Chapter 220: Hidden Dragon Tournament

The schedule dictated that sixty-four participants—twenty-four who advanced through the preliminaries and forty who entered the main tournament via recommendations from the Orthodox Murim—would compete in the first round.

Today featured the first-round matches for Groups One and Three, which meant having to wait indefinitely for one's turn.

Qing’s plan to find Cheon Yuhak, ask him if the side effects weren't a bit too severe, and inquire about alternative methods was completely derailed.

Damn it, I don't even know where Master is.

She had definitely heard him muttering something about selling tonics, so he was likely in the market somewhere. But what if he had already sold everything using his unique sales tactics (forceful coercion)? Finding him then would be impossible.

And so, feeling quite anxious, she was stuck watching the fights between these low-level practitioners!

Hmm, it is kinda entertaining…

Low-level fights were often much more entertaining than high-level ones.

Why? Because with high-level fights, you often couldn't tell what was happening, but with low-level fights, the situation was clear at a glance, making them thrilling and filled with sweaty-palmed excitement due to their precariousness.

Oh, Master Ma of the Ground Fist Technique made it through too?

Master Ma, an expert in the Ground Fist Technique, faced Disciple Chae of the Guiyang Sect, continuously crawling across the ground.

Normally, crawling on the ground would signify impending defeat, but for Master Ma, an expert in the Ground Fist Technique, it was his natural fighting style, meaning he actually held the advantage.

The poor Guiyang Sect disciple flailed about continuously, likely having no idea how to attack an opponent who was scurrying around below his knees.

Well, truth be told, practically no sword style in the martial arts world included techniques for dealing with an opponent crawling beneath one's knees.

Eventually, Master Ma slithered in like a snake, pressed down on the back of his opponent’s knees, and as Disciple Chae stumbled, Master Ma twisted and bound his legs, completely subduing him.

Disciple Chae struggled desperately to break free, but each attempt brought a sharp pain as if his bones would break, forcing him to barely suppress his screams.

The Murim Alliance expert refereeing the match observed the subdued Guiyang Sect disciple's escape attempts a few times before quickly declaring the result.

This wasn't biased refereeing; he was briefly assessing whether there was any possibility of escape using some technique after being subdued.

"Match decided! Ma Onsa of Xinye, victory!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

Master Ma waved his hand joyfully, while the unfortunate Guiyang Sect disciple hung his head low and trudged away.

One should at least put up a decent fight in a tournament, but given his opponent, even that hadn't been possible.

"Tsk, tsk. How utterly unpleasant," Ximen Surin spoke with a tone of pity. "How can he hold his head up after that? But one cannot tell that child not to use the Ground Fist Technique either."

Previously, Ximen Surin had instructed Qing that no matter how low the opponent's realm or how poor their skill, she should accept at least ten exchanges.

It wasn't a duel to the death, and in a pleasant gathering of Orthodox Murim members, one should at least give others a chance to show off their skills.

The fame Master Ma gained from his victory would amount to little more than being known as an expert in an unsightly martial art involving crawling on the ground, while the loser became the pathetic fool who lost to him.

There was little to gain even in victory, and separately, the Guiyang Sect disciple would now regard Master Ma as an enemy, earning only resentment.

This was why the Ground Fist Technique was avoided in the martial arts world—its drawbacks leaked out from everywhere.

The tournament continued, and occasionally, familiar faces appeared. Gongson Yoye easily defeated Sang Baeksong of the West Sichuan Merchant Guild, and Zhuge Ihyeon knocked out someone said to be from Qinghai with a flick of his iron fan.

After that, Qing's turn rapidly approached.

A Murim Alliance martial artist in charge of proceedings informed her it was almost time and guided her to the waiting area.

The waiting area was a ship docked alongside the arena platform floating on the Grand Canal. As soon as she stepped inside, a sharp "Hmph!" sound, almost like someone blowing their nose rather than just snorting, echoed through the space. Qing looked towards the source of the sound.

"Ha! Miss Ximen reveals her true colors, does she? What on earth are you wearing?"

Realistically, there was only one woman in the world who would pick a fight with Qing the moment she saw her.

Murong Juhui pointed a finger at Qing.

"What is that blatantly body-revealing waist sash? It seems you intend to announce your figure to the entire Central Plains. If you're going that far, wouldn't it be better to just take off your top entirely?"

A chaedae referred to a woman's belt. Unlike back in Qing's homeland, there were numerous types of belts in the Central Plains, and anything wrapped around the waist outside of one's clothing was generally called a chaedae.

To prevent skin irritation, Qing had tightly wrapped a wide piece of cloth around her waist.

Since Qing's waist was particularly slender while her figure was significantly fuller above and below, this wrap inevitably highlighted those dramatic curves.

Qing let out a deep sigh.

Right, she treats this crap like a greeting, doesn't she?

"Miss Murong, don't you ever tire of picking fights over every little thing?" Qing asked. "Your words only make everyone compare us, you know. Hey, everyone, could you please avert your gazes? It's rather rude."

Indeed, the others in the waiting room were glancing back and forth between Qing and Murong Juhui.

"Eek...!"

Murong Juhui, her face beet red, clenched her teeth and shot a fierce glare around at the waiting participants.

The participants looked away awkwardly, pretending to study the floor, walls, or ceiling for any interesting patterns.

It was then.

"Kyaaaaaah!"

"Kiyaaaak! Kkuaaak!"

Suddenly, desperate screams erupted simultaneously from outside the waiting area.

They were heart-wrenching cries, like tearing intestines.

Startled, the waiting participants jumped up and looked out the door.

Outside—

"Kyaaaaaah! Young Master! Young Master Peng! Look over here! Kyaaaaaah!"

"Jade Qilin! Kyaaaaaah!"

"Oh my god, he looked at me, what do I do, ahhh..."

Thud. Women were collapsing one after another.

The Greatest Beauty Under Heaven could destroy a woman's sanity and make her faint with just a glance.

His popularity hadn't waned at all despite some recent nasty rumors; wasn't Kaifeng currently experiencing a 'beggar fashion' trend, with women everywhere sporting ragged clothes?

What the—I got startled for nothing…

Qing sat back down, indifferent.

Surprisingly, Murong Juhui also scowled deeply and turned away.

Qing directed her veiled gaze towards her, and Murong Juhui frowned sharply.

"What is it?" Murong Juhui snapped. "Surprised I'm not gawking at the Greatest Beauty Under Heaven? Don't make me laugh. Did I look pathetic enough to cling to a man who clearly dislikes me?"

"I didn't say anything," Qing replied.

"Your eyes clearly did."

"You can see my eyes? Are you perhaps at the Unrestrained Realm?"

Qing didn't understand the principle at all, but experts at the Unrestrained Realm could supposedly see right through a veil.

"Tch."

Murong Juhui turned her head away sharply as if Qing wasn't even worth dealing with.

Qing didn't particularly want to deal with her either, so whatever. It’s not like we’ll keep seeing each other anyway.

As she sat there, another round of frenzied "Kyaaah! Kyaaah!" screams erupted outside.

Having experienced it once, she knew without looking.

Looks like Peng Daesan won.

Afterward, it was Murong Juhui's turn. She was guided out through the passage, and less than a ke (15 mins) later, the announcer's voice declared, "Murong Juhui, victory!"

Finally, it was Qing's turn.

She followed the ship's interior passage, crossed a few planks on the dock, went back inside, and climbed a set of stairs, where a footstool and even a handrail were conveniently placed.

No wonder everyone seemed to spring up from the ground, trying to gain an edge with their movement techniques.

With a footstool and handrail, even those weak in movement techniques could leap at least one zhang(3.33 meters).

Qing used the anti-gravity gait of her Yue Maiden Footwork, lightly tapping the footstool and soaring upwards.

She landed gracefully on the tips of her toes on the tournament stage, silent and poised.

"I am Hwan Yuk, a Wudang disciple. I have trained in the Wisdom Sword of Tai Chi and palm techniques."

He then demonstrated half a form with his sword and half a form with the palm of his left hand as his opening stance.

Qing responded in kind, displaying the basic forms of the Divine Maiden Sword and Yue Maiden Sword.

Afterward, the Daoist Hwan Yuk suddenly asked—

"Miss Ximen? Have we perhaps met before? You seem familiar..."

What the hell is he talking about? What kind of trick is this?

Was the custom of psychological warfare through irritating conversation a thing in the Central Plains too, not just in modern times?

Never one to back down in that department, Qing retorted.

"Isn't that rather inappropriate for a Wudang disciple to say?"

"Pardon? What do you mean..."

Hwan Yuk wondered what she meant, then quickly realized his mistake.

Telling a veiled woman she looked familiar could easily be seen as a crude pick-up line.

It wasn't that; it was just that her uncommon bodily presence felt vaguely familiar, yet elusive. But voicing that would have been just as rude, tantamount to saying, "Your figure is incredible, where have I seen it before?"

"My apologies. Please forget I said anything."

Trying to start a verbal spat when he's clearly no match.

Qing curled her lip contemptuously.

If Hwan Yuk could have seen through her veil, he might have felt quite wronged.

He had genuinely asked simply because she seemed familiar, with no other intention.

"I will yield the first move," Qing offered.

"How could I accept?" Hwan Yuk replied. "It is naturally I who should yield to you."

"If you insist."

Given Qing's seniority, she had no particular obligation to pay respects to the Nine Great Sects.

Therefore, the only people who knew her level were the elders she had encountered. To sects she had no connection with, she was just a young girl from the Divine Maiden Sect.

Besides, there was the cunning of elder masters presenting their prized disciples. Neither she nor the Shaolin disciple Wolbong had been overtly hyped up, told instead to prove themselves through victory.

Qing didn't decline again and stepped forward lightly, pushing off her ankle.

Master said the Wudang sword is softness.

Let's see what he shows me.

Qing flicked her sword lightly.

Divine Maiden Sword Sutra, Third Form: Celestial Maiden's Slash. It was a simple diagonal cut, Ximen Surin's favorite, and Qing's as well.

As Hwan Yuk met her blade, his arm drew a large vertical circle, and his feet moved to trace a large horizontal one.

His raised iron sword, now positioned to his right, deflected Qing's technique with a soft arc, pushing it aside.

Qing, too, didn't resist the pushing force, spinning her body once to face Hwan Yuk again.

Thus, the first exchange.

Qing thought, Ah, so this is how it moves.

They say to watch the eyes to read an attack, and watch the feet to read a martial art.

She wasn't familiar with the Wisdom Sword of Tai Chi, but the direction of his footwork was clearly different from what she'd seen so far.

Footwork aims to find the most suitable position according to the technique's path, allowing power to be properly channeled into the weapon.

Namgung Shinjae's footwork was static, more for bracing the body and standing firm than for movement.

Peng Choryeo's footwork used diagonal advances and retreats to maintain rotation. Peng Daesan's footwork involved large vertical movements to maximize the destructive power of his saber.

And now Hwan Yuk's footwork, extending left and right in curves, seemed to trace a large circle centered somewhere far behind Qing.

Second exchange, third, fourth.

Qing continued to ponder.

Is this more about angles than distance?

Guiding the flow outwards, positioning to add force in the direction of movement. If she got drawn into that momentum, her offense would suddenly find itself facing his back.

Fifth exchange, sixth, seventh.

His movements resembled a bullfighter's.

Forcing the opponent into straight lines, while moving laterally to evade and push, seeking to mount the opponent's back.

So, what should I do?

Overwhelm him with greater speed and force to break him in one go, mix in feints to lure his circle into a dead end, or respond with rotation.

Eighth exchange, ninth, tenth.

Qing, who had been lightly matching him softness for softness, fluidly circling and clashing swords, gently lifted her right foot.

And in that instant.

The lifted foot suddenly, violently stomped the ground. CRACK!! The impact resonated throughout the entire training ground. Instantly, Qing's figure leaned forward by a step.

Following it, a sharp sword thrust!

Hwan Yuk hurriedly swung his sword to parry. CLANG!! The sound of shattering iron rang out. Simultaneously, a shadow suddenly fell over Hwan Yuk's face.

Hwan Yuk's gaze shot upwards. Beneath the May sky, blocking the sun and casting the shadow, was an exquisitely beautiful white hand. Swishhh. It sliced through the air, rapidly approaching.

The sword was a feint, Hwan Yuk realized belatedly, but it was too late.

And then, thwack.

Qing's knife-hand struck the crown of Hwan Yuk's head.