Chapter 76: Losing with Dignity
The white silk ribbon and the long whip were soft yet firm, the rushing wind howling. Meng Xueli’s body flashed like lightning, gliding like a swimming fish through the space between the two girls. In his hands, Hundred Generations of Time had split into twin swords. With his right hand, he spun a dazzling sword flourish; silver-white light scattered like falling stars. Simultaneously, his left-hand sword slashed forward, his body moving with unbelievable coordination.
In that moment, the white silk and the pink skirts fluttered, mingled with cold flashes of light. The spectators were dazzled, unable to follow the scene. Ji Xiao explained: “The white ribbon spreads in the wind to block the opponent’s vision. Its deadly trick is a hidden weapon within the sleeve.”
Before his words had faded, sharp clashing sounds rang like sudden rain on lotus leaves. A row of silver needles was struck by Meng Xueli’s sword flourish, scattering like meteors across the sky, then rebounding toward the purple-skirted girl. Caught off guard, she changed her stance three times just to barely evade.
Jing Di looked at Xiao Tingyun in surprise, thinking that this kid actually had some skill.
As the hidden weapons were released, the pink-skirted girl’s whip coiled and twisted like a living serpent, entwining around Meng Xueli’s left-hand sword, gripping it tightly. But Meng Xueli did not dodge the silver needles or attempt to draw back his sword. Instead, he swung forcefully, sending both her and the whip flying straight toward the purple-skirted girl like a human catapult. The pink-skirted girl hastily released the whip—already too late. Meng Xueli’s right-hand sword struck swiftly; neither could block, and both staggered back in panic.
The spectators had never seen such a technique. Jing Di asked: “What just happened?”
Xiao Tingyun explained: “Their opening coordination is highly practiced—one binds, one strikes. Usually flawless, but if one slips, the other is in danger. They can be easily defeated one by one.”
The formation master whispered: “If it were me, I wouldn’t even be able to counter the first hidden weapon. Definitely not easy…”
Sword qi surged violently through the courtyard. The sky-piercing stone pillars bore fresh gashes, debris falling in showers. Just as Jing Di had predicted, after half a cup of tea’s time, the two girls were flung out of the courtyard. Dust rose as they landed. Bearing multiple injuries and struck by their own poisoned hidden weapons, they knew they could no longer fight and admitted defeat.
Meng Xueli said calmly: “Fighting like that teaches you nothing.” His breath was steady, expression unchanged, completely unlike someone who had just undergone an intense battle.
The two girls paused, finally understanding that he had meant “Easier for me to give pointers.”
Liu Jing called from afar: “Lost? Come over here! We have medical cultivators and healing pills from alchemists!”
The two girls stood up gloomily, skirts covered in dust, glancing at Meng Xueli’s cloak, still spotless. One of them said angrily:
“Sword Sovereign’s Dao companion truly is extraordinary. We underestimated you, but don’t get too proud! You stand out now, but if you fight alone without rest, challengers will come one after another. You’ll eventually exhaust your true essence and energy. In the later stages, anyone can wear you down. Tonight, I’ll stay here and watch—see how the next challengers fight and who eventually takes the Sword Sovereign’s relic.”
Meng Xueli smiled but said nothing. Leaving them behind was perfect—half the plan succeeded.
Xu Sanshan, hot-tempered, shouted: “Lost and still sweet-talking! Trying to shake others’ morale—truly the ‘most venomous women of Xia Shan’!”
The pink-skirted girl sneered: “Beiming Mountain is indeed a wild place. Every beast tamer there is shallow, rude, and crude!”
Xia Shan and Beiming Mountain had long been at odds, so Jing Di from Mingyue Lake had to mediate: “We’re all just defeated disciples of Elder Meng—six of one, half a dozen of the other. No one should mock anyone.”
Ji Xiao said lightly: “If you want to watch, step inside the circle.”
The two Xia Shan girls measured him up. His aura was impressive, handsome yet unfamiliar. The purple-skirted girl asked curiously: “Who are you? Which school or sect do you come from?”
Ji Xiao’s expression remained calm: “I’m the commentator for this match. A disciple of Han Shan.”
The purple-skirted girl choked and rolled her eyes: “Commentator? Then tell me why we, with higher cultivation, still lost?” Losing so quickly was humiliating.
Ji Xiao said resignedly: “His true essence is at least twice as refined as yours. He could break through at any moment. You may appear powerful, but it’s an inflated perception. Coupled with your lack of battle experience and technique, defeat was inevitable.”
During the explanation, the two girls felt it resonated. Meng Xueli’s true essence flowed like a vast river, controlled with ease. They hurried into the circle, asking several more questions. Ji Xiao answered each. Their expressions gradually shifted to serious respect, and after a moment, they bowed: “Our apologies. May we inquire your name, Daoist?”
Ji Xiao waved: “It’s nothing.”
The two exchanged glances, both thinking of Han Shan’s senior disciple. Cui Jing was unlike Jing Di, who liked to roam around. Many had heard his name, few had seen him in person.
Meanwhile, Meng Xueli faced a second group of challengers. While he fought the two Xia Shan girls, three others arrived, hiding on the sidelines to observe, assuming Meng Xueli excelled with dual swords. They said little, nodded briefly, and surged forward. But Meng Xueli’s twin swords merged into one long spear.
The spear swept horizontally, wind gusting violently. He alternated between group attacks and tight defense, making his body a near-impenetrable fortress.
Meng Xueli spoke as he fought: “Your footwork is too slow, your legs aren’t coordinated—go back and practice the basics more.”
“Your sword techniques are too flashy, not practical. Simplify them.”
“Your coordination still isn’t good enough.”
To the challengers, his words felt harsh, sparking anger in their hearts. They attacked faster, creating more flaws. After losing and reflecting, they realized Meng Xueli’s critiques were entirely accurate, even pointing out their own shortcomings. With the two Xia Shan sisters demonstrating earlier, the three challengers stepped into the circle to consult Ji Xiao.
More and more people crowded toward the central city courtyard. From above, the scene in the Secret Realm looked like a sweet candy attracting a swarm of ants from all directions.
The disciples came from different sects, using different martial methods and weapons, yet the outcome was the same. These skilled competitors traveled quickly, but Meng Xueli fought even faster. Within just three hours, Xiao Tingyun’s large circle was already half filled.
Before everyone’s eyes were proud, renowned young cultivators. No one dared skip their turn; they fought a second round. Seeing later challengers fall just like themselves balanced their mentality. After all, everyone lost. Losing didn’t feel shameful. They were outmatched, and losing to the Sword Sovereign’s Dao companion was, in a sense, a deserved defeat.
By the later stages, some even hoped Meng Xueli would keep winning, to prove their losses were not in vain.
Meng Xueli fought in the courtyard, each strike clean and precise, as effortless as slicing melons. Below, Ji Xiao patiently answered questions, speaking gently, just like treating the younger Han Shan disciples of the Hall of Legal Principles.
Some cultivators, over two hundred years old and battle-hardened by wars between humans and demons, often lectured juniors with an overbearing tone: “Young cultivators today have never faced fire and blood. Growing up in peaceful times, they act recklessly, train carelessly. Compared to us, they are a spoiled generation.” They mixed instruction with scolding.
Ji Xiao disagreed with this. In his eyes, talent emerged in every generation. Each era had its joys, pains, limitations, and creativity. Compared to the elders, the younger generation handled matters more gently and flexibly, with a stronger sense of rules.
Someone asked, “I practice body techniques more than swordplay. My master said it’s enough, but Elder Meng says I’m slow. Does that mean my talent is lacking?”
Ji Xiao answered: “You’re slow not because you’re unskilled, but because your true essence flows incorrectly. The path suitable for most simply doesn’t fit you. When using Light Body Technique, try diverting most of your true essence along the dai meridian instead of the chong meridian. See if you move faster.”
The disciple immediately jumped, delighted: “Much easier! I salute you, senior brother.”
Another asked: “Who knows what strange weapon Elder Meng wields? It changes in so many ways—I’ve never seen anything like it…”
Ji Xiao felt a quiet satisfaction. His gaze softened, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth, like mountain snow melting. Those around him were briefly stunned.
Ji Xiao said: “Hundred Generations of Time. His Dao companion gave it to him.”
As the crowd grew, Ji Xiao’s explanations became increasingly detailed, answering every question without regard for sect. The disciples gradually realized this was a rare chance to understand various sect techniques, recognize their weaknesses, and strengthen themselves.
No one wanted to leave, just like the last class before year-end exams. The teacher reviewed key points. Whoever left early missed out.
Initially, everyone had come to teach arrogant Meng Xueli a lesson and to win the Sword Sovereign’s relic. No one expected it to turn into a large-scale instructional match and Daoist exchange.
At dawn, the stars faded, the east tinged with pale light, and a ray of sunshine fell on the courtyard.
A defeated free cultivator, after asking Meng Xueli two questions, was about to leave when someone called out impatiently: “Save questions for later! There’s plenty of time. Elder Meng is already very tired!”““Exactly, everyone should be more self-disciplined!”
The scattered cultivators stepped down from the stage, moving into the circle on their own accord.
Someone called out, “Elder Meng, aren’t you tired? Take a rest if you are!”
“Yes, take a moment to regulate your breathing, have something to eat—we’ll wait for you!”
The next cultivator to enter the courtyard saw this, bowed respectfully to Meng Xueli, and then stood still without attacking.
Everyone understood clearly that, in the current situation, if a challenger displayed extraordinary skill and defeated Meng Xueli fairly, they would instantly gain fame and rightfully become the champion of this grand contest.
Conversely, if someone tried to take advantage of him or used trickery to win the Sword Sovereign’s relics, they would become the target of everyone’s resentment and be troubled endlessly thereafter. First, because possessing such a treasure brings peril; second, because others would feel it unfair that everyone lost, yet one person managed to snag a victory.
Meng Xueli stood in the spring morning breeze, loosening his silver cloak and tossing it toward Xiao Tingyun. The cloak spread wide in the wind like a battle flag, and Xiao Tingyun reached out and caught it.
Meng Xueli, clad only in his snow-blue brocade robe, spun a flourish with his spear and addressed the waiting cultivators: “Come.”
He had just begun to stretch his muscles, yet his spirit shone brilliantly and his fighting intent blazed to its peak, giving the impression of a warrior growing ever stronger with each battle.
The spectators watched in awe, witnessing that this seemingly slender figure contained endless reserves of true energy and power, a presence that could only be described as “terrifying.”
Ji Xiao did not announce his identity, merely stating that he was a disciple of Han Shan. As a result, everyone assumed he was Cui Jing. It wasn’t until the next day, when the real Cui Jing and a group of Han Shan disciples arrived at the Tianjing, that the spectators realized their mistake.
“Wait, you’re not Cui Jing? Then who are you?”
“This Daoist, I am grateful for your guidance—may I know your name?”
Ji Xiao replied, “Changchun Peak, Xiao Tingyun.”
“Meng Xueli’s disciple? The legendary innate Sword Spirit body?”
“No way… this junior disciple has only recently entered the Dao and can already instruct us?”
A heavy silence fell among the crowd as they tried to piece together the logic: The Sword Sovereign is strong, so his Dao companion must be strong, and therefore the Sword Sovereign’s Dao companion’s disciple must also be strong. Comforted by this reasoning, their minds felt slightly at ease.
Cui Jing, dressed in white with his sword on his back, dusted from travel, looked surprised to see Meng Xueli, but quickly returned to his usual cold, indifferent expression.
Meng Xueli advised, “Forgot? We’ve fought before. You can’t win—step aside.”
Cui Jing remained silent. Meng Xueli had no choice but to strike.
Young prodigies were always proud. Jing Di’s pride lay in gathering companions and enjoying admiration, basking in the attention of many. Cui Jing’s pride was in walking alone, disdainful of joining others, and never turning back until he hit the wall.
Huge shoutout to @_nyanmaru_ on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.
