Chapter Nineteen: The Miserable Ouyang Shuai
Watching the contest of a hundred pairs of figures on the platforms, the disciples waiting below, though still unaware of whom they would face, could not help the blood within them from surging, even boiling with excitement.
Some watched quietly, others imagined themselves countering each move, and still others abandoned restraint altogether, waving fists and kicking legs in imitation.
“Look, Platform Five! Chen Xiaohu is clearly struggling—he’s already taken three consecutive palm strikes from Sister Song!”
“Platform Seven—Sister Qin is incredible! Even though Ma Peng is at the ninth stage of Qi Refinement like her, he doesn't stand a chance.”
“Platform Nineteen is about to have a winner, too.”
“Platform Thirty-eight is quite the spectacle—those two fire-attribute brothers from the main peak are battling with flames; their robes are nearly burnt to cinders!”
“Oh no, look at Platform Fifty-one! Brother Jiaming has collapsed, unconscious!”
“Impressive—he never conceded, not even when he was nearly crippled. Only when his battered body succumbed to pain and he fainted did the duel finally end.”
“Who’s that facing Brother Gai on Platform Seventy?”
“That’s Brother Zeng Hu. He participated in the last two tournaments, spent a year training outside, and just returned. No wonder you didn’t recognize him.”
“Sigh, seems Brother Gai’s luck is rotten.”
“Indeed. I heard Brother Zeng was about to reach the peak of Qi Refinement even before he left for training.”
...
“Senior Sister Chen’s Phoenix Feather Step is so fast. If I had to face it, how could I counter?”
“Senior Brother Shang’s reverse hand grab is deadly. My turn is coming up soon—maybe I can copy his technique.”
“Wow, I didn’t expect Sister Zhao to have trained in that beast-form martial art as well. What move is that? The Spirit-Devouring Mouse’s Sky-Piercing Claw? It doesn’t look quite like what I’ve learned.”
“Sister Ling’s double-handed swordplay balances offense and defense; it won’t be easy for anyone to withstand.”
“I wonder if my newly mastered Tiger Subduing Fist can withstand Senior Brother Li’s Taishan Elbow Strike.”
...
“Hey, you’re not even on the platform—why are you flailing your arms? You nearly poked my eye out!”
“Sorry, Senior Brother—I got carried away watching and couldn’t help myself.”
“Don’t get so worked up. Stay calm, you hear?”
“Thank you for your guidance, Senior Brother. Your composure is admirable.”
In truth, this mentor’s heart was also pounding. He thought, What composure? I’m just pretending to be calm, too.
...
While the battles raged on the platforms, no one below was idle.
“Not bad, Elder Chen. Look at my disciple Zeng Hu—he’s done well, hasn’t he? A year of training outside, and his progress is remarkable!”
“Hmph! You’re just trying to provoke me, aren’t you?”
“Heaven knows I’m not! I’m just sharing my joy with you, my friend.”
“Share, my foot! Joy, my backside! Didn’t you see my cherished disciple lost his very first match? And to that hideous old crone’s student, no less!”
“Chen the Worm, did you just insult me? Is there something wrong with your eyes? Where, exactly, am I ugly?!”
...
Soon, after the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the fierce first round drew to a close—leaving some joyful, others dejected.
The overall ranking for the preliminary matches was promptly updated with each contestant’s record: Song Jiayan, one win and no losses; Chen Xiaohu, no wins and one loss; Li Erlong, no wins and one draw...
Though a single match couldn’t determine the final outcome, the pressure upon the contestants had risen invisibly.
...
As the floating screens displayed the next round’s pairings, another batch of disciples was instantly transported to their assigned platforms.
The duels resumed their feverish pace, with each contestant giving their utmost: fists and feet clashing, moves answered and countered, the action intense and unrelenting.
But soon, an oddity occurred.
Platform Twenty-five.
Ouyang Shuai-Shuai circled his opponent twice, scrutinizing him calmly, then strode unhurriedly to the edge of the platform. Fixing the burly giant with a serious gaze, he declared two words:
“I forfeit.”
Without another word, he turned and leaped from the stage.
A wave of derision swept through his fellow disciples—after all, Ouyang Shuai-Shuai was the first, in over a hundred matches since the tournament’s start, to concede without even exchanging a blow.
Usually more concerned with his image than his life, Ouyang Shuai-Shuai felt utterly mortified as disdainful voices—especially those of the senior and junior sisters—filled the air. He slunk back to his seat, head hanging low.
“You little brat—wait until this tournament ends! I’ll thrash you myself!”
On the floating platform, Seventh Peak’s Master Ouyang Jun was livid, his face turned the color of wax, and he cursed without caring for appearances.
In his mind, even if his grandson was outmatched, he should at least have fought a round. Instead, the boy had circled his opponent with an air of confidence, like a master surveying his prey, only to surrender before the spectators could even blink.
Worse yet, he was the first to concede since the tournament began.
At that moment, Ouyang Jun felt his grandson had utterly disgraced him—inside and out.
Ouyang Shuai-Shuai, already embarrassed beyond words, bristled when his grandfather publicly berated him.
“Oh, Grandma! My dearest grandma, why did you have to leave so soon?”
“Your most beloved, most adorable, most handsome grandson is being bullied by that wretched old man again!”
...
As Ouyang Shuai-Shuai’s wailing echoed across the arena, the entire atmosphere of the tournament shifted.
The intense, passionate energy of the grand competition was upended by this farce, and in front of the entire sect, no less.
Ouyang Jun wanted nothing more than to throttle his grandson on the spot.
Every disciple and elder of Seventh Peak, whether from the outer or inner sect, felt a deep sense of shame.
Suddenly, a pair of massive, translucent hands formed from spiritual energy reached down, seized the still-howling Ouyang Shuai-Shuai, and hurled him violently away.
With a drawn-out cry, Ouyang Shuai-Shuai soared toward Seventh Peak.
...
“What are you all staring at? Get on with the matches! If you don’t want to compete, hurry up and concede and get out!”
With no other outlet for his anger, the Seventh Peak Master shouted.
Quickly, the matches returned to normal.
The other elders and peak masters, well aware of his foul mood, could barely suppress their laughter, their faces twisted with effort.
On the second round’s platforms, Ouyang Luo of Sixth Peak and Gu Xiaoping of Fourth Peak, having witnessed Ouyang Shuai-Shuai’s disgrace, felt two piercing gazes upon them—they knew their own grandfather was warning them: if they made a spectacle of themselves, there would be no mercy.
Abandoning any thought of surrender, they clenched their jaws and unleashed every haphazard move they knew, battering the platform with wild attacks.
No matter how many punches they took, how many kicks they endured—no matter how disheveled or bloodied they became—they persevered with a fierce resolve never to give in.
Only when they were finally beaten unconscious did their matches conclude.
The crowd was full of admiration:
“Those two are impressive—far better than that Ouyang Shuai-Shuai character!”
“Indeed! I used to underestimate them.”
“Who wouldn’t? With such outstanding backgrounds, and yet so resilient—they’re role models for us humble disciples.”
...
Fourth Peak Master Gu Chengyun and Sixth Peak Master Ouyang Guang swelled with pride at these words!
Only Seventh Peak Master Ouyang Jun was left with lines of frustration etched across his brow.