Chapter 277: Grand Competition

Chapter 277: Grand Tournament

After the Yunzhou temple fair, Xie Shu and Xiao Wu returned to Wuwang Palace.

Lord Pingwu remained as usual, coming to Xie Shu’s courtyard every evening to mooch food and drinks—or even earlier, arriving in the afternoon to move lounge chairs with Xie Shu and sunbathe under the wisteria trellis.

Despite Demon Palace Master Xie Chunshan being right beside him, Xiao Wu was completely at ease, sleeping without a care and even more soundly than Xie Shu. When Xie Shu woke from his nap, he stared at Xiao Wu for a long while. Though he knew cultivators wouldn’t catch a chill, out of habit from his former life's health-conscious habits, he still threw a blanket over him.

By the final days of the wisteria blossoms, petals fell like rain, and Xiao Wu curled up under the blanket, which was soon covered in a thick layer of flowers.

Instead of brushing them away, Xie Shu occasionally plucked a few more from the tree and tossed them over. Xiao Wu, utterly unguarded, let the petals pile up on him.

Xie Shu tsk'd. "With reflexes like these, how did you even become the Immortal Lord of the orthodox path?"

At that, the man on the lounge chair cracked one eye open to glance at him, then turned over, burying his face in the blanket and turning his back to Xie Chunshan, ignoring him.

Xie Shu: "..."

Eating his food, sleeping in his courtyard, yet acting so rude while living under his roof—was this really the Lord Pingwu he had created?

Where was the elegant demeanor? The self-discipline and decorum?

Yet even so, Xie Shu couldn’t bring himself to kick him out and had no choice but to put up with it.

Xiao Wu particularly loved fish, especially sweet and sour flavors. Over time, the demonic cultivators in the palace were running around, growing so accustomed to it that they plotted to kidnap the chef from a small restaurant at the foot of the mountain and bring him back to serve as the Palace Lord’s personal cook.

Xie Shu shot them a look, and the demonic cultivators quickly scattered.

Occasionally, when idle in the afternoon, Xie Shu would ask Xiao Wu to practice sword forms.

Xiao Wu pretended his cultivation was weak, but his sword forms were sharp and elegant, first-rate in every way. Xie Shu silently memorized them, analyzing the techniques piece by piece without showing a hint of his intentions.

By the time the peach blossoms had all fallen in April, the invitation for the Immortal-Demon Grand Tournament arrived at Wuwang Palace.

The Grand Tournament was hosted in rotation by several major sects, and this time, it was Shangling Sect’s turn. The invitation was personally wrote by Elder Daoist Cangshan, stating, "On this auspicious occasion, we cordially invite Lord Wuwang to join us in this grand event."

Xie Shu held the corner of the letter as if it were something filthy. He read it from start to finish, then scoffed.

Daoist Cangshan hadn’t even asked once about Xiao Wu.

His disciple’s cultivation had been crippled, sent to the Demon Palace with his condition unknown, yet as a master, he showed not a shred of concern.

Xiao Wu, however, remained expressionless, not giving the letter a second look.

It was Xue Sui who came to inquire about the Palace Lord’s preparations for the trip—who would go, who would stay, how many to bring. Xie Shu instructed everything to proceed as usual, then pressed a hand to his forehead, he sighed heavily as he looked at Xiao Wu before him.

This Immortal Lord, who should have left the palace to travel and shine at the Grand Tournament, was instead dozing on a lounge chair in his courtyard, wrapped in a blanket.

Seemingly deep in pleasant dreams, his face serene, he merely frowned slightly when Xie Shu lightly tossed a flower petal at him, shooting him a displeased glance before turning over to continue sleeping.

Xie Shu: "Don’t sleep, Immortal Lord. Are you going to the Immortal-Demon Grand Tournament?"

Xiao Wu yawned. "Why would I go?"

Xie Shu: "..."

The main attraction of the Immortal Tournament, asking why he should attend?

His prolonged silence made Xiao Wu realize something was off. He lifted his gaze to Xie Shu. "Do you want me to go?"

Xiao Wu said seriously, "If you want me to go, I'll go."

Xie Shu fell silent.

"Forget it." He dragged a hand down his face, skipping over Xiao Wu, and ordered, "Reply to Elder Cangshan, saying Wuwang Palace will attend. Then retrieve my Black Qilin Chariot, and the usual retinue will accompany me."

As the Palace Lord of Wuwang Palace, Xie Chunshan was a man of great stature, with many luxurious trappings. For instance, the Black Qilin Chilin Chariot was an entirely black carriage; legend says it was forged from East Sea ink jade, able to harness the wind and travel a thousand miles in a day.

Xue Sui: "Understood."

Xie Shu: "Fetch a veiled hat from the armory."

In the plot, when Xiao Wu killed Xie Chunshan, he did not reveal his identity. He was dressed entirely in white, with a veiled hat covering his face.

Xue Sui bowed and departed.

Soon after, he returned with a veiled hat woven from black bamboo, covered with white gauze and inscribed with concealment talismans around its edges, capable of warding off spiritual probes.

Xie Shu took the veiled hat and beckoned to Xiao Wu: "Immortal Lord, come here."

Xiao Wu was puzzled but still got up from the lounge chair and approached, stopping before Xie Shu: "What do you want?"

Xie Shu: "Immortal Lord, lower your head."

Xiao Wu remained confused but obediently lowered his head.

Xie Shu placed the veiled hat on him and adjusted the white gauze: "Hmm, this suits you."

Xiao Wu tugged at it: "What's this for?"

Xie Shu: "To take you to the Immortal-Demon Grand Tournament."

Xiao Wu: "I'm not afraid of being exposed."

At the temple fair earlier, Xie Shu had also placed a mask on Xiao Wu's face, pulling him aside to avoid disciples from Yunzhou—clearly intent on keeping his identity hidden.

Xiao Wu: "The entire cultivation world knows you took me away. From that moment on, Lord Pingwu's identity was no longer untarnished. It doesn't matter."

As he spoke, he tried to remove the veiled hat from his head.

Xie Shu: "If you don't wear it, the gossip will turn vicious."

If the former leader of the Righteous Path were to accompany the Demon Sect Palace Master, Xie Shu could easily imagine how the rumors would portray Xiao Wu. At best, they might say he "prostituted his talents" or "debased himself willingly." The worst possibilities were too unpleasant for Xie Shu to dwell on—none of them kind.

Xiao Wu was a figure Xie Shu had personally chosen, and he didn’t want him soiled by rumors.

Xiao Wu said calmly, "It won’t be worse than what I heard when my meridians were shattered."

"..."

Xie Shu’s fingers curled slightly: "What did they say back then?"

Xiao Wu paused. For some reason, he suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at Xie Shu and turned his head away: "It was nothing... just, you see, I advanced... too quickly back then."

His voice grew softer until it was nearly inaudible.

It wasn’t hard to guess. Fame and infamy are inseparable twins, just as admiration and jealousy often went hand in hand. Xiao Wu had been the Righteous Path’s a prodigy unseen in a hundred years—the higher he stood, the more people wished to see him fall from the peak, shattered beyond repair. When his once-benevolent sect brothers discussed his broken meridians, who could say how much schadenfreude was mixed into their pity?

Xiao Wu: "Besides, Shangling Sect has no use for cripples. As you well know."

The sects were all filled with immortals; even newly initiated disciples were forced to practice inedia—what place could accommodate a blind invalid like him?

Only a few months after his spiritual veins were severed, Xiao Wu's courtyard grew desolate. As his close friends gradually entered seclusion or left for training, fewer and fewer fellow disciples came to visit. Even those assigned to deliver meals often neglected him. Had Xie Chunshan not insisted on taking him, he would have been forgotten in some remote corner of the mountain sect, spending his short remaining years until, decades later, becoming mere gossip—"Hey, does anyone still remember that former Mystic Leader of the righteous path who had his spiritual veins ruined in his twenties?"

Xie Shu said nothing.

Through the thick veil, Xiao Wu could only sense Xie Shu's dark expression. He pursed his lips slightly and said, "In any case, I don’t care about those rumors. There’s no need for this."

As he spoke, he reached for the edge of the veiled hat, intending to remove it again.

Xie Shu: "Keep it on."

He paused, offering a weak excuse: "It suits you."

Xiao Wu’s fingers stilled.

After a long moment, he muttered, "Really? You can’t even see anything clearly—how can you tell it looks good?"

Even so, he obediently tightened it in place.

*

April 27th, Day of the Ox, inauspicious in the West—suitable for sacrifices, erecting tombstones, and grave repairs. All other matters should be avoided.

In preparation for the Immortal-Demon Grand Tournament, the Shangling Sect had cleared out its disciples’ sword-testing platform in advance. It was a flat clearing nestled among the mountains, surrounded by steep peaks on all sides—an abrupt open space amidst the rugged terrain. Legend had it that predecessors once dueled here and accidentally sheared off an entire mountain peak. The lingering sword energy still permeated the ravines even now. Over the centuries, vegetation grew thick, and the site became the sect’s designated sword-testing ground. Mortals who stepped onto it would tremble in fear, while cultivators would feel their qi surge, their fighting spirit aroused.

Now, a vast array was drawn at the center of the platform, its edges enclosed by a translucent barrier to absorb stray sword qi during the tournament, preventing collateral damage to the surrounding wildlife.

On the surrounding peaks stood several pavilions, half-hidden among lush pines and green bamboo, offering the best vantage points to oversee the entire platform.

At present, nearly all the pavilions were occupied—except for the two highest ones.

The scheduled time had long passed, yet all the disciples remained silent, not daring to show any impatience.

These two pavilions belonged to the Shangling Sect’s leader, Daoist Cangshan, and Lord Wuwang, Xie Chunshan.

The two were undisputed leaders of the righteous and demonic paths, respectively. Until they appeared, no one dared make a move.

By convention, though Xie Chunshan and Daoist Cangshan held equal status, the latter was the elder. As the junior, Xie Chunshan should have arrived first as a sign of respect. But Xie Shu couldn’t care less about such formalities—he truly spared Daoist Cangshan not a shred of face.

Yet even past noon, a full two hours after the scheduled start, Xie Chunshan showed no sign of appearing. As the host, the Shangling Sect couldn’t delay indefinitely. Daoist Cangshan could wait no longer. A radiant light burst from the mountains, landing atop one of the pavilions and materializing into an elderly man with crane-like white hair.

Holding a white jade horsetail whisk, his expression kindly, he scanned the surroundings and chuckled. "Lord Wuwang accepted my invitation but is now absent—it seems he has stood everyone up. Pay him no mind; let us begin without him."

At these words, the righteous disciples stirred into action, while the demonic cultivators exchanged uncertain looks, hesitating.

Daoist Cangshan’s expression hardened. "Gentlemen, Xie Chunshan broke his promise first. What are you waiting for—"

Before he could finish, a thunderous roar came from the southeast. A jet-black chariot tore through the sky, landing gracefully atop the remaining pavilion.

This was Lord Wuwang’s personal Black Qilin Chariot, renowned throughout the cultivation world—crafted entirely of black jade, cold and impenetrable as the scales of a qilin.

Instantly, the chatter died down. Both righteous and demonic cultivators held their breaths, their gazes fixed on the chariot.

There was no other reason—Xie Chunshan’s reputation was simply too immense.

Compared to Daoist Cangshan, an aging relic who hadn’t broken through in who knew how many years, Xie Chunshan was a prodigy who had secured his position as Lord Wuwang in just over two decades. His face was unrivaled in looks, and his demeanor naturally charismatic—people were naturally far more curious about him.

Many young disciples attending the tournament had heard of Xie Chunshan but never seen him in person. Outwardly obedient, they were bursting with curiosity—just how handsome was he? Was he truly that young? Was his sword really fast as afterimages?

Yet when the chariot door opened, it wasn’t one person who stepped out—but two.

The first to emerge was a figure clad in white robes, their face obscured by a bamboo-weave veil, hiding their features. Yet their tall and slender stature exuded an air of noble elegance, akin to a graceful bamboo—merely their silhouette alone marked them as strikingly beautiful. Moreover, their aura was deep, their strides calm and measured, traversing the towering cliffs as if walking on level ground. In terms of cultivation, they were undoubtedly supreme.

The crowd burst into hushed whispers instantly, countless voices murmuring in suspicion—since when does the Demon Sect Palace Master wear white?

Since ancient times, only the Righteous Path favored white attire.

Then, the white-robed figure adjusted the carriage's direction, and another person descended onto the pavilion. Clad in black robes with faint golden embroidery at the sleeves, they held a bamboo folding fan, their eyes brimming with amusement as they murmured something to the white-robed figure. Truly, they were radiating charm and easy elegance.

The crowd seemed to understand.

Many demonic cultivators kept sword-bearing attendants by their side, controlled by venom or parasitic gu worms. This white-robed stranger of unknown origin was likely Xie Chunshan's servant.

They sighed inwardly—such a remarkable figure, fallen into the hands of a demonic cultivator.

Inside the pavilion stood a mahogany chair, its seat wide enough for two. From afar, the disciples watched as Xie Chunshan suddenly tapped the space beside him with his bamboo fan, smiling invitingly as he said, "Come, sit."