Ten minutes passed in quiet wait.
Then at last, steam drifted once more from the cart. The plates of jiaozi and xiao long bao were laid before Shen Yuan. The shopkeeper himself placed the chopsticks neatly to the side, along with a small bowl of dipping sauce suited for jiaozi. Afterward, he hurried back and returned with two smaller bowls, one brimming with chili oil, the other with rice vinegar.
He bowed slightly and said respectfully, "Some customers prefer to add chili oil and vinegar to the sauce, for a livelier kick."
Shen Yuan however, neither raised his eyes nor spoke. A faint nod was all.
He picked up the chopsticks. A single jiaozi was grasped, dipped lightly, and placed into his mouth.
The flavor bloomed instantly—savory filling, tender coating, and the sauce cutting sharp and clean against his tongue. He chewed once, twice, then swallowed. Although his expression did not change.
For an instant, a memory surfaced of his younger self, wolfing down such dumplings in his childhood village, he would devour each bite as if it were treasure. Hunger had once been unbearable, joy found in such simple food. But the thought passed like ripples fading from a stone cast in water. Now, his cultivation rendered him beyond any need of sustenance that mortals need. Eating was only for the mouth now.
His movements were steady, refined yet without excess. A dumpling dipped in sauce, a xiao long bao pierced just enough to savor its broth, then consumed whole. When he chose to add chili oil or vinegar, the flavors shifted sharply—spice adding an unique kick with the vinegar brightening the savor. Still, his face remained calm, without any exaggeration.
Halfway through the plates, Shen Yuan finally spoke, his voice quiet yet carrying weight.
"Your dumplings are quite good. You should consider opening a proper stall. This cart is wasted effort."
The shopkeeper straightened at once, eyes wide. He clasped his hands and bowed. "The Old Master's words gladden me."
Shen Yuan gave no reply, only continued to eat. Chopsticks never slowed until the plates lay bare. He set them down with a faint clink.
Then, his gaze lifted. His tone remained calm.
"More. Ten plates each."
The shopkeeper froze mid-step, eyes blinking.
"T-ten plates… the old master wishes ten plates?"
A single nod. Nothing more.
The man's throat tightened, but he forced a smile, bowing deeply.
"At once!"
He rushed back to his cart, hands moving faster than ever, though unease gnawed within. Such an order would feed several families, yet to cultivators perhaps it was nothing. Still, his heart raced.
Fifteen minutes later, steam rose in heavy waves. Tray after tray filled with dumplings was carried to the table until plates stacked high, fragrance thick in the air.
Shen Yuan began again, his pace the same as before—calm, unhurried, unceasing. One jiaozi dipped, chewed, swallowed. One xiao long bao was pierced and savored. Plate after plate emptied. His breathing never shifted, his expression never never flickered.
At a distance, the shopkeeper's eyes widened further with each cleared plate. He knew cultivators were different, but to witness such boundless consumption shook his very core. To devour what could feed an army and still remain unfazed, this was no human feat.
Before long, not a single dumpling remained.
Shen Yuan set the chopsticks aside. A soft exhale slipped from his lips—not relief, not strain, but a faint satisfaction. His body felt nothing, yet it gave him a slight joy, making his mind even more calm. For that, it was enough.
He rose. His thoughts stirred.
'Ten minutes remain before the last round begins.'
He murmured, "Time to go."
From his storage bag, he produced a single gold coin and set it gently on the table. The crisp ring of metal echoed, heavier than silver.
The shopkeeper, approaching to clear plates, froze at the sight. His eyes widened, mouth falling open. He bowed hastily.
"S-senior! This… this is far too much. The price is only two silver coins. Why give gold?"
Shen Yuan's gaze flickered once, plain and indifferent.
"I carry only gold."
The coin weighed heavily in the shopkeeper's trembling hand. For a moment he wished to refuse, yet the shine of gold drowned his hesitation. Desire flickered in his eyes before he lowered his head, bowing deeply.
"This humble one… accepts with gratitude."
Shen Yuan looked at him no more. His thought was simple, 'mortal or cultivator, all beings chase after something. Desire binds them alike.' Though none of it had anything to do with him.
A faint ripple stirred in the air. His figure blurred—then vanished, leaving only empty plates and a trembling shopkeeper behind.
The very next instant, Shen Yuan appeared within the grand arena, seated in his designated place. His eyes remained half-lidded, calm as if waiting.
Gradually he opened them, gaze sweeping across the stands. He was not the first. The mortals had arrived long before, their seats already filled, voices buzzing with anticipation.
The team of Fengyue sat quietly, having come early. The moment Shen Yuan's figure had appeared, Zhou Xiaosi's eyes locked onto him. Fury surged, sharp enough to burn. His stare seemed intent on tearing Shen Yuan apart.
But Shen Yuan only gave a faint, mocking smile, his eyes cold and indifferent.
The tension thickened. Yet Bai Chen's hand pressed onto Zhou Xiaosi's shoulder. Zhou Xiaosi turned to meet his gaze as Bai Chen gave a single nod.
Zhou Xiaosi's chest heaved once. Slowly, he drew breath, forced the flame of his emotion down, and when his eyes opened again, they were calm, emotions buried deep.
Minutes passed. The arena swelled with sound as the crowd returned in waves, voices rising like thunder. Shen Yuan's teammates soon arrived, settling wordlessly beside him. They seemed slightly more serious now as well.
At last, the ten minutes ended.
A flicker of light appeared as Steward Yan descended onto the stadium floor. His robes swayed as he bowed deeply toward the towering platform of condensed energy. His voice rolled across the arena.
"This humble steward once again greets the esteemed Sect Leaders, the respected Envoy of the World Lord, and the exalted World Lord himself!"
High above, the sky split. A spatial crack tore open. From within stepped the Sect Leaders, each aura vast yet restrained. They seated themselves in solemn rows.
Another crack followed. From it descended the Envoy, standing tall, and beside him, the World Lord himself. The Envoy stood. The World Lord sat, expression faint yet immeasurable, his unseen aura pressing upon all souls present.
"Finally," Steward Yan declared, "the time has come. The last round that all have awaited shall now begin! We request the exalted World Lord to set the stage for these young cultivators."
The World Lord's gaze swept across the arena. He lifted a single hand. His voice was cold, detached, and said but one word.
"Change."
At once, the world shifted. The stadium stretched outward, swelling to a hundred kilometers across. Pillars the size of mountains rose from the stadium floor, stabbing into the clouds. The coliseum walls expanded even more, enclosing a thousand kilometers of space.
Shock rippled through the cultivators. Even Shen Yuan's eyes flickered faintly.
'Late-stage Origin Descent… the gulf between realms is this vast. Truly, cultivation is a strange path.'
The mortals were stricken with disbelief, mouths agape, hands pinching themselves to test if they were dreaming.
Steward Yan raised his palm. A vast defensive array shimmered forth, a dome of golden light sealing the stadium. But in a blink, the gold darkened, turning wholly black, deep and opaque as though sealing away even the heavens.
Gasps resounded everywhere. Even Shen Yuan felt a rare flicker of surprise.
'A Grade Seven Array, dual-type? And not color, but pure black…'
Steward Yan's voice boomed, brimming with solemn authority. "This is no normal Grade Seven Array! Not merely defensive, but spatial as well! It creates a vast pocket dimension—within it, a complete continent awaits, modeled after our very world! You shall battle within that space."
The participants' hearts pounded wildly. To fight across an entire continent, blood surged with fierce anticipation. Even Shen Yuan's calm eyes glowed faintly, a strange excitement stirring within.
"Now," Steward Yan thundered, "the first match of this final round shall begin! Fengyue Team and the Sun-Forging Sect, come forth!"
The words struck like a hammer. The arena erupted in cheers. Some roared for Fengyue, their voices fierce. Others shouted for the Sun-Forging Sect, the powerhouse ranked fifth in the first phase.
The atmosphere seemed to boil.
The final round had finally begun.