lingered in every meridian of his dantian. These sword energies clung to the inner walls of his meridians like a persistent, invasive disease, constantly eroding and devouring his metal-elemental spiritual power. Ling Chen had long since figured out the pathways of his meridians and the routes of his spiritual power. Each strike wasn't fatal, but accumulated, they were gradually eroding his combat strength.
"So you set up this scheme from the very first cut?" Han Tie looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief.
"Brother Han said I used you as practice for my sword, that's true. But while practicing, I was also winning."
Ling Chen gripped the Broken Army Blade tightly.
He mastered the Shadow Step to its limit. Leaving an afterimage behind him, his true form appeared beside Han Tie, and the Breaking Army Blade slashed out at an extremely tricky angle.
Nine Heaven-Splitting Slashes - Rending Wind.
The authentic Rending Wind. Not one of those weakened variations, but a true killing move unleashed with the full power of chaotic spiritual energy.
The blue light cascaded down like a waterfall.
Han Tie parried with his sword, and the instant the golden sword energy collided with the cyan blade light, he clearly felt his spiritual power being devoured. Not shattered, but devoured—the chaotic power, like a ravenous ancient beast, ravenously consumed his sword energy, transforming it into Ling Chen's own power.
The Golden Scale Sword let out a mournful cry, its strength failing it. The brilliant inscriptions on its blade rapidly dimmed under the erosion of the chaotic power, and cracks spread across its surface. Then, an irresistible force surged through the sword, splitting Han Tie's hand and sending the Golden Scale Sword flying from his grasp.
The longsword tumbled through the air several times before embedding itself deeply into the bluestone floor of the arena. The blade trembled violently, emitting a groaning sound.
Ling Chen's blade stopped an inch in front of Han Tie's throat.
The chaotic light on the blade slowly receded, like the tide going out. Ling Chen's face was as pale as paper, and a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth—his meridians had suffered internal injuries from the excessive impact of spiritual energy.
"You flatter me." His voice was hoarse, but his hand holding the knife remained as steady as a rock.
Han Tie looked down at his hands. His thumbs and index fingers were split open, blood dripping from his fingertips. He remained silent for a long time.
Then he raised his head, his eyes showing no resentment or bitterness, only a sudden and clear understanding.
"Chaos... so this is the power. Devoured, transformed, returned." He murmured to himself, then bowed deeply to Ling Chen. "I lost. Thank you for letting me witness the true power of the Rending Wind."
"Brother Han—"
Han Tie waved his hand, walked to the bluestone ground, drew his Golden Scale Sword, and carefully sheathed the broken sword. Although his back looked somewhat lonely as he walked off the stage, his spine remained as straight as a sword.
The referee, regaining his composure, announced loudly, "Ling Chen wins! He advances to the next round!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Ling Chen stood on the arena, taking a deep breath. The sharp pain in his chest made him frown slightly. That last strike had almost drained seventy percent of his spiritual power. Han Tie's judgment was indeed correct—the consumption of Rift Wind was enormous. To use a Heavenly Venerable's ultimate technique with only early-stage Qi Gathering cultivation was tantamount to overdrawing one's strength. But he couldn't hold back. Han Tie was an opponent worthy of his full strength; any reservation would be an insult to that fighting spirit.
He sheathed his sword and bowed slightly in the direction Han Tie had left.
Then he turned around and walked off the ring.
On the high platform, Su Qingyuan's fingers clenched silently.
Chaotic spiritual power. It possesses the characteristic of devouring. After being devoured, it is transformed into one's own power—this is precisely the power possessed by the divine artifact her master had her search for. The Myriad Paths Returning to Nothingness Diagram—it's not elsewhere, but within this young man named Ling Chen.
Ling Chen seemed to sense her gaze, paused slightly, and looked up at the platform. Their eyes met for a moment through the noisy crowd. Ling Chen couldn't see her expression behind her veil, but he could read an unprecedented solemnity in her icy blue eyes.
It wasn't hostility. But it wasn't goodwill either. It was more like a look that came from someone who had finally confirmed something after a long wait.
Su Qingyuan was the first to look away.