The long-dormant blood in Chen Chang'an's chest had just begun to boil, the fighting intent in his eyes just ignited, and he had already simulated several sets of exquisite yet tasteful swordplay in his mind—styles that could win while showcasing a "hard-fought" demeanor.
However, reality often proves as harsh as it is unexpected.
His opponent, a young swordsman also at the early Guiyuan realm, was clearly on such a grand stage for the first time. Nervousness and excitement intertwined as he let out a roar to bolster his courage.
With his long sword, he flourished a dazzling sword flower, charging forward with immense momentum!
To an ordinary Guiyuan realm cultivator, this strike might have been considered swift and fierce, with few openings.
But in Chen Chang'an's eyes, the sword's trajectory was clear, the flow of spiritual energy was sluggish, and his opponent's aura was loose. It was like a slow-motion replay, full of opportunities.
He didn't even need to think.
His body's instincts—or rather, that terrifying control long since integrated into his soul, where his understanding of combat had transcended "technique" and approached "the Dao"—reacted naturally.
His feet shifted slightly, he sidestepped, and with an effortless grace, he evaded the determined thrust. At the same time, his ordinary iron sword, infused with little spiritual energy, casually flicked out along a tricky angle.
It precisely struck into the gap where his opponent's strength had spent itself and new force had yet to arise.
"Clang!" A light sound accompanied by a cry of shock.
The young swordsman felt his wrist go numb, an exquisitely precise force transmitted through it. He had no control, and his sword instantly flew from his hand.
It arced through the air before landing with a clang at the edge of the arena.
Meanwhile, his own forward momentum was abruptly severed, causing him to stagger and nearly fall, looking utterly wretched.
The entire battle, from start to finish, likely took less than a breath's time.
Chen Chang'an froze in place, maintaining his sword-drawing pose. Was that... it?
The passion that had just ignited within him, craving a "well-matched," "blood-boiling" fight, was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head. It instantly cooled by more than half, leaving only a trace of awkward smoke.
His opponent was also dumbfounded, his face flushed red. He stared both ashamed and unbelieving at his now-empty hand, as if he still couldn't comprehend what had happened.
A brief silence fell below the stage, then erupted into even more enthusiastic cheers—mainly from the folks of Ping'an Fang.
"He won! Master Chen won!"
"Good heavens! Just one move! Just one move!"
"Amazing! He's brought honor to us all!"
The referee froze for a moment before loudly announcing: "On Arena C-7, the winner is Chen Er!"
Chen Chang'an reluctantly sheathed his sword, rubbed his nose, and couldn't bring himself to say any of the prepared pleasantries like "my concession" or "your swordplay is exquisite."
He could only offer a cupped fist salute to the young opponent, who was still in a daze, before sheepishly jumping off the stage.
The moment he stepped down, he was surrounded by the excited townsfolk.
"What a hidden talent!"
"You're always so quiet, who knew you could fight like that!"
"We have to celebrate tonight! Old Wang, bring out your century-old collection!"
They cheered, crowding around him, a chorus of voices, their faces beaming with genuine joy and pride.
Over the years, Chen Chang'an and Ji Hongliu's unchanging youthful appearance, and the occasional glimpses of knowledge and bearing far beyond ordinary people, had long made these simple townsfolk realize that this couple was no ordinary mortal.
But they had never grown distant or reverent because of it. Chen Chang'an and his wife had always treated people with ordinary hearts, living among them, sharing joys and sorrows.
This sincerity had earned the townsfolk's equally sincere acceptance and recognition. At this moment, Chen Er's victory was the glory of all Ping'an Fang!
Chen Chang'an was infected by this simple enthusiasm, and his earlier awkwardness dissipated considerably. Through the bustling, cheering crowd, he gazed out at the massive competition venue.
On sixty-four arenas, lights flickered, shouts rang out, weapons clashed, spiritual energy exploded, cheers rose, sighs fell... All woven into a vast and vivid tapestry of living beings.
There were young prodigies basking in the glory of defeating opponents with a single move. There were those who wept with joy after bitter victories.
Some cried in despair after giving their all but still falling short. Others beat their chests in regret over mistakes that cost them victory.
And there were those who cheered themselves hoarse for their companions, their voices raw with genuine feeling...
Take, for instance, another arena where Wei Wu stumbled off the platform, his body covered in blood.
He had terrible luck, facing a peak Guiyuan realm expert in his very first match. After a brutal battle, he had nearly exhausted all his spiritual energy, winning only by sheer grit.
As soon as he stepped down, his legs gave way and he pitched forward. Ye Fan and Guo Fugui, who had been waiting nearby, immediately rushed to support him from both sides.
"Old Wei!" Their voices were urgent.
Wei Wu gasped for breath, the pain making his face pale, but his eyes burned with a fierce light. He looked at his two brothers and managed a blood-stained smile.
"Won..."
Ye Fan looked at his battered state, his eyes showing deep concern. Guo Fugui's eyes reddened as he nodded vigorously.
"You won! Old Wei, you're the best!"
Though severely wounded, leaning on his brothers' shoulders, hearing their sincere congratulations, Wei Wu's face shone with the triumph of victory. In that moment, he even forgot why he had stepped onto the arena in the first place.
The first day of the great competition slowly drew to an end amidst this flurry of emotions, joy and sorrow intertwined.
The afterglow of the sunset cast a warm golden cloak over the vast venue. People began to leave reluctantly, in small groups, excitedly discussing and reliving the brilliant matches they had witnessed.
They debated who had the best chance of advancing, and which duel had been the most thrilling and intense.
For the vast majority of cultivators and mortals in the Xuanying Continent, the Guiyuan realm was already the limit of the "great cultivator" they could encounter or imagine in their lifetime.
The Changsheng realm, Tianren realm, or even the Sheng realm? They were all too distant, like legends.
To be able to witness so many "great ones" on the arenas, trading blows and displaying dazzling techniques and martial arts... To watch the cultivators they supported or admired defeat powerful foes, and to feel the pure thrill and joy of victory and defeat... This was enough to make them feel thoroughly satisfied, that the trip was not in vain.
Long life was too far, the immortal path was uncertain.
It was better to cherish the present, to seize the day's clamor and delight.
Chen Chang'an withdrew his gaze, surrounded by the townsfolk, and walked smilingly toward his wife, who awaited him with a smile in her eyes.
In this moment, he seemed to touch once again the most real and precious warmth of this mortal world.
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