12: The ten chairs dispute begins at the start of the festival.

The New Year's Eve morning mist had not yet dissipated, but the vermilion gates of the Lin Family Ancestral Hall were already open, and the scent of sandalwood mixed with pine needles permeated the alleys. Inside the ancestral hall, thirty-six dragon-carved wooden pillars supported the high, expansive dome. In the center, the spirit tablets of the Lin Family's ancestors were enshrined, and in the bronze cauldron before the tablets, three coiled-dragon incense sticks burned, their blue smoke rising like silk ribbons, intertwining into circles among the beams.

The Lin Family members stood in rows according to their seniority, the green-robed Elders stroking their beards, their expressions solemn; the younger disciples, however, quietly exchanged glances, their fingertips unconsciously caressing the weapons at their waists. Lin Yang stood in the last row, his dark tight-fitting attire covered by a faded cotton-padded jacket, his gaze sweeping over the three sacrificial offerings on the altar — a whole roasted suckling pig with golden-red skin, next to which were neatly arranged green jade plates, the apples on them still glistening with morning dew.

“The auspicious hour has arrived, the ancestral worship begins!”

As the Master of Ceremonies chanted, Lin Hongfeng, with his white hair and beard, slowly walked onto the altar. He wore a brocade robe embroidered with Cloud Patterns, holding a yellowed Family Tree in his hands, his voice as resonant as a bell: “Our ancestors blazed trails and established the foundation of our Lin Family… Today, the Family disciples must inherit our ancestors’ ambition, diligently cultivate martial arts, and bring glory to our Family!”

The ceremony of three bows and nine kowtows was solemn and lengthy. Lin Yang lowered his eyelids, but a trace of Metal Element True Essence quietly condensed in his sleeve. He could feel two gazes on his back — one from Lin Dongliu in the front row, filled with undisguised hostility; the other from the viewing area beside the altar, faint as moonlight, belonging to Shen Shuanghua. That woman had changed into a moon-white cloak today, holding a teacup, her gaze seemingly intentionally or unintentionally sweeping over his shoulder.

By the time the ancestral worship ceremony ended, the sun had risen to mid-sky. The Family members crowded together, moving to the Training Grounds on the west side. Ten red-lacquered wooden chairs were already arranged in the field, their legs carved with open-mouthed tiger heads, and their seats smooth as mirrors, evidently from years of being sat upon. Lin Hongfeng stood on the temporarily erected high platform, holding a brocade box. Within the box, the luster of rolling pills was vaguely visible.

“All disciples, listen well!” He raised his hand, signaling for silence, the brocade box reflecting fragmented golden light in the sun. “These ten chairs are a symbol of honor for the younger generation of our Lin Family! Anyone under thirty can contend for them. Those who secure a seat must withstand three rounds of challenges; losers must step down and cannot re-enter! The ones who ultimately remain on these chairs will be our Lin Family’s top ten!”

At this point, he paused, opening the brocade box. Ten pigeon-egg-sized pills lay on red silk, their surfaces glowing with a faint luster: “These are ten Medium Grade Qi Supplementing Pills; one pill alone can equal three months of arduous cultivation for an ordinary Martial Artist! More importantly—”

Lin Hongfeng’s voice suddenly rose, his gaze sweeping across the entire field: “The top ten will be able to accompany me to Qingmeng Mountain to participate in the White Cloud Sect’s entrance trial!”

The crowd instantly erupted! The White Cloud Sect was a major Sect within a thousand-mile radius, holding trials only once every three years. How many Martial Artists would fight tooth and nail just to secure a spot. The young disciples’ breathing grew heavy, their hands gripping their weapons trembled slightly, and even several Elders showed expressions of emotion.

“This is a great Opportunity that comes once every three years!” Lin Hongfeng closed the brocade box. “I hope you all strive hard!” His gaze roamed through the crowd, and when it swept past Lin Yang, his pupils imperceptibly contracted. In that look, there was scrutiny, warning, and a trace of elusive anticipation.

Before his words had fully faded, a blue shadow shot out like an arrow from a bowstring, landing steadily on the innermost wooden chair. As Lin Dongliu sat down, a powerful surge of Qi erupted from his body, causing several weeping willows at the edge of the Training Grounds to bend under the force of the air current. The pressure of a Houtian Eighth Layer Peak Martial Artist made the approaching disciples retreat. “This first chair, I, Lin Dongliu, will take!”

Immediately after, two figures darted out simultaneously. Lin Shaoxiong, dressed in a gray short combat suit, left two shallow indentations in the blue bricks as his feet landed, firmly occupying the second chair on the left. He was a Genius from a branch Family of the Lin Family, having reached the Houtian Seventh Level Late Stage; Lin Bing, on the other hand, carried a thick-backed saber, its sheath thudding against the ground with a dull sound as he sat on the third chair on the right. Although this person had just entered the Houtian Seventh Level, he was known for his defensive capabilities.

After the three had taken their seats, there was a moment of silence in the field. The strength of these three Explosive Qi Realm Martial Artists far surpassed their peers, and no one wanted to be the first to provoke trouble. Just then, a somewhat disheveled figure stumbled up, it was Lin Dongping, whose injuries had just healed. The bruises on his face had not completely faded. As he sat on the fourth chair, he deliberately turned to look at the crowd, his triangular eyes fixed on Lin Yang, a provocative smile playing on his lips.

The remaining six chairs were quickly snatched up. Lin Cheng, who took the fifth chair, was skilled in leg techniques, at the Houtian Sixth Level Peak; Lin Wan'er, on the sixth chair, was the only female, her palms imbued with faint Wood Element True Essence; the remaining four were also skilled practitioners at the Houtian Sixth Level Mid to Late Stage, though not as dazzling as the first few, each had their own specialties.

“The ten seats are full!” The timekeeping steward, a one-eyed old man, raised his bronze gong, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, “Time starts! If no one challenges within ten breaths, this round is decided!”

“One!”

A cold wind carried dust across the Training Grounds. The young disciples’ gazes swept back and forth among the ten chairs, finally falling unanimously on Lin Hao, who was in the last seat. This person had only recently entered the Houtian Sixth Level, making him the weakest of the ten.

“Two!”

“I’ll challenge!”

A fierce roar rang out, and Lin Hu, a Lin Family member, rushed out with an iron rod. He was also at the Houtian Sixth Level Early Stage, but had practiced external martial arts for two more years than Lin Hao. The iron rod, whistling through the air, smashed towards the back of Lin Hao’s chair. The latter hastily turned to block, and sparks flew the moment the two weapons collided.

Fierce combat erupted! Lin Hao’s long sword was as agile as a snake, but it couldn't withstand Lin Hu's powerful and heavy attacks. In just five moves, he was swept across the shoulder by a rod, grunting as he fell off the chair. Just as Lin Hu was about to sit down, another disciple with twin hooks charged in from the side, and the two instantly engaged in battle.

Lin Yang stood at the edge of the crowd, his fingertips unconsciously tapping his palm. His gaze swept over the clamoring Lin Dongping on the stage, over Lin Dongliu, who was meditating with closed eyes, and finally rested on Lin Hongfeng on the high platform — the old man was holding a teacup, seemingly watching the competition, but the corner of his eye was always fixed on the situation in the arena.

“The prelude to revenge, indeed, should begin.” A cold arc played on Lin Yang's lips, the five elements of True Essence slowly circulating within his Dantian, awaiting the optimal moment.

His gaze inadvertently swept over the viewing platform. Shen Shuanghua had just set down her teacup, her pale white fingers gently tapping the table. When her eyes met his, she subtly nodded, revealing a meaningful smile. On the other side of the viewing platform, at the edge of the crowd, stood a familiar figure — dressed in white gauze, with a crescent moon token hanging from her waist, it was Bai Wanqing of the Star Moon Sect. She seemed to sense Lin Yang's gaze, slightly turning her face, her eyes under the light gauze as clear and cold as frost, yet carrying an indescribable curiosity.

The fighting in the Training Grounds grew more intense; two people had already been knocked off their chairs. The one-eyed steward’s counting voice pierced through the clamor: “Seven! Eight! Nine—”

Lin Yang took a deep breath, his left foot subtly moving forward, his heel grinding against the broken stones on the ground, producing a faint sound. He knew that his moment was about to arrive.