30: Chapter 30 The First in the Prefecture

On the day of the finals, the Martial Arts Plaza was packed with people.

The spectator stands were not only filled with ordinary audience members, but also many elegantly dressed figures—Clan Chiefs of various Families, heads of martial arts halls, and even Elders from several Schools, all attending in person.

When you stepped onto the arena, the eyes of the entire crowd converged on you.

Opposite you, Qian Yutang was already standing there.

Today, he had changed into a black martial robe and carried a saber at his waist; his overall Aura was much more composed than on the day of registration. Clearly, he had not been idle these past few days.

Seeing you step onto the stage, he smiled.

"Miss Lin." He cupped his hands, his tone relaxed. "We meet again."

"Mm."

"To be honest, I've been racking my brain these past few days on how to take a few more moves from you." He rubbed his nose, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I was beaten away in three moves last time and got scolded by my father for three days after I went back."

You looked at him without speaking.

He smiled again, set aside his joking expression, and said seriously: "I know I am no match for you, but I, Qian, have practiced the saber for twelve years. In this match, no matter what, I will not concede."

He drew his saber; the blade was wider and thicker than the last one, with fine patterns engraved on the back—this was a weapon of higher quality.

"I only have one request." His tone became a bit more earnest. "Please go easy on me."

You looked at him for two breaths.

This person talked a bit too much.

But you still nodded.

The referee raised the flag: "The finals—Lin Shuang versus Qian Yutang, begin!"

Qian Yutang did not rush to attack this time; he gripped the saber with both hands, sank his waist into a horse stance, and pointed the tip of the blade obliquely at the ground, assuming a starting stance you had never seen before.

It was different from last time.

He had changed his saber technique.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, rested your right hand on the sword hilt, and did not rush to draw your sword.

Qian Yutang took a deep breath and moved.

His first strike was not a chop, but an upward slash. The blade edge followed a tricky arc from bottom to top, and the Saber Qi skimmed along the ground, kicking up a spray of gravel.

Interesting.

You sidestepped, the gravel flying past your side. Qian Yutang's second strike followed closely, a horizontal slash; the whistling wind of the blade was at least thirty percent faster than last time.

He really had put in the effort these past few days.

You drew your sword and parried the strike.

Clang!

Sparks flew everywhere. Qian Yutang used the force to retreat half a step, his momentum unbroken. The third and fourth strikes followed in quick succession, each from a different angle. The path of the blade was varied and complex, clearly prepared specifically against your sword technique.

You received them one by one, your sword moving with lightness. After four moves, you had already grasped the pattern of his new saber technique.

On the fifth move, you began to counterattack.

Frost Moon Sword Technique, second form—Frost Traces.

The sword light swept horizontally, passing by like frost marks, silent and soundless. Qian Yutang met it with his saber, was shaken back a step, and his arm trembled slightly.

On the sixth move, third form—Frost Fall.

The sword momentum suddenly intensified. Qian Yutang gritted his teeth to hold on, his feet plowing two deep furrows into the ground, and the body of his saber emitted an unbearable hum.

The seventh move.

You did not use a finishing move.

You used the first form, Moon Rise.

The simplest sword strike, the cleanest sword strike.

The moment the sword light brightened, a full moon was reflected in Qian Yutang's pupils. His saber was only halfway raised before it was pressed down by that Sword Qi, unable to be lifted again.

Clatter.

The saber fell to the ground.

Your sword tip stopped three inches from his chest.

Seven moves.

Four more moves than last time.

The entire venue was silent at first, then erupted into deafening cheers.

"Lin Shuang! Lin Shuang! Lin Shuang!"

Qian Yutang looked down at the sword tip in front of his chest, then looked up at you, and suddenly smiled.

"Seven moves." He said, "Four more moves than last time, I have improved."

You sheathed your sword, and the corner of your mouth twitched slightly.

"Mm, improved."

He was stunned for a moment, then smiled even more broadly, cupping his hands toward you: "Congratulations, Miss Lin, Cheng Prefecture Number One, well-deserved."

The referee's voice resounded throughout the venue: "Cheng Prefecture Martial Arts Tournament, champion—Lin Shuang!"

On the spectator stands, applause was like a tide.

You stood in the center of the arena, listening to the cheers coming from all directions, your expression calm.

Cheng Prefecture Number One.

But this was only the beginning.

Martial Arts Peak was the real battlefield.

That evening, you returned to the inn and found a long queue at the entrance.

People from various Families and Schools, holding visiting cards, gift lists, and even invitations to join their Schools, were blocking your door.

"Miss Lin, our Qingya Sect is very sincere, as long as you nod—"

"Miss Lin, our Chen Family is willing to treat you with the courtesy of a Guest Elder, with a monthly stipend of three hundred taels—"

"Miss Lin—"

You squeezed through the crowd, pushed open your door, and turned around.

"No guests."

The door closed.

The voices outside continued, but you turned a deaf ear to them, sat on the edge of the bed, and began to circulate your energy to adjust your breathing.

Xiao Wang lay by the window, bared its teeth at the crowd outside the door, and let out a low tiger roar.

The area outside the door went quiet instantly.

Then came a flurry of chaotic footsteps, moving further and further away.

You opened one eye and glanced at Xiao Wang.

"Well done."

Xiao Wang flicked its tail, rested its tiger head back on its front paws, and continued to sleep.

For the next three days, you stayed behind closed doors.

The number of visitors outside dropped from over a dozen groups on the first day, to seven or eight on the second, to only two or three persistent ones on the third; you saw none of them.

It was not that you were aloof.

It was that these people could not give you what you wanted.

The Schools in Cheng Prefecture had, at strongest, a Grandmaster Late Stage sitting in charge. What you wanted was a Legacy that could lead you to the end of the Dao, not the empty title of a "Guest Elder."

Even if you chose to join a Sect for the sake of Cultivation, it had to be a force like The Ten Great Sects that possessed the Legacy of an Earthly Immortal.

On the afternoon of the fourth day.

"Miss Lin, Qian Family Clan Chief Qian Boyong, bringing my son and daughter, has come to visit." A steady, middle-aged male voice came from outside the door, "Not for recruitment, only to offer an apology, I hope you will do us the honor of seeing us."

You thought for a moment, got up, and opened the door.

Three people stood outside the door.

In the center was a man in his fifties, sturdy in build, with a square face and a composed Aura—Grandmaster Stage. He was wearing casual dark blue clothing without any extravagant decorations, but he carried an inherent air of authority that did not require anger to be intimidating.

On his left was Qian Yutang, who had changed into a clean white robe and nodded slightly at you.

On the right was Qian Yuzhu.

Qian Yuzhu was keeping her head down, holding a brocade box with both hands, shrinking behind her father like a cat being held by the scruff of its neck.

"Please come in." You stepped aside to make way.

The three entered the room. Qian Boyong's gaze lingered on Xiao Wang for a moment, he complimented it as a "good tiger," and then did not look again.

After sitting down, Qian Boyong did not exchange pleasantries, but directly patted the back of Qian Yuzhu's head.

"Aren't you going over?"

Qian Yuzhu walked hesitantly to you, handed the brocade box forward, her head lowered so low it was almost buried in her chest, her voice as small as a mosquito's hum.

"Miss... Miss Lin, it was my fault before, I shouldn't have... shouldn't have said those things, I'm sorry."