Upstairs in Zheng Kong's quarters, Gao Han sat in closed-eye cultivation, his mind occupied by a single question: could he seal away his ice affinity, much like one might suppress their cultivation? Ever since his soul had been forged into frost, every strike he unleashed carried an icy edge, leaving him vulnerable to exposure as a bearer of a special physique.
Hostile powers such as the Lu clan would never allow a foe with such potential to grow unimpeded. All across the Spirit Kingdom, it was known that Jian Jingtian's special physique allowed him to battle across realms; even at the ninth layer of True Essence, he could stand his ground against Spirit Fusion experts. It was for this very reason that he reigned unchallenged at the summit of the Southern Cang Region's Four Young Masters.
This was no feat to be accomplished in a single day, however. For now, Gao Han focused on another endeavor. He drew his qi into his dantian, then guided his spiritual energy to wrap a wisp of soul power and carefully probe inward—a perilous process. Since breaking through to True Essence, he had never sent soul power into his own body. Should his spiritual energy falter and lose control of the soul strand, it would run rampant within him, seizing command of his spirit and sending his true essence into chaotic collision, culminating in a violent self-detonation.
Yet success would grant him internal vision, made possible only by his formidable spiritual power. Most cultivators dared not attempt this feat upon reaching True Essence, fearing they lacked sufficient mastery over their energy. Instead, they waited until their essence had grown robust enough to ensure a safe procedure. As a result, their control over and refinement of true essence lagged far behind.
The gap between those who possessed internal vision and those who did not was immense. Those who could see within could pinpoint flaws in their meridians or the flow of their essence, repairing imperfections and gaining complete mastery over their bodies. It was a cheat code of sorts, sparing them the blind groping of ordinary cultivation. They could mend old wounds, smooth the circulation of their energy, and thus advance their cultivation with far greater ease.
Those without internal vision could only rely on vague sensation to gauge their condition, never certain if their perceptions were accurate. Even cultivation required them to guide their essence along meridians by rough intuition; a single misstep would undo all progress, forcing them to start anew.
True success lay in smoothly merging the soul strand—sheathed in spiritual energy—with the dantian, forging a faint link between it and the soul. The dantian would then send signals through the meridians to the soul, which in turn relayed them to the mind, completing the circuit of internal vision.
A faint blue glow flickered at Gao Han's glabella, winding its way downward through his meridians. His spiritual power navigated the twisting pathways as if lost in a labyrinth, forced to follow the current of his essence. For essence always returned to its source: departing the dantian, completing a full cycle through the body, and flowing back to complete a great circuit.
After a quarter of an hour spent wandering his meridians, he still had not reached his dantian. Yet he noticed tiny fissures in certain pathways, left scarred by past battles. Though minuscule, a thousand-mile embankment could collapse from a single ant's nest; such flaws might spell disaster in the future.
He dared not divert his focus to mend them now, however. Splitting his spiritual power would exhaust him, and the stakes were not merely slowed cultivation—they were survival itself.
As his spiritual power neared its limit, the world before him burst open into brightness. He hovered above a pool-like space, his essence streaming in through meridian-channels like water flowing into a reservoir.
This was his dantian. He had succeeded at last, and even Gao Han felt a flicker of excitement. Regaining his composure, he willed his spiritual power to fuse the soul strand into the dantian, then began to observe its inner landscape.
His dantian resembled a small pond, the essence within its waters. Hanging above the surface was an ice pearl, glowing like a miniature sun, emanating thin streams of frost that merged with his essence and rendered it purer still.
An ice pearl. So this was what had saved him twice before. Gao Han was no fool; in an instant, he recalled the bursts of frost that had erupted from his dantian when he had faced the Red Wind Wolf and when his essence had been drained. This pearl must have been their source.
Previously, he had only sensed its presence dimly; with soul-fueled internal vision, he could see it clearly. He wondered if he could control it. It dwelled within his body, after all—surely he could command it.
Reality betrayed his hopes. No matter how he prodded it with his spiritual power, the pearl remained motionless. Exhausted, Gao Han snapped his eyes open, gasping for breath.
He had expended a staggering amount of spiritual power—nearly twice that of an ordinary fourth-layer True Essence cultivator. Only his abnormally strong spirit had allowed him to hold on long enough to achieve internal vision.
As he restored his spiritual power, he turned the problem over in his mind, yet dawn came without a solution. He rose and stretched; he had scarcely cultivated through the latter half of the night, consumed by the puzzle of moving the ice pearl. In flattering terms, he had been single-minded; in plain speech, stubbornly fixated.
After breakfast, he set off with Zheng Kong for the Zheng clan's martial training grounds, his thoughts still tangled in the same mystery. Zheng Kong rambled on beside him, occasionally addressing him, but Gao Han did not catch a single word.
At the training grounds, Zheng Yunqing and several other ninth-layer True Essence elders waited. The Zheng clan was fielding over fifty participants in the tournament, both clansmen and external allies. Once assembled, the group marched toward the arena. Zheng Yunqing counted heads, confirmed no one was missing, and signaled them to depart.
Competitors began to gather beside the square arena outside the imperial palace—a vast platform stretching over a hundred zhang in length and three zhang in height. Active fighters stood upon its surface; those yet to compete were held back by tall railings.
Rows of tiered seats surrounded the arena, capable of holding nearly a thousand spectators. At the very peak sat six chairs, reserved for the witnesses of the tournament.
Upon entering the arena, Gao Han made his way toward the Misty Sect contingent. Though he felt little kinship with them, he was formally a disciple; to remain permanently among the Zheng clan's faction would be improper.
The Misty Sect had sent a small party, only thirty members—six from each of the five peaks. They stared in confusion as Gao Han approached, for he wore no sect uniform, and assumed he had come to provoke them. Then Li Yan of the Drifting Wind Peak waved him over.
"Junior Brother Gao! Over here!"
A senior brother beside him nudged him. "You know him?"
Li Yan smiled. "He's an outer-sect disciple of ours. I met him yesterday."
The entire group overheard. One round-faced youth snorted. "A worthless outer disciple dares enter the tournament? Let us hope he does not shame the Misty Sect."
Gao Han had drawn near enough to hear the deliberate insult, yet he smiled indifferently. The opinions of the world meant nothing to him.
"Isn't this the outer-sect first place?"
A voice of intoxicating allure drifted from the six female disciples. Every man present, Gao Han included, turned to look. Where Situ Yan possessed natural, unspoiled beauty, this woman embodied innate charm.
She swayed toward him, every step threatening to break her slender waist, drawing stares and quiet gulps. Familiar, Gao Han thought at once.
She turned to the round-faced youth who had spoken ill of Gao Han. "Senior Brother Wei Ying, do you mean to insult me by calling him trash?"
Wei Ying frowned. "Hua Meiniang, what business is this of yours?"
"I was defeated by him once. To call him worthless is to call me the same. Your Drifting Rain Peak may be powerful, but you have no right to bully disciples of my Drifting Flower Peak." She shot Gao Han a coquettish glance. "Judging by your bearing, Senior Brother Gao, you must have broken through to True Essence. Why not join our Drifting Flower Peak?"
Gao Han recalled her at once—the woman he had defeated months prior. Her name was Hua Meiniang. "I shall pass. Your peak accepts only women."
Hua Meiniang leaned closer, her crimson lips breathing warm fragrance. "I would make an exception for you."
Strangely, none of the other Misty Sect disciples reacted with surprise, not even the other women of the Drifting Flower Peak.
"Enough bickering! We are all disciples of the Misty Sect. We are sworn enemies of Fire Cloud Manor—a seven-star power. They will show us no mercy if we cross paths." A thin young man in a blue martial robe cut in.
"This is Senior Brother Nian Hua, a true disciple of the Sect Leader's own Misty Peak. He's at the fourth layer of True Essence, our only true disciple on this trip," Li Yan whispered to Gao Han.
Gao Han nodded. He knew little of the long-standing feud between the Misty Sect and Fire Cloud Manor, but it sufficed to understand they were bitter foes.
Nian Hua repeatedly warned the group to concede if they found themselves outmatched by Fire Cloud Manor disciples. From his tone, it was clear the two powers were locked in open, unrelenting hostility.
The crowd thickened as the last of the participants arrived. Each faction claimed its own corner: the Misty Sect in blue, with Gao Han's white robes standing out prominently; Fire Cloud Manor in red; the Qianling Sect in green; the Serene Lotus Sect in emerald court attire; the imperial Lu clan in yellow; the Zheng clan in black combat gear. Other forces wore a motley array of colors.
Two figures stood out in particular. Near Duan Qianchou of the Duan clan stood only one companion. On the opposite side stood a lone figure, exuding a sky-shattering sword aura, as if he himself were a living blade.
Over a dozen figures strode into the arena. At their head was a middle-aged man, eight chi tall, clad in black warrior robes, with a square face and striking bronze arms of steel-like sinew. Though unremarkable in appearance, none dared underestimate him: he was You Canghai, the Iron-Armed Wanderer, one of the most powerful lone cultivators in the Spirit Kingdom.
Rumors claimed he had reached the Spirit Fusion realm, and he had presided over the tournament for many terms. As a lone cultivator, he showed no favoritism and crushed no faction unduly. With his Spirit Fusion cultivation, few powers in the realm dared oppose him—one failed assassination would invite endless retaliation. He was the perfect referee.
You Canghai's tiger-like gaze swept the crowd. His voice boomed like thunder. "The hour has come. Seal the gates. Late arrivals shall be denied entry. Those who force their way in shall be killed."
Four ninth-layer True Essence warriors nodded and moved to seal the entrance. Gao Han glanced around; roughly six hundred participants had gathered. A one-on-one tournament would take half a month to complete.
You Canghai cleared his throat, his thunderous voice shaking the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Spirit Kingdom Young Generation Tournament begins now. I, You Canghai, shall be your referee. I expect cooperation. I care not for the powers you serve—disobey me, and you will face consequences."
His sharp eyes pierced the crowd, each glance a blade that weighed heavily on their chests. The crowd gasped in awe. "The rumors are true—You Canghai has reached Spirit Fusion."
"Indeed. Materialized gaze is a mark of Spirit Fusion. Only those who cultivate their souls at that realm can achieve it."
"His gaze is terrifying. He could slaughter us all single-handedly."
"Now, let us welcome the witness elders," You Canghai retracted his materialized aura and continued in his gruff tone.
Shadowy figures descended from the sky above the highest seats. Three were familiar to Gao Han: Zheng Mufeng, the Zheng clan's ancestral elder; Situ Wei, of the Situ clan; and Hu Ziyan, of the Hu clan—all who had witnessed the truce between the Gu clan and Gao Han. Another elder bore a faint resemblance to Gu Ang; this was Gu Xiu, the Gu clan's ancestor, as the Gu clan was a key participant.
He could guess these four identities. The other two were strangers to him.
"Given the large number of participants, we shall hold a preliminary round to thin the field," You Canghai announced, once the six witnesses had taken their seats. "The tournament shall proceed in three stages. Fortune in combat is part of one's martial prowess, so the first stage will be a free-for-all brawl."
All contestants would fight on the arena at once. A minimum of three hundred would be eliminated. Duels were to be one-on-one; no ganging up or gang attacks was permitted. Violators would be disqualified immediately. Falling off the platform counted as surrender. Being rendered unable to fight counted as surrender. The use of poison counted as surrender. No tricks would be tolerated beneath his gaze; in his years of refereeing, none had dared to test him.
Gao Han mused at the sheer brutality of it—more than half eliminated in a single round, with no room for mercy.
"Very well. The first stage begins now. All of you, onto the platform." You Canghai's expression was stern. He soared into the air, hovering silently above the crowd.
The six hundred-odd participants flooded onto the arena, turning the vast platform cramped and packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
Once everyone was in place, You Canghai spoke flatly. "Begin!"
Chaos erupted. Fighters paired off at once, sword qi and saber light tearing through the air, the cold glint of weapons flashing, and true essence surging wildly.
Gao Han stood calmly to one side, seeking no quarrel. He would have targeted the Gu clan disciples, had he known what they looked like. For now, he remained still, his mind still fixed on controlling the ice pearl—the treasure that had saved his life twice.
Amid the crowd, a young man in black robes, at the third layer of True Essence, carried a sword on his back yet did not draw it. Instead, he wielded sword fingers, unleashing fearsome sword qi from his fingertips; none could stand against him for even a single exchange.
Gao Han's attention was drawn to him. The sheer power of his sword qi left Gao Han impressed; he doubted he could unleash anything comparable.
A worthy opponent, he thought. This must be Jian Qingtian of the Jian clan.
Two other figures commanded similar attention, their prowess matching Jian Qingtian's—though whether any hid their true strength was anyone's guess.
Gao Han's blood stirred. "This tournament will not be wasted. I shall not grow bored. Finally, I can fight without restraint." His battle intent soared as he watched the chaos unfold. He slowly raised his palm, ready to fight in earnest.