The day of the event had finally arrived, and for once, I wasn't dreading the sunrise.
Xiaohua flitted around me like a tiny stylist with a mission, helping me into the finest robe Madam Hui had sent the night before. The fabric shimmered faintly in the light, a deep indigo threaded with silver, flowing like water with each movement. Xiaohua's fingers worked expertly, tying sashes and smoothing sleeves with the kind of precision I could only dream of achieving on my own. She had clearly done this a thousand times—and for someone of higher rank than me.
"You look beautiful, Miss Mei Lin," she said with a proud smile.
I gave her a grateful nod, too nervous to manage words. My hair was braided and pinned with delicate silver ornaments, my sleeves hung just the right length, and for once, I looked like I belonged here.
Sort of.
We walked together to the training ground, the air practically humming with anticipation. The usual earth-and-sweat scent of the arena had been replaced by fresh flowers and polished wood. Bright banners fluttered along the edges of the platform, and colorful paper lanterns danced lazily in the breeze.
If I didn't know better, I'd have thought we were attending a festival, not a demonstration of magical sword fighting.
Upon arrival, an attendant led us to our seats—shockingly close to the front. My stomach flipped. From here, I could see the entire sparring platform clearly, and also... be seen.
Fantastic.
People began to trickle into the grandstands, nobles draped in elaborate silks and velvets, each more luxurious than the last. Their hair was twisted into impossible shapes, adorned with jewels and gold pins that shimmered with every turn of the head. They settled into their seats with the effortless grace of people born into elegance.
A few rows over, a distinct group caught my eye—dressed in styles markedly different from the rest of the court. Their robes were dyed in unfamiliar colors, and their embroidery bore symbols I didn't recognize. Some wore feathered cloaks, others metallic accents on their belts.
The way they held themselves—still, silent, observant—spoke of diplomats and power.
The ambassadors, I realized. From Qiuli, Xiyan, and Daqi, maybe? They're just as intimidating as they are fascinating.
Just as the hum of the crowd reached a crescendo, a herald stepped forward onto the platform, his voice magically amplified.
"All rise for His Majesty, King Zhuang, and Her Majesty, Queen Li Hua!"
The crowd stood as one, a rustle of silk and murmured reverence rippling across the arena. I turned with everyone else, my eyes locking onto the figures entering from the far end of the arena.
King Zhuang entered first, and my breath caught for the briefest moment.
He looked like an older version of Wei Wuxian—same striking cheekbones, same strong brows and intense gaze—but seasoned, matured, as if life had carved strength into every line of his face. He wore his age with the same confidence he wore his crimson robe, which was embroidered with black dragons and edged in gold. His posture was straight, every step deliberate. Regal, yes, but also undeniably commanding.
Beside him walked Queen Li Hua. She was beautiful, no question—but her features didn't resemble anyone I recognized. There was a stillness to her, an elegance carved in ice and silver, yet she felt distant, unreadable. If the King was a flame—blazing and bold—then she was mist: cool, untouchable, impossible to hold. Her robes were the color of pale moonlight, embroidered with white cranes and silver clouds.
For some reason, looking at the Queen makes me feel a little uneasy.
They took their seats in the elevated royal pavilion. Everyone bowed, and I joined, careful not to fumble my form. When I looked up again, the herald stepped forward to announce the match.
And with that, the herald raised his voice again, signaling the start of the most anticipated match of the year.
The atmosphere was electric, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. The herald's voice rang out again:
"For our first match, we have General Luo Jianhong of Luyang facing General Zhang Wei of Xiyan!"
General Luo, a towering figure with a stern expression, stepped into the ring. His presence alone drew silence from the crowd. His opponent, General Zhang, was equally formidable—leaner, with sharp eyes and a focused demeanor that suggested he wasn't here just to put on a show.
They bowed to each other, swords drawn.
The clash of steel echoed through the arena as they engaged in a fierce duel. General Luo moved with precision, every strike heavy and deliberate, like each swing carried the weight of a battlefield behind it. General Zhang countered with speed and agility, his movements fluid and evasive.
I found myself leaning forward in my seat, completely captivated.
Wow, it's just like in the drama, I thought, heart pounding. I wonder if they can fly on swords, shoot energy blasts, or do flips like in the show.
No slow motion, no dramatic monologues—just pure skill. And the best part? No buffering.
After a tense flurry of blows, General Luo shifted his stance and disarmed General Zhang in two swift moves. The crowd erupted in cheers as General Luo was declared the winner. I clapped enthusiastically, half-joking to myself that all we were missing was popcorn and a slow pan-up shot.
The herald raised his voice again:
"For our next match, we have Prince Yan Jian Yi of Daqi facing General Luo Jianhong of Luyang!"
Gasps rippled through the arena. All eyes turned toward the next contestant.
Prince Yan Jian Yi entered with a composed stride, his presence immediately commanding attention. He was tall, confident, and strikingly handsome—clearly aware of it, too. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had a calculating sharpness that made it clear: he wasn't just here to look good.
"Oh, this should be interesting. He's kinda cute," I whispered to Xiaohua.
She nodded eagerly, her cheeks already turning pink.
"Prince Yan Jian Yi is definitely handsome," she whispered back, practically swooning.
The match began with barely a moment's pause.
It was over almost as quickly.
Prince Jian Yi's movements were impossibly fast, each strike clean and precise. Within ten moves, he had disarmed General Luo, sending the sword skittering across the arena floor. The crowd fell into stunned silence. Even I was momentarily speechless.
General Luo bowed and walked to the sidelines, his posture tight with restrained frustration. His shoulders were heavy, like the weight of the loss sat squarely on them.
As he approached the edge of the ring, Lan Wangji—who had been watching intently from nearby—leaned in and spoke a few quiet words to him. I couldn't hear what was said, but whatever it was, General Luo nodded slowly, a flicker of resolution returning to his face before he took his seat.
I couldn't help but wonder what Lan Wangji had said. Probably something stoic and honorable like, "You fought with strength." Or maybe even just, "Well done." The man could make two syllables feel like a life lesson.
Either way, I was completely hooked.
And the next match was just about to begin.
The herald's voice rang out again.
"For our next match, we have Prince Wei Wuxian of Luyang facing Prince Yan Jian Yi of Daqi!"
The crowd buzzed with excitement as Wei Wuxian stepped into the ring, his usual mischievous grin replaced with a look of determination.
Xiaohua leaned in to whisper to me.
"Prince Wei and Prince Jian Yi are rivals. Everyone knows they hate each other due to a conflict when they were young. Every annual sparring event, they take turns winning and losing. That's why this match is the most anticipated."
Great, I thought. So it's like the ancient version of a celebrity grudge match. This is going to be epic!
The tension in the air was palpable as the two princes faced off. They bowed to each other, and the match began.
Wei Wuxian moved with a fluid grace, his strikes quick and unpredictable. Prince Jian Yi countered with equal skill, his attacks precise and relentless. The sound of clashing swords filled the air as they pushed each other to the limits.
The crowd was on the edge of their seats, their eyes glued to the ring. Each move was met with gasps and cheers as the two princes demonstrated their mastery of the martial arts. I was practically bouncing in my seat, the excitement contagious.
It was like watching an intense esports match, but with swords and actual danger.
The battle was fierce, neither prince giving an inch. Sweat glistened on their brows as they continued to fight, their swords moving in a blur. The audience was captivated, their excitement growing with each passing moment.
This was more than just a match; it was a clash of wills, a test of strength and skill.
And as I watched, I realized that this event was not just about sparring. It was a display of power, a statement of who they were and what they stood for. And in this ancient world, such displays could mean everything.
Prince Jian Yi, clearly frustrated, took a step back and raised his hand. With a sharp cry, spiritual energy surged around him—gold and orange and blindingly hot. A fire phoenix burst from his palm, its wings unfurling in a screech of flame.
The crowd gasped. The heat from the conjured beast rolled across the arena like a wave. I gripped the edge of my seat.
Holy crap. He summoned a phoenix. Is that even fair?
Wei Wuxian didn't even flinch.
As the fire phoenix came soaring toward him, he raised a single hand. Shadows erupted at his feet, twisting upward in a swirl of dark energy. The air shifted—tense, heavy—like a storm moments before it breaks.
A black barrier surged up just in time. The phoenix struck it in a blaze of heat and light, the explosion rocking the arena. Flame and shadow tangled midair, sparking and shrieking like two angry beasts refusing to back down.
Everyone was silent. Breathless.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath, eyes wide. "This is officially beyond any historical drama I've seen. Ancient kung fu meets horror fantasy."
Through the fading smoke, Wei Wuxian moved forward, calm and unshaken. With one precise motion, he redirected the last of the demonic energy, snuffing out the remaining flames like candlelight.
Then the shadows struck.
Dark tendrils surged from the ground, coiling around Prince Jian Yi. He fought to break free, sparks of golden energy flaring from his sword, but it wasn't enough. The shadows pinned him, drained him, and pressed him to the ground.
With one final burst, Wei Wuxian sent him flying. Jian Yi landed hard, his sword skidding away in the dust. The crowd gasped, then erupted into thunderous applause.
I stood with everyone else, clapping, stunned and exhilarated.
That wasn't a sparring match. That was a magic-infused showdown worthy of a season finale.
Prince Jian Yi climbed to his feet slowly, jaw clenched. He bowed stiffly to Wei Wuxian—respectful, but barely—and stalked off without a word. The air still crackled with leftover energy.
The herald's voice rang out across the training ground with gravitas:
"For our final match, we have Prince Wei Wuxian of Luyang… versus Hanguang-jun, Lan Wangji of Luyang!"
A hush swept through the crowd, the tension practically humming in the air. Everyone knew this was the match they'd been waiting for—not just a spar, but a clash between two legends.
Wei Wuxian stepped into the arena with his usual roguish grin, but beneath it flickered a spark of gravity. Lan Wangji followed, every step measured, his expression unreadable, his gaze locked onto Wei Wuxian's like the rest of the world didn't exist.
They bowed to each other in perfect synchronicity—elegant, respectful, charged.
This is it, I thought, heart pounding. This is the match of the century. Somebody get me a front-row seat in heaven because this is a divine-level drama.
Lan Wangji struck first.
His sword sang through the air with quiet ferocity, a blur of silver that shimmered in the afternoon light. Wei Wuxian deflected, spinning with practiced ease, his own blade laughing against the pressure of Lan Wangji's precision. Their duel unfolded like poetry written with steel—measured, lyrical, deadly.
Lan Wangji moved like a blade honed by silence and discipline. Every motion was exact, flowing from one form to the next without wasted effort. In contrast, Wei Wuxian was fluid and unpredictable—dancing, dodging, striking with joyful arrogance.
The clashing of swords rang out in rhythmic cadence, and my breath caught as Lan Wangji executed a perfect sweep, his robe trailing like a banner. Wei Wuxian flipped effortlessly backward, smirking like a man enjoying every second of being pushed to the edge.
But then, the duel took a turn.
Without a word, Lan Wangji lowered his sword and summoned his guqin. It materialized in a shimmer of spiritual energy, floating before him. He sat calmly, fingers already plucking the strings in a haunting rhythm. The notes rolled out, pure and resonant, vibrating through the earth.
The crowd went silent again. We all felt it.
Wei Wuxian's eyes gleamed, as if he'd been waiting for this.
He raised his flute with a dramatic flourish and began to play.
Light and shadow collided in music.
The guqin summoned waves of radiant spiritual force—sharp, precise, like strikes made of light. Wei Wuxian's flute answered with shadowy tendrils, swirling around the notes like smoke around a blade. It was more than a duel. It was a dialogue. A story written in sound.
Lan Wangji's fingers moved faster, each note a blade. Wei Wuxian's melody grew darker, more chaotic, laced with that unshakable charm that dared anyone to keep up.
The two forces surged toward each other—barriers of golden light clashing with storms of inky shadow. Where they met, the ground cracked. The banners overhead fluttered violently. My skin tingled from the sheer pressure radiating off the field.
I could hardly breathe.
With a final, thunderous chord, Lan Wangji struck. A radiant wave exploded outward. But Wei Wuxian met it head-on, spinning into a vortex of shadow that devoured the light and scattered it into harmless particles of energy.
The clash dispersed in a pulse of wind.
And just like that, it was over.
Lan Wangji rose slowly, his guqin vanishing in a shimmer of light. Wei Wuxian lowered his flute, face flushed with effort and exhilaration.
Their eyes met. And in that gaze, I saw everything: rivalry, admiration, understanding—something far deeper than competition.
The crowd exploded into thunderous applause.
It's a tie, I realized. And somehow, that felt right.
"Xiaohua!" I gasped, turning to her, still breathless. "That was—was that even legal? That was incredible!"
Xiaohua nodded, her eyes wide with awe.
"Miss Mei Lin, I have to go prepare your dress for the party now. Otherwise, Madam Hui will punish me. Please head back to your room when you are ready."
A party... something I was both looking forward to and dreading.
"Sure, Xiaohua. I'll meet you there," I replied, smiling nervously.
As Xiaohua darted off, I looked back toward the arena where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were exiting together, side by side.
Legends, I thought, smiling.