Chapter Seventy-Six (Third Night—I've Done It): Qi Xuan, Reckless with His Life

As the uproar gradually subsided, the old man in red finally spoke, “Since there is only one disciple in the Violet Division, Su Fan, he is granted special permission to skip the first round and enter directly into the second. The remaining disciples whose names have been called, proceed later to the Grandmaster’s Hall for the drawing of lots.”

His tone was noticeably less resonant than before; no sooner had he finished than he clasped his hands respectfully toward the other seats of honor and flew off into the distance.

The elder in violet robes slowly opened his eyes and, with a flicker, appeared before Su Fan, smiling, “I hadn't realized you possessed such charm.”

Su Fan replied with a bitter smile, “This isn’t my charm at all—it’s all because of Xiao Lin and the others.”

The violet-robed elder replied with a faint smile, “The disciples of Tianyuan Gate are not so easily swayed by a single word from Xiao Lin. If not for your feats and your exchange with the Grandmaster just now, such effect could not have been achieved.”

Su Fan lowered his head, his voice gloomy, “Master, please don’t tease me. I’ve only caused trouble for you by contradicting the Grandmaster.”

The elder’s brow furrowed slightly. “Trouble? What trouble? I’m not unaware of the events in Luo City. If you’d gone there, you would never have returned alive.”

Su Fan’s expression grew heavy, his voice lowering, “Does the Grandmaster still not know about the affair with Zhao?”

The old man lightly flicked his sleeve, motioning to Su Fan, then stepped onto the air and soared upward. Su Fan followed close behind, his mind churning with speculation.

In moments, they had returned to the Violet Division’s guest quarters arranged by Tianyuan Gate. The violet-robed elder’s gaze was dim as he spoke softly, “The Grandmaster has yet to learn of Nameless, but Nameless may have even greater designs.”

Su Fan looked at him, puzzled.

The elder continued, “Just yesterday, I heard that many cultivators have stationed themselves in the imperial city. Nameless has wandered for years, befriending many reclusive masters—these may well be those sent by Nameless.”

Su Fan asked, “Are those people not afraid of Tianyuan Gate?”

The elder sighed, “Tianyuan Gate is powerful, but it too has enemies. The Grandmaster is ruthless; many small sects in Tianyuan Prefecture have been forcibly merged into our gate. Though individually insignificant, together they form a potent force. And each minor sect’s master is no simple person, which makes them an even greater threat to us.”

Su Fan nodded and fell silent, perhaps considering what choice he would make should Nameless ever invade Tianyuan Gate, or perhaps thinking about the competition starting tomorrow.

The sky was at its deepest crimson, the horizon resembling a sea of blood suspended above. Su Fan strolled outside the guest quarters, admiring the meticulously pruned red blossoms, sighing, “All the flowers of the Red Division are trimmed, bereft of any freedom; how can they evoke the carefree spirit of cultivation?

But the violet flowers, though untidy, have never been touched; they are allowed to grow as they wish. They impart a sense of ease—whether beneath eaves, in front of halls, or beside the winding paths, violet blooms flourish freely.”

With another sigh, Su Fan could not tell if he mourned the restrictions placed upon the disciples or reflected on his own freedom.

He gently traced his fingers over the red flower beds and walked toward the small pavilion in the courtyard. The pavilion was exceedingly quaint, worn with age, a thick layer of dust gathered within—clearly untouched for years.

Su Fan smiled helplessly and sat on the steps outside.

The sun soon set, the sky plunged into darkness. The moon had yet to rise; stars were sparse. Without the oppressive red clouds, Su Fan felt much of his inner pressure dissipate.

He stared blankly at the emerging stars, sighing again and again—how much more beautiful the starry sky seemed from the blue stone slabs of his childhood home. He recalled how his mother would drape a garment over him while he watched the stars, urging him not to catch cold.

Whether his spirits were low or high, Su Fan had always taken out a wine flask to drink; so now he drew out the same flask.

He habitually uncorked it and began to drink. Suddenly, he paused, then smiled and murmured, “How could there be no wine left?”

With a faint smile, he rose and walked toward his room.

Dawn came quickly; Su Fan was up early, waiting at the violet-robed elder’s door. The elder reminded him that on such an auspicious day, he must bathe and prepare incense.

Su Fan shook his head helplessly, but knowing the elder had spent nearly a thousand years in Tianyuan Gate and grown attached to such rituals, he simply waited patiently.

After a while, the elder finally opened the door. Upon seeing him, Su Fan laughed, “I never thought Master would be so handsome—so valiant!”

The elder shot him a glance and formed a seal with his hands. Su Fan felt as though a great hand had seized him, lifting him swiftly into the air.

The first streak of violet mist drifted past his eyes, followed by the fragrance of morning. Su Fan was intoxicated by the beauty of the moment, forgetting that he was still being carried through the air by the elder.

Only when the violet haze faded and the red glow filled his sight did Su Fan realize they had arrived at Scarlet Fir Peak. The peacefulness of the morning there was striking, with birds occasionally flying past.

The grand competition of the seven divisions was held outside the Grandmaster’s Hall. They ascended the long steps and soon beheld the majestic hall, where crowds had already gathered.

Su Fan followed the elder to the violet section, taking in his surroundings. After a moment, he began to understand.

The competition was divided into seven arenas: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and violet. These arenas encircled the front of the hall, suspended in midair to ensure visibility for all.

Suddenly, a commotion arose. Su Fan glanced over and discovered it originated from the red arena, where Hong Yuan was competing against Qi Xuan of the Green Division.

He smiled faintly and walked toward the red arena.

Outside the arena, a gray-robed elder sat on a chair, flanked by two disciples in red, who looked at him with reverence.

Su Fan thought to himself, this must be the Tianyuan envoy. Even the normally arrogant red disciples treated him with utmost respect.

Hong Yuan saw Su Fan approaching and sneered, then respectfully saluted the gray-robed elder, “Disciple Hong Yuan greets the honored envoy.”

The elder did not even glance at Hong Yuan, keeping his eyes closed, lost in thought. Hong Yuan seemed unbothered, evidently used to his ways.

He turned and leapt onto the platform. Su Fan was unconcerned about Xiao Lin and Qin Yu’s contest—with their cultivation, unless they faced each other, few could withstand them.

But Su Fan was quite worried about Hong Yuan—not due to his cultivation, which could rival even a Nascent Soul master, but because Hong Yuan was cunning and ruthless, always laying traps unexpected. Su Fan wanted to see his true strength.

On the platform, Qi Xuan gripped his sword, eyes half-closed. Sword practitioners often carried such pride, but his was not as arrogant as Hong Yuan’s, rather a deep-seated nobility.

The gray-robed elder waved his hand. The red disciples beside him hurriedly beat drums; at the sound, Hong Yuan’s gaze grew cold, forming seals with his hands as waves of red light appeared.

A group of red disciples cried out in astonishment.

“Senior Hong Yuan must have reached the seventh pinnacle of the Nine Transformations of Red Mist! Such speed—he’s surely the foremost in Tianyuan Gate!”

Qi Xuan was not to be outdone. He raised his sword, and a clear sword cry echoed through the arena, followed by another round of exclamations.

“Senior Qi Xuan must have passed the sixth floor of the Trial Tower—he can already produce sword resonance!”

Hong Yuan flicked his fingers, sending a ball of red light forward. Qi Xuan’s gaze was icy, fixed on Hong Yuan. Suddenly, the red orb shattered, and Qi Xuan appeared before Hong Yuan.

Hong Yuan also moved, keeping distance, not engaging directly. Their exchange was so swift that even Su Fan could not see how it happened.

Qi Xuan’s expression remained calm. With a backward sweep, he sent a sword beam straight at Hong Yuan, who summoned a shield of red mist to confront it directly. The collision produced a thunderous sound.

Su Fan suddenly paused, noticing the old man in red approaching. As he drew near, all disciples became exceedingly respectful.

The old man in red smiled faintly, seeming to delight in the attention, and walked directly to the gray-robed elder. One of the red disciples whispered something in the envoy’s ear; the gray-robed elder slowly opened one eye, glanced at the old man in red as a greeting, then closed his eye again.

The old man’s face darkened; he stood by the envoy, staring intently at the arena.

Su Fan was startled—what kind of status did this elder possess, to disregard even the Grandmaster, and for the proud old man in red to say nothing?

Inside the arena, the duel raged on. Hong Yuan’s red beams were repeatedly blocked by Qi Xuan, whose sword strikes could not break Hong Yuan’s defenses.

Suddenly, Qi Xuan swung his sword, disregarding Hong Yuan’s attacks and charging straight into the red light. Blood sprayed onto the ground; Qi Xuan’s left shoulder was gravely wounded, yet he seemed unconcerned.

He stabbed rapidly at Hong Yuan. Caught off guard, Hong Yuan was pierced in the shoulder, Qi Xuan sneered and withdrew his sword, poised for another strike.

Hong Yuan, panicked, retreated swiftly, firing three red beams. Qi Xuan ignored them all, crashing into them head-on—silence enveloped the arena.

Su Fan smiled bitterly; he had never seen such disregard for one’s own life. Yet the green disciples watched calmly, perhaps already familiar with Qi Xuan’s reckless style.