Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Opening

Heaven trembled, earth quaked—the atmosphere was truly formidable. The Martial Assembly, renowned as one of the rare grand gatherings of the martial world, lived up to its name. With the illustrious Mingyue Manor setting the stage and the prestige of the Prince Qi’s residence lending its grace, it seemed that anyone who wished to hold a place in the world of rivers and lakes had to pay their respects here. Thus, when the sun rose, whether within the manor or outside its gates, whether seasoned wanderers or mere spectators, all converged upon the open space before the manor’s main hall. Where once had been a broad, empty expanse, in less than an hour it swelled into a sea of humanity, so densely packed that scarcely a trickle of movement remained. Upon the high platform, twelve great drums thundered in unison, their sound reverberating between heaven and earth, resonating with such force as to be nearly deafening, imbuing all present with a surge of heroic spirit.

The front dais had long since been readied. Now, under careful arrangements, there were seven seats set from left to right. Of these, only the central two and the second seat on the left remained vacant; the other five were already occupied. There sat Shao Changchun, Master of the East China Gate; Daoist Tianjifeng, Lord of the Qilian Highlands; Shen Wansan, Master of Mingyue Manor; and, more recently famed, Wan Zhiliang, the “Prisoner of Jiuli.” As for the vacant seats, the one at the lower end was naturally reserved for Dongfang Mingyue, Lord of Cold Mountain Valley—reputed as one of the Four Great Sects, and himself a figure of unmatched reputation and strength, the leading candidate for alliance master at this gathering. Normally, Cold Mountain Valley would never miss such a meeting, yet now, not only was Dongfang Mingyue nowhere to be seen, but not a single disciple from the Valley had appeared—a matter that puzzled many.

The two principal seats, of course, were reserved for Prince Qi and his princess. Although this was a martial assembly and not a court affair, political propriety had to be observed. Without oversight, such a massive gathering of the martial world might easily arouse suspicion in the authorities, and offending the court was no trivial matter. What’s more, Prince Qi, Xiao Jinghao, was no ordinary man—his rank was exalted, and rumor held that his martial prowess rivaled even the masters of the Four Great Sects. Whether true or not, no one had ever put it to the test.

Naturally, a figure like Xiao Jinghao would adhere to the decorum of officialdom—he would make his entrance last, lending the occasion a final flourish. Arriving too early would only diminish his stature. As for Hantan Yi, he and Xia Wuya stood to the left and right behind Daoist Tianjifeng. There were not many on the platform, and those who mounted it were inevitably the focus of all eyes. Hantan Yi, still youthful and strikingly handsome, drew more attention than the elders—yet the presence of Shao Changchun still outshone him. That youth truly possessed a breathtaking beauty; it was Hantan Yi’s second time seeing him, and perhaps because of unresolved questions in his heart, his gaze kept wandering back to the young master. Sitting had its advantages—one’s lack of height, otherwise a disadvantage, was less noticeable, and one’s features came more to the fore. Moreover, to have attained the rank of East China Gate Master at such a young age was a dazzling accomplishment; his vigor and promise only made him all the more radiant.

Hantan Yi had no wish to compare himself to others—this was not out of self-doubt. As the chief disciple of the Qilian Highlands, he could have vied for the position of Highland Lord, so long as he conducted himself with the steady discipline of Xia Wuya. Yet if he had chosen that path, he doubted he would have enjoyed it. The higher the rank, the more the constraints, and he preferred his current freedom. In all Qilian Mountain, only Qiu Wan’er truly understood his heart. That mischievous girl, perhaps because of her playful youth, was the only one with whom Hantan Yi could fully relax.

With this in mind, Hantan Yi’s gaze swept unconsciously over the dense crowd below the platform. Suddenly, he felt an odd illusion—that Qiu Wan’er herself might be present. Of course, it was just a fancy. Even if she had come, in such a multitude he would hardly be able to pick her out; these small gestures were no more than idle passing of time while waiting for the assembly to begin. In fact, Qiu Wan’er was indeed below, although she was keeping herself hidden. For all her bravado, she harbored a certain fear of Daoist Tianji, and so she tucked herself behind Zhuola Weiyang. Being from the Western Regions, Zhuola was tall and broad, a man whose stature concealed her perfectly. Beside him, Qiu Wan’er all but disappeared, only her small head poking out through the gap.

At this moment, Zhuola Weiyang was scanning the crowd intently; having come here to search for someone, he was unwilling to miss a single opportunity. But with such a throng, far denser than any city street, it was difficult to distinguish anyone. The tolling of the drums—eighty-one strikes in all, the number signifying cosmic completion—further heightened the gravity of the event. When the final drumbeat faded, three figures emerged from the side of the great hall, approaching with measured steps.

There was no need to guess—the dazzling arrivals were Prince Qi, Xiao Jinghao, his princess Dawa Zhuoma, and another attendant. Xiao Jinghao’s attire was resplendent, adorned with gold and jade, exuding the full majesty befitting his status. Anything less would have failed to convey royal dignity. Yet beside him, Dawa Zhuoma’s ensemble was strikingly distinct: a sheer veil of pale green accentuated her tall, graceful form. The contrast between his opulence and her refined simplicity was marked. Though the Prince’s household surely lacked for nothing, her understated appearance in public seemed almost out of place. But what did it matter? So long as she was comfortable, that was enough. With the title of Princess Qi, even a plain and homely woman would be elevated to nobility; in Dawa Zhuoma’s case, her natural beauty and the delicate green complemented each other perfectly. Unadorned yet extraordinary, the playful green against her flawless skin radiated a vibrant youthfulness, pleasing to the eye.

Following them was a young woman, dressed plainly in pale blue, perhaps to avoid disrupting the harmony of the scene. She was no ordinary maid; the sword she bore made that clear. Gu She—that curious name—had, in recent years, begun to make a name for herself in the martial world.

Even Zhuola Weiyang’s expression seemed transfixed, his gaze locked onto the stage, following the pair as they moved, a smile spreading across his weathered face, betraying some inner delight. Perhaps such a look was odd on an old man, but he did not notice; as he watched, a faint, muttered exclamation escaped his lips: “Found you, found you, Master, I—”

“Old sir, what are you mumbling? Found what?” Though his words were soft, Qiu Wan’er was close enough to hear them clearly. She too had been watching the high platform. When women look at men, they look for handsomeness; though Xiao Jinghao had his charm, he was well into middle age and clearly not to Qiu Wan’er’s taste. Shao Changchun was much more appealing. When women look at women, it is simpler—if the other is prettier, there is envy and resentment; if plainer, a sense of superiority. Perhaps it is just instinctual comparison. For the moment, seeing the two women on stage, Qiu Wan’er felt a surge of envy—yet when her gaze shifted to Gu She, that envy turned instantly to satisfaction and pride.

Men’s passion for women is often a matter of the flesh, which fades with age; someone as old as Zhuola Weiyang was long past such concerns. He was not immune to beauty, but now regarded it with the detached eye of appreciation, not the obsession evident in his current demeanor. This left Qiu Wan’er quite puzzled. As she questioned him, her gaze once more fixed upon Dawa Zhuoma, as if searching for some answer in the princess herself.