The final day of his punishment in the Spirit Beast Pens arrived with a sense of quiet accomplishment. The pens were cleaner than they had been in years, and Grunter the Ironhide Boar followed him to the gate, letting out a low, rumbling grunt that sounded suspiciously like a farewell.
As Ye Xingliu walked back towards the Herb Peak dormitories, the cracked jade compass in his pocket, which had been quietly warm for weeks, suddenly grew hot. A familiar, insistent vibration buzzed against his thigh.
He pulled it out. The silvery needle, which had been pointing steadfastly towards the forbidden peak, was spinning again. It whirled in a frantic, excited circle before snapping to a stop, pointing not up towards the heights of power, but across the sect, towards the thunderous noise of a roaring crowd.
The Outer Disciple Tournament Arena.
Mortal Awakening – 10% glowed steadily beneath the needle.
"Ooh, a party!" Little Comet buzzed, poking its head out of his pocket. "I hear noises! Lots of shiny, competitive life forces! It's a buffet of ambition!"
Feng Shui'er appeared beside him as if conjured by the compass's intent, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "The annual tournament! They're about to crown the champion. Zhao Ba made it to the semi-finals. He's been insufferable all week."
Ye Xingliu looked from the compass to the distant arena, a slow, familiar grin spreading across his face. The compass wasn't pointing to a hidden treasure or a forbidden secret this time. It was pointing to a spectacle. To chaos. To fun.
"Tournament?" he said, his voice light with anticipation. "Sounds fun!"
Shui'er stared at him. "Fun? Ye Xingliu, it's a brutal competition. Bones get broken. Pride gets shattered."
"Exactly!" he laughed, already starting to walk briskly towards the arena. "It's a place where people are too focused on winning to notice someone like us having a good time. And it's the perfect place to test the Drunken Meteor against someone other than a very smelly, very beloved boar."
They pushed through the crowds at the edge of the massive stone arena. In the central ring, Zhao Ba was preening after a hard-fought victory, his chest heaving as he basked in the adulation of his faction. The presiding elder, a stern woman with a voice that cut through the noise, called out, "The registration for the final bracket is closed! We proceed with the four semi-finalists!"
"Wait!" Ye Xingliu's voice, clear and bright, rang out. He vaulted lightly over the barrier and landed in the arena dust, drawing every eye in the stadium.
The elder frowned. "You are too late. Registration ended an hour ago."
"Please, Elder," Ye Xingliu said, bowing with perfect respect, though his eyes twinkled with starlight and humor. "I was detained. Cleaning the Spirit Beast Pens. By order of Overseer Zhang." He said it loudly enough for the entire arena to hear. A wave of laughter and knowing whispers passed through the crowd. Everyone knew of Zhao Ba's role in that punishment.
The elder's lips twitched. The boy had nerve. And his excuse was irrefutably valid.
Zhao Ba stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. "Let him in, Elder!" he snarled. "I've been waiting for a chance to put this joker in his place publicly. I'll crush him in the first round!"
The elder looked from the furious, favored disciple to the calm, smiling latecomer. A little chaos could be instructive. "Very well. State your name for the record."
Ye Xingliu straightened up. He didn't give his sect name. He gave the name of his path, the name of his soul.
"Laughing Comet," he declared, the words echoing in the sudden hush.
A fresh wave of chatter swept the stands. Laughing Comet? Who gave themselves a title like that?
From the highest, shadiest part of the stands, a certain smelly drunkard took a long, satisfied drink from his gourd and murmured to himself, "About time."
The compass in Ye Xingliu's pocket pulsed with warmth, its needle pointing straight at the center of the ring. The road had delivered him to a stage. And the Wanderer was always ready to perform.
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