The streets of Wind Martial City teemed with traffic and a sea of people, their voices mingling in a lively cacophony.
Visiting the city for the first time, Chen Zong was overwhelmed by the sights, but he kept his objective firmly in mind.
The Martial Proof Pavilion, owned exclusively by the Tang Noble Clan, was a renowned landmark in Wind Martial City. Its entrance requirements were strict: only martial artists were allowed inside. Even the young gang leader of a prominent clan would be denied entry without proof of their martial prowess.
After asking for directions, Chen Zong approached the pavilion and gazed upward.
The five-story structure dominated the landscape with its dark red walls and gilded edges, exuding both grandeur and nobility. It stood firm like an unyielding giant, impervious to wind and rain.
Access to the first floor required proof of martial artist status. The second floor was reserved for martial artists with notable reputations in Wind Martial City. To reach the third floor, one needed a cultivation base of at least the seventh layer of the Qi Blood Realm.
The fourth and fifth floors demanded cultivation beyond the Qi Blood Realm entirely.
Currently, due to the Soaring Dragon Assembly hosted by the Tang Noble Clan for Tang Junluo, the Martial Proof Pavilion was closed to outsiders. Two family martial artists stood guard at the main entrance.
"I am the Young Gang Leader of the Fine Rain Gang! Why won't you let me in?"
Chen Zong approached the entrance just as a sharp, furious roar echoed through the air, brimming with resentment and indignation.
"You don't have an invitation," one of the guards stated impassively, his tone flat and dismissive, making it clear he held the young man in utter contempt.
What were the Fine Rain Gang or any other minor faction compared to the mighty Tang Noble Clan? They were mere minnows before a whale.
Undeterred, Chen Zong continued toward the Martial Proof Pavilion's entrance, where he was inevitably stopped.
"Where did this country bumpkin crawl out from? Get lost!" The Young Gang Leader of the Fine Rain Gang, clad in opulent martial attire and seething with anger, vented his bottled-up fury on Chen Zong, who approached with the intention of entering the pavilion. The young gang leader's rage surged at the sight of Chen Zong's plain, gray-blue martial robes, clearly made of coarse cloth—the kind worn only by martial artists of humble origins.
"Step aside," Chen Zong commanded, his eyes sharpening into sword-like glares that pierced the young gang leader's gaze. The young man flinched involuntarily, stumbling back a step before regaining his composure, his face flushing crimson with shame and rekindled rage.
"This is my Soaring Dragon Invitation," Chen Zong said, bypassing the young gang leader and presenting the invitation to one of the guards.
The guards exchanged astonished glances. Given Chen Zong's humble appearance, they couldn't believe he possessed such a prestigious invitation.
"So that's where my invitation went! You stole it!" the Young Gang Leader of the Fine Rain Gang snarled, charging forward with a baseless accusation, his face flushed with humiliation and rage.
"Get out!" Chen Zong roared, his voice like a Ferocious Tiger's Howl. The Young Gang Leader imagined a massive tiger looming before him, its thunderous roar sending a terrifying presence through the air. His face paled, his legs trembled uncontrollably, and he stumbled back several steps.
"Your name is Chen Zong?" A guard opened the Soaring Dragon Invitation, glanced at it, and then turned to Chen Zong.
"Yes," Chen Zong replied, neither humble nor arrogant.
"Please, enter," the guard said, his expression softening. He stepped aside and returned the invitation.
The scene sparked heated debate among the onlookers. They couldn't understand how someone so plainly dressed could gain entry to the Martial Proof Pavilion for the Soaring Dragon Assembly. After all, even the most unassuming members of noble families would never attend such a grand event in ordinary attire.
"I can sense his Qi Blood Power isn't strong. He's likely only at the fourth layer of the Qi Blood Realm."
"Could he be a disciple of some Senior expert?"
"Chen Zong... doesn't that name sound familiar?"
The first floor was empty.
The second floor was also empty, so Chen Zong ascended to the third floor.
He wasn't the first to arrive. Several dozen youths, all under twenty years old, had already gathered on the third floor. Each wore a martial robe of varying colors, some flamboyant, others understated, but all impeccably tailored to their figures and clearly made of extraordinary materials.
Chen Zong's arrival drew several glances, which would have been normal, but the youths who looked at him were visibly surprised.
"Who are you?"
"How did you sneak in here? Get out immediately!"
As the saying goes, "Clothes make the man." Chen Zong's attire was simply too ordinary. It wasn't that he didn't want better clothes; he simply didn't have any.
"I have an invitation," Chen Zong said, holding up the crimson Soaring Dragon Invitation.
"Your invitation is probably fake."
Someone persisted in their rudeness. Even the most patient person would bristle at such an accusation.
"Greetings, I'm Tang Junhao, the elder brother of Tang Junluo, the main participant in this Soaring Dragon Assembly. May I see your invitation?" A youth in a purple martial robe embroidered with golden dragons strode forward, his smile as warm as a spring breeze and his tone gentle.
Chen Zong handed over his invitation.
Tang Junhao opened it and glanced at it, his expression shifting to surprise. "You're Chen Zong?"
"Yes," Chen Zong nodded.
"So it's you. Jun Luo personally requested this invitation for you. Welcome to the Soaring Dragon Assembly. Find a seat for now—the banquet won't begin until most of the guests have arrived." Tang Junhao returned the invitation.
The crowd realized that this plainly dressed young man truly had an invitation, and not just any invitation—it had been personally requested by Tang Junluo, the host of the assembly. Their surprise was palpable.
"Chen Zong... that name sounds familiar."
"Could he be Chen Zong of the Chen Clan, one of the Six Little Prodigies of Wind Martial?"
"Ah, so it's him."
"Just a scion from a branch clan, though."
Once Chen Zong's identity was revealed, their interest waned. A branch clan member from the Chen Clan—a place known for its rigorous meritocracy, where advancement depended solely on one's own abilities—without any powerful backing? Any temporary success he might achieve would soon be swallowed by the crowd.
After all, excelling as a Martial Apprentice didn't guarantee continued success as a martial artist. Most struggled to maintain their earlier momentum and prowess.
The fact that so many who had once been hailed as Wind Martial Little Prodigies had failed to qualify for this event served as proof of its exclusivity.
Chen Zong, unaware that he had been dubbed one of the Six Little Prodigies of Wind Martial, was slightly surprised. He chuckled, tucked away his invitation, and glanced around. The third floor of the Martial Proof Pavilion was vast, estimated to be thirty to forty meters in both length and width, with ceilings soaring five to six meters high. Its rustic decor featured rows of chairs paired with small tables, each laden with fresh fruits, delicate pastries, and freshly brewed tea.
In each corner stood bronze dragon-shaped incense burners, emitting the soothing fragrance of sandalwood, creating a refreshing and tranquil atmosphere.
Chen Zong casually chose an empty chair, poured himself a cup of tea, and watched the fragrant liquid swirl in his cup, its wisps of steam resembling drifting clouds.
He picked up an exquisite pastry, took a bite, and savored its flavor. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted before.
The combination of the delicate pastry and the ethereal tea created a symphony of complementary flavors that lingered on his palate, an experience of unparalleled delight.
Oblivious to the curious gazes of others, Chen Zong continued to enjoy his refreshments.
Suddenly, a figure with unsteady, lurching steps staggered over and collapsed into the chair opposite him.
"Friend, care for a drink?" The newcomer settled into the chair opposite Chen Zong, gently placing his wine gourd on the table and greeting him with easy familiarity.
"No, thank you," Chen Zong replied with a slight smile.
"I see you're a swordsman too," the man said, his eyebrows resembling honed blades. His gaze, though seemingly hazy, held a clear sharpness. A rakish smile played on his lips, exuding unrestrained freedom. His pristine white martial robe was spotless, and the crimson tassel of the longsword slung across his back added a striking contrast. "How can one practice the sword without wine?"
"I practice the sword, but I don't drink wine," Chen Zong chuckled.
Their simple exchange revealed their fundamentally different philosophies.
"What a pity," the man sighed, uncorking his wine gourd and taking a long swig with evident contentment. "To drink wine while practicing the sword, to seek the wind in a drunken haze—I am Yang Yigu, and you are Chen Zong."
Chen Zong found Yang Yigu's train of thought somewhat erratic, but it didn't deter him from getting acquainted and striking up a conversation.
As they talked, Chen Zong realized that Yang Yigu possessed an impressive knowledge of Wind Martial City, significantly expanding Chen Zong's own understanding of the place.
More and more people began entering the Martial Proof Pavilion's third floor.
"Li Zhenshi is here too."
"Zhao King City is with him."
"Those two were previously defeated by Tang Junluo. Now that they've arrived, I wonder if we'll witness another fierce dragon-tiger battle? I can't wait!"
Tang Junluo, Li Zhenshi, and Zhao King City hailed from the Three Great Clans of Wind Martial City. Born in the same year and possessing exceptional talent, they were collectively known as the Three Young Heroes of Wind Martial, considered equals in skill. However, after Tang Junluo defeated Li Zhenshi and Zhao King City, he rose to prominence, his reputation overshadowing theirs.
The Chen Clan made no public announcement of Chen Zong's draw against Tang Junluo, possibly at the Tang Clan's request. The Tang Clan themselves certainly wouldn't broadcast such news.
Chen Zong sized up Li Zhenshi and Zhao King City. Their noble bearing immediately marked them as extraordinary individuals.
Li Zhenshi carried a long sword on his back and wore a warm, welcoming smile that put others at ease, as if greeting everyone. Yet there was an air of serene detachment about him, as if nothing could disturb his tranquility. His white martial robes, subtly embroidered with silver, hinted at understated opulence.
Zhao King City wore a long saber at his waist, his face impassive, his eyes sharp and cold. His black martial attire only accentuated his aloof, unapproachable aura, as if keeping others at arm's length.
Sensing Chen Zong's gaze, Li Zhenshi turned and nodded slightly. Zhao King City's eyes remained sharp as blades.
"Li Zhenshi of the Li Clan and Zhao King City of the Zhao Clan," Yang Yigu mused, taking another swig of wine and shaking his head in awe. "Both have tempered their Blood Qi seven times, just a hair's breadth from completing the eighth. Truly worthy of being descendants of the nobility from the Kingdom Era—their foundations are unmatched."
"The Kingdom Era?" Chen Zong asked, puzzled.
"Our current era is the True Martial Era," Yang Yigu slurred, sounding half-drunk. "The previous era, the Kingdom Era, is said to have been destroyed by demon beasts. We should be grateful for the arrival of the True Martial Era. Otherwise, ordinary folk like us would never have had the chance to learn Martial Arts."
Chen Zong listened thoughtfully, pondering Yang Yigu's words.
"Sun Shaojie, Zhou Guan, Wang Shenghong, Yang Feiyu, and Kong Lianshan—these five, along with you, are known as the Six Little Prodigies of Wind Martial."
Chen Zong subtly noticed a faint shift in Yang Yigu's tone when he mentioned Yang Feiyu's name. Intrigued, he glanced at Yang Feiyu, observing his sky-blue martial attire, the longsword strapped to his back, and his confident, spirited demeanor.
They share the same surname, Yang. Perhaps there's a connection between them, Chen Zong mused. But it's none of my concern, he decided, showing no inclination to pry.
As time passed, more top-tier candidates emerged. One man's gaze swept across the crowd and paused on Chen Zong, a look of surprise flickering across his face. He then strode purposefully toward him.