Chen Zong, this is no place for someone like you. Leave immediately!" The harsh reprimand echoed through the hall, drawing everyone's attention.
"What business is it of yours?" Chen Zong recognized Chen He, whom he hadn't seen in days. Surprise flickered across his face before he responded coolly.
"How is it none of my business? First, I'm your Clan Brother. Second, only those with sufficient status, power, and an invitation are allowed to attend this gathering. Look at yourself—a mere fourth-layer Qi Blood Realm cultivator, a lowly Branch Clan Disciple. What qualifications do you have to be here? I order you to leave at once and spare the Chen Clan this embarrassment!" Chen He's face darkened as he unleashed a rapid-fire barrage of words, his voice growing shrill.
"I have an invitation," Chen Zong replied calmly.
"You have an invitation..." Chen He paused, then burst into laughter. "Are you joking? You, of all people, invited to the Soaring Dragon Assembly?"
The man and woman who had ascended the stairs with Chen He frowned and strode over, unsure of what was happening.
"How laughable," Yang Yigu drawled, taking a leisurely sip of his wine. "To think that someone who tempered their Blood Qi six times at the Martial Apprentice level to become a martial artist, earning a place among the Six Little Prodigies of Wind Martial, wouldn't qualify to enter here. What, then, would qualify?"
"Six cycles of Blood Qi Tempering!"
"One of the Six Little Prodigies of Wind Martial!"
Chen He's face turned ashen, his heart pounding as if struck by lightning. "Impossible! How could a mere Branch Clan Disciple achieve such a feat?"
But as he caught the mocking glances from those around him, Chen He realized it was true. While he had been away training, something extraordinary had happened at the Chen Clan Hall, something he knew nothing about.
"Chen Zong's invitation is genuine, and so is his invitation to the Soaring Dragon Assembly. Moreover, Jun Luo personally requested him by name," Tang Junhao strode over, his face dark with displeasure. His icy gaze carried the weight of his superior position as he addressed Chen He, "You are not welcome here. Please leave."
"You can't do this!" Chen He protested, his face flushing crimson, as did the faces of the two men who had accompanied him.
Leaving now would make Chen He a laughingstock.
"I won't repeat myself," Tang Junhao said coldly, his expression unmoved.
"Fine, I'll leave now," Chen He said, his face a mask of fury, his inner rage simmering like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Yet a shred of reason held him back. This was the Martial Proof Pavilion, property of the Tang Noble Clan and the venue for the Soaring Dragon Assembly. Losing his temper here might bring momentary satisfaction, but the consequences would be far beyond his ability to bear.
His fierce gaze swept over Chen Zong before he turned and strode down the stairs, departing.
"Those who have been invited here are deemed worthy by the Tang Clan. I don't want to hear such talk again," Tang Junhao declared loudly, his tone a veiled warning. He nodded briefly at Chen Zong before leaving as well.
"You're Chen Zong, right? The Clan Brother who studies swordsmanship with Sister Yun?" One of the two companions who had arrived with Chen He asked, studying Chen Zong with suspicion.
"That's me," Chen Zong confirmed with a nod.
"I'm Chen Hongying. You should call me 'Clan Sister'," she said with a playful smile.
"I'm Chen Xia. I've heard tales of an extraordinary figure emerging from the Clan Hall's Martial Apprentices, someone who repeatedly claimed the title of King of the Chiefs. I never imagined you'd temper your Blood Qi six times and earn the title of one of the Six Little Prodigies of Wind Martial. You're truly remarkable," Chen Xia said warmly.
"Clan Brother Chen Xia overpraises me," Chen Zong replied with a modest smile.
After Chen Chuyun and several others departed for the Seven Luminaries Martial Academy, Chen Xia became the foremost martial artist among the Chen Clan Hall disciples, followed by Chen He in second place and Chen Hongying in third.
Previously, Chen Chuyun had held this top position. This meant that if Chen Zong wished to reside in Chen Chuyun's former courtyard, he would need to challenge and defeat Chen Xia.
The Soaring Dragon Assembly welcomed two types of participants: those like Chen Zong, who received direct invitations, and the top three young talents from each of the major families and factions.
At that moment, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the stairwell, drawing everyone's attention. As if sensing what was to come, the assembled guests turned their gazes toward the fourth-floor landing.
A figure slowly descended the stairs.
Purple-gold dragon-patterned combat boots, an exquisitely crafted purple martial robe adorned with gilded dragon motifs, and a purple-gold ceremonial crown completed the ensemble. With eyes that held both brilliance and restrained authority, it was none other than Tang Junluo, the guest of honor for today's banquet.
"Greetings, everyone. Thank you for attending the Soaring Dragon Assembly hosted by my clan in my honor," Tang Junluo declared as he strode confidently to his reserved seat at the head of the table. His commanding presence filled the hall, and his clear voice carried to every corner. His gaze swept across the assembled guests, pausing momentarily on Chen Zong's face.
"Please, be seated," Tang Junluo gestured, and the guests settled into their precisely arranged seats. The seating arrangement was perfect, with just enough room for everyone.
"Jun Luo has tempered his Blood Qi eight times, breaking through to become a martial artist and setting a new record for Wind Martial City. This is truly a cause for celebration," Tang Junhao announced, rising to his feet. "Let us raise our tea in lieu of wine and toast Jun Luo."
"Indeed."
"A joyous occasion."
"From now on, Wind Martial City will surpass the other six cities in this regard."
The assembled youths raised their teacups in a toast to Tang Junluo, except for Yang Yigu, who continued to sip his wine.
Although the banquet was hosted by the Tang Noble Clan, no elders were present. The highest cultivation base among the attendees was only at the sixth layer of the Qi Blood Realm, making it entirely an event for young talents.
"The purpose of this Soaring Dragon Assembly is twofold," Tang Junhao explained, acting as the spokesman. "First, to congratulate Jun Luo and share this honor belonging to both the Tang Clan and Wind Martial City with all of you. Second, to gather these outstanding young heroes together, allowing you to become acquainted and exchange insights on martial arts through friendly sparring."
Zhao King City stood abruptly, his voice icy and eyes like daggers. "Tang Junluo, you defeated me by half a move that day. Now that I have become a martial artist, I demand a rematch."
"You'll have your chance, but not today," Tang Junluo replied calmly. Zhao King City made no further demands and resumed his seat.
"In that case, I'll make the first move," a man announced, rising to his feet. "I've heard that Drunken Sword Yang Yigu's swordsmanship becomes even more formidable with each drink. I've long wanted to test that claim myself." He directly challenged Yang Yigu to a duel.
"This is merely a friendly exchange of skills," Tang Junhao reminded them. "Swords and blades are unforgiving. Remember to hold back, and it's best to refrain from using your full Qi Blood Power."
"Drinking to sharpen my blade, seeking the wind in my drunken haze—take my sword!" Yang Yigu grabbed his wine gourd with his left hand, took a long swig, and let his eyes blur. With his right hand, he drew his sword, transforming into a clear breeze that swept toward his opponent, the strike carrying the rich aroma of wine.
Chen Zong's eyes lit up, a strong urge to test his own sword technique against Yang Yigu's rising within him.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Yang Yigu's sword strikes flowed ceaselessly, like a gentle breeze that gradually intensified. Without employing any specific Martial Arts, he forced his opponent into a steady retreat. The moment his opponent attempted to retaliate with his own technique, Yang Yigu's blade found a sliver of vulnerability and landed on his neck. The icy touch instantly sent shivers down his spine, raising goosebumps across his skin.
"Drunken Sword truly lives up to its reputation. I concede defeat," the man admitted, though a hint of embarrassment colored his words.
"Care for a drink?" Yang Yigu offered, raising his gourd.
"I don't like drinking," the man replied quickly, his expression shifting, much to Yang Yigu's disappointment.
"Yang Yigu, don't embarrass yourself here," Yang Feiyu rebuked coldly.
"Then will you drink?" Yang Yigu stumbled back to his seat, gesturing toward Yang Feiyu, whose face turned ashen.
"Yang Yigu, I challenge you! If you lose, leave this place immediately," Yang Zhiyin of the Yang Clan said, his brow furrowed and his tone hostile.
"If you lose, you drink a cup," Yang Yigu replied, seemingly obsessed with getting people to drink.
"If I lose, I'll leave this place," Yang Zhiyin retorted, preferring to abandon the gathering rather than touch Yang Yigu's drink, as if it were poison.
"No appreciation," Yang Yigu sighed softly. He rose again, his movements appearing disheveled, yet he moved with wind-like grace under the moonlight. His sword sang lightly as it left its scabbard, transforming into a gentle breeze that swept through the hall.
The sword light cascaded in relentless, all-encompassing waves, leaving no opening for escape.
Yang Zhiyin immediately drew his sword, unleashing a razor-sharp beam of light that pierced the air with deadly intent.
Among the Three Great Clans and Five Great Clans, both the Li Clan and the Yang Clan excelled in sword techniques, though their styles differed.
Yang Yigu's technique wasn't the Yang Clan's traditional sword art, but rather a unique style he had acquired by chance. Since this was a friendly exchange at a banquet, not a life-or-death battle, high-level Ranked Martial Arts were rarely displayed.
Naturally, a Ranked Martial Art that wasn't fueled by Qi Blood Power was no match for a Foundation Establishment Martial Art.
Yang Yigu's Foundation Establishment Martial Art, the Seven Drunken Sword Forms, combined intricate footwork with seemingly chaotic movements that concealed precise strikes amidst the apparent disorder.
Yang Zhiyin, on the other hand, wielded the Yang Clan's Flying Wild Goose Sword Art, his blade dancing like a wild goose in flight—light, graceful, and razor-sharp.
Both Yang Yigu and Yang Zhiyin possessed a cultivation base at the sixth layer of the Qi Blood Realm and physical strength of a thousand jin. Unless they had experienced some extraordinary encounter or special training, the physical strength of Qi Blood Realm martial artists between the fourth and ninth layers was typically similar.
A thousand jin represented the absolute limit of their physical power.
Limits were not easily broken.
Their swords clashed in a dazzling display, chaotic strikes meeting razor-sharp thrusts in a relentless dance.
Yang Yigu continued to drink as he fought, his sword technique growing increasingly swift and ferocious, gradually pushing Yang Zhiyin onto the defensive.
"Damn it," Yang Zhiyin cursed inwardly, sensing danger. If this continued, he would be defeated. Channeling his Qi Blood Power, he unleashed his Ranked Martial Art. His sword glowed blindingly, enveloped by a whirlwind of energy that coalesced into a screeching, soaring eagle. The spectral bird swooped fiercely toward Yang Yigu.
"Flying Eagle Sword Art, First Stage!"
"Great Perfection!"
The crowd's expressions shifted dramatically. Yang Yigu swayed unsteadily, his footsteps faltering as if he were drunk. As he moved, the sword in his hand released a potent aroma of wine that filled the air.
The hazy sword light pierced through the air like drifting clouds or mist.
The rich wine-infused aura momentarily disoriented Yang Zhiyin, blurring his vision. The indistinct sword shadows vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp blade hurtling toward him. It shattered the illusory flying eagle and lightly tapped the back of his hand, yet Yang Zhiyin felt as if his hand were about to shatter. He lost his grip, and the sword clattered to the ground.
A stinging sensation prickled his throat. When he touched it, his fingers came away stained with a crimson drop. By then, Yang Yigu had already sheathed his sword and stumbled back to his seat.
"I'll take my leave," Yang Zhiyin said, his face fluctuating between shame and anger. He retrieved his sword, nodded stiffly to Tang Junhao, Tang Junluo, and the others, then strode away without another word, too humiliated to remain.