Chapter 176: The Day of the Final Battle
Song Yan had estimated that it would take roughly six hours to fully absorb the beast blood and medicinal liquid. But whether it was because his body was truly that lacking, or for some other reason entirely—
A full eighteen hours passed before he finally opened his eyes.
A sharp gleam flashed through his pupils, then quickly receded.
He exhaled a long, turbid breath.
Within the bronze cauldron, the pool of medicinal liquid had changed from its original clear, golden-crimson hue to a murky, ashen brown.
The essence of the beast’s power and the herbs’ properties had been entirely absorbed.
He rose to his feet, raising a plume of billowing steam.
At this moment, his skin gleamed like polished jade, his musculature flowing with lean, streamlined definition that spoke of a leopard’s fierce power rather than bulk.
“This feeling…”
He clenched his fist. His joints crackled with a crisp, clear resonance.
He threw a powerful punch, and it cut through the air with a faint, whistling sound.
What concerned him most, of course, was the change in his meridians.
“Truly wondrous…”
Beneath the Sword-Suppressing Dao Residence, sword qi surged wildly, gathering at his fingertips.
The sword qi flow that had previously been unbearable now circulated as naturally as breathing.
A flash of pleasant surprise passed through Song Yan’s eyes.
“A single round of body refinement could grant such physical strength?”
This nameless body tempering technique was clearly no ordinary method.
Yet what was a pity, according to Senior Nie Chao’s memories, was that this technique worked best only upon its first use.
Subsequent applications would see its effectiveness diminish drastically, until it ceased to work entirely.
Perhaps this nameless technique was incomplete as well.
A soft hiss sounded.
Xiao He poked her head in from outside the cultivation chamber and slithered inside. She hopped onto Song Yan’s neck, curiously prodding his chest with her tail.
“So hard…”
Song Yan smiled, activating the Water Curtain Technique to wash away the residual medicinal liquid from his body.
He then drew a set of prepared Daoist robes from his Cosmos Bag and dressed.
As the fabric brushed against his skin, he noticed with heightened perception that even the sense of touch had changed.
It was not that his skin had grown rough—rather, his senses had become sharper, able to perceive the finest weave of cloth with perfect clarity.
“Let me test the effect…”
With a thought, sword qi erupted throughout his body.
This time, he did not deliberately restrain its intensity, instead allowing the Sword-Suppressing Dao Residence to release its full might.
In the past, such sustained sword-driving would have caused his meridians to ache with swelling after only a brief moment.
But now, Song Yan felt nothing but a warm, flowing heat. The sword qi raced through his tempered meridians without obstruction, bringing with it a sensation of exhilarating, unbridled freedom.
“At this level, perhaps I can attempt the sword-driving method recorded in the Compendium of Sword Arts.”
Through inner observation, he discovered that even his five viscera and six bowels had been suffused with a faint golden-red glow.
What filled him with even greater delight was that the space within the Sword-Suppressing Dao Residence appeared to have expanded somewhat, and naturally, his reserves of sword qi had increased in kind.
He exhaled slowly.
He put away the cauldron, then carefully buried the remaining dregs of medicinal residue in a corner of the courtyard.
These dregs carried the scent of Qilin blood. Should someone with ill intent discover them, unnecessary trouble would surely follow.
With everything tidied, Song Yan continued practicing his sword arts in the courtyard for a time, acquainting himself fully with the limits of his sword qi output.
Then he reined in his sword qi and sat alone in the courtyard, slowly regulating his breath.
Only a single day remained before the Day of the Final Battle.
—
On that day, upon Sword-Wiping Peak.
The spectator stands surrounding the Debate Arena teemed with a vast sea of people.
The final round of the competition was not open only to sect disciples.
Certain children from families affiliated with the Eastern Abyss Sect, representatives from shops in the Spirit Origin Marsh Market, and even some wandering cultivators on good terms with the Eastern Abyss Sect would also come to observe.
Some shops would reach out in advance to exceptionally talented disciples, offering spirit resources, or arrange with friendly disciples beforehand—should they win a favorable placing, they could promote the shop’s name.
Wherever one went, the influence of fame was ever present.
Beyond this, gambling dens would set up dedicated wagering stations where any cultivator could place bets on the final rankings. A correct guess could yield a handsome sum of spirit stones.
The West Spectator Section.
This area was mostly reserved for non-sect observers.
Though the vantage was not ideal, it lay closest to the entrance and exit passage where the final-ranked disciples would pass.
At the edge, Ju Luyi sat in a corner, clutching a silk ribbon in her hands.
She gazed around with a somewhat dazed expression.
In truth, Ju Luyi was merely a menial worker at Seamless Pavilion, and should have had no right to attend such a grand event.
Fortunately, one of the senior sisters originally assigned to accompany had been unable to come due to family matters, and the other sisters were already occupied with their own duties.
That was how she had obtained this opportunity.
The final round had not yet officially begun. All around, people moved with hurried purpose, some calling out in loud voices to distant cultivators.
“Old Yu, where’s our sign?”
“The placard? It’s with me!”
“Hang it up, quickly! We can still adjust the placement. The sect disciples will be entering soon—don’t get in their way.”
She turned to look not far off, where the sisters had already begun setting up Seamless Pavilion’s allotted area.
The purple-robed woman leading them happened to turn as well, catching sight of Ju Luyi. Her brow furrowed. “Little Ju! Stop fiddling with those things.”
“Today is the final battle. Every cultivator who steps onto that stage is a prodigy from one of the peaks. Don’t you dare bring out any of those sloppy embroidered pieces and embarrass us.”
“Come help. Now.”
Ju Luyi said nothing. She simply rose from her seat and walked forward in silence to lend a hand.
The entire area near the Debate Arena was now a roaring tide of voices.
Just then, someone nearby suddenly cried out, “Look—today’s finalists are entering!”
Every gaze turned toward the entrance of the West Spectator Section.
Ju Luyi turned as well—this spot was very near the entry point.
Twenty-two disciples filed into the arena in groups.
At the very front walked Li Yi.
“That one—could that be Senior Brother Song Yan?”
A young female cultivator nearby gasped the question, drawing curious glances from those around her.
Song Yan walked amid the crowd, clad in white Daoist robes, a dark teal sword casket strapped to his back.
His features were as if painted by a master brush. Every movement carried an air of brilliant sharpness held in deliberate restraint, and not a few female cultivators found their gazes lingering upon him.
At this moment, he was conversing with Sun Zhengfu beside him, and to his left walked the prodigious young talent of Lotus Abyss Peak, Xiang Zhaoling.
“I heard Senior Brother Song Yan defeated Senior Brother Kong You—Qi Refining Stage Eight—in the earlier selection rounds.”
“I saw it, I saw it! I was at Changping when it happened. His sword-driving technique was absolutely exquisite.”
“Not only is his talent outstanding, but he is so handsome as well…”
The female cultivators whispered among themselves about Song Yan, occasionally covering their mouths in giggles—perhaps they had touched upon some indelicate topic.
From the west spectator stands, however, came a cold snort. “Hmph. Embroidered pillow.”
A disciple from Taiping Peak stood with his arms crossed, affecting the bearing of a master.
He sneered, “Qi Refining Stage Seven, and he dares to call himself outstanding? Senior Brother Li Yi is at Qi Refining Stage Nine. If they were to face each other, I’d wager it would take but a single strike of his halberd to send him flying off the Debate Arena!”
A few murmurs of discussion reached Song Yan’s ears, but he seemed not to hear them.
His gaze merely drifted, as if by instinct, toward the West Spectator Section.
Ju Luyi stood among a group of female cultivators. Seeing him look her way, she fidgeted bashfully, glancing about.
Song Yan gave a slight nod—a greeting, of sorts.
One ought to be polite.
Come to think of it, the very Daoist robes he now wore had been sewn by Miss Ju Luyi’s own hands.