Half a month later, the colossal spirit vessel pierced the cloud sea, descending amidst a low, resonant hum.

Through the porthole, a city of indescribable scale unfolded before their eyes.

The Southern Capital!

The imperial heart of the Great Xia Dynasty and the undisputed core of the Southern Region.

Towering walls sliced through the clouds, their surfaces shimmering with vast, visible arrays of defensive runes. High above, enormous floating islands drifted like sleeping gods, adorned with magnificent jade palaces wreathed in immortal mist.

Legend held that this was the only city in the Southern Region capable of withstanding a direct assault from a Nascent Soul cultivator. Unlike the mortal sprawls of the south, the Southern Capital was a metropolis built by cultivators, for cultivators.

The vessel touched down at a dedicated air harbor on the eastern side, enveloped by a massive protective formation. Officials clad in uniform spirit armor were already waiting.

As a top power, the Yunmiao Sect received a reception of the highest standard. They were led to an exclusive compound in the city’s core, adjacent to the Central Martial Arena.

The compound was serene, with a spiritual density far surpassing the outside world. Small bridges spanned flowing streams, and pavilions were arranged in picturesque harmony. Over ten meditation chambers were prepped with high-grade formations to meet their cultivation needs.

“Please rest here at ease. The tournament officially begins in three days,” the guiding official said respectfully before withdrawing.

As the team leader, Wang Ya shouldered the diplomatic duties. After issuing brief instructions, he hurried off to the organizing office to handle registration and the all-important bracket draw.

Zhiyin gathered the three participants—Li Fuxi, Wang Yue, and Zhang Xian—in the main hall.

“By convention, Elder Su Ling would lead the team, using her Nascent Soul cultivation to awe the other sects,” Zhiyin began, getting straight to the point. She paused, her gaze sweeping over them. “However, Elder Su Ling had urgent business at Penglai Immortal Island, so I am acting in her stead.”

Penglai again.

Zhang Xian’s heart skipped a beat. A year ago, during the Seventy-Two Peaks Tournament, he learned that Lele (now “Xingxiu”) and the Yunmiao Sect’s legendary Grand Elder had gone to Penglai. Now Su Ling was there too.

Something major must be happening.

Zhiyin didn’t elaborate. “At the tournament, remember this: This is not a friendly spar. It is a life-and-death struggle. One misstep means death and the dissipation of your Dao.”

“Additionally… be wary of the Baoqing Workshop.”

Zhang Xian’s mind flashed back to the scene near Cloudwater City—Su Ling sending the arrogant young master of Baoqing Workshop flying with a single sword strike. The grudge likely started there.

As if reading his thoughts, Zhiyin added, “It isn’t just about the young master. Years ago, the Grand Elder had conflicts with Baoqing Workshop in the Central Continent.”

“Among the six major powers, Baoqing Workshop is the only one without a Nascent Soul cultivator stationed in the Southern Region. But do not underestimate them. Their headquarters is in the Central Continent, and their true strength is beyond our imagination.”

“If you encounter an unwinnable opponent, remember…” Zhiyin looked pointedly at Li Fuxi. “…Concede immediately. Survival is paramount. Do not act on impulse.”

Li Fuxi’s delicate frame trembled imperceptibly.

Zhang Xian sensed the warning was specifically for his Master—a reminder of her painful loss last time.

“Master,” Zhang Xian whispered. “Did you lose to Baoqing Workshop last time?”

He knew her foundation had been damaged in a previous tournament, but never the details.

Li Fuxi took a deep breath. “Not Baoqing. Spirit Ruins Sword Sect. Long Zhi.”

Zhang Xian’s pupils contracted.

The aloof woman in white. He had seen her twice. The system showed her Destiny Points at 92—higher even than Lin Yinyin’s current Heavenly Spirit Root status.

No wonder Master lost. That wasn’t just a talent gap; it was the weight of destiny itself.

So what if it’s 92 points?

“How did she injure you?” Zhang Xian asked solemnly. “I’ll seek justice for you.”

Li Fuxi shook her head slowly. “It wasn’t her fault. I was too eager to win. I forcibly activated a forbidden technique to reverse the battle, but my body couldn’t sustain it.”

She clenched her sword hilt, knuckles white. “But this time… I won’t make the same mistake. I will win.”

Zhang Xian felt a headache coming on.

Master was perfect in every way, except for her inexplicable confidence and stubbornness. Last time at the Muling Sect, she was ready to burn her life force at the drop of a hat.

Can we please be a bit more steady?

Zhiyin interjected timely. “Long Zhi is participating again. But be warned, her disciple, Yang Poxiao, is also a threat.”

“He has cultivated for barely a century yet has reached the peak of the Golden Core realm. His progress is unheard of. He is a favorite to win the tournament.”

Yang Poxiao.

Most likely the “plagiarizing author” of The Return of the Condor Heroes.

Zhang Xian grew wary. This guy might be more dangerous than Long Zhi. Even if he wasn’t a transmigrator, he sounded like a classic “Child of Destiny.” As a system user, Zhang Xian had to ensure he didn’t end up as a stepping stone for someone else’s legend.

Lin Yinyin silently handed him a jade slip containing intel on the seeded contestants.

Just then, Wang Ya returned, looking travel-worn but holding a glowing jade booklet.

“The draw results are out,” Wang Ya said calmly, spreading the booklet on the jade table.

Everyone leaned in. The sixty-four names were split into two brackets.

Zhang Xian scanned the list.

Damn it! Wang Ya, your luck sucks!

Left Bracket (Group of Death):

Match 1: Zhang Xian (Yunmiao Sect) vs. Jian Chan (Mountain Zen Monastery)

Match 4: Hu Yanzhi (Baoqing Workshop)

Match 9: Yang Poxiao (Spirit Ruins Sword Sect)

Match 15: Li Fuxi (Yunmiao Sect)

Right Bracket:

Match 2: Wang Yue (Yunmiao Sect)

Match 3: Long Zhi (Spirit Ruins Sword Sect)

Southern Capital, Northern District. Baoqing Workshop Exclusive Compound.

On a high viewing terrace, a tall, slender man toyed with a white jade wine cup.

Yang Poxiao had arrived three days ago, invited by Hu Yanzhi.

Years ago, at the Pill Appreciation Conference, Baoqing Workshop used its massive wealth to outbid the Great Xia Dynasty and purchase an Immortal Ascension Pill from him. That transaction had built a layer of friendship.

Yang Poxiao looked down on playboys like Hu Yanzhi. But as the Young Master of Baoqing Workshop—the richest heir in the Southern Region—he was a useful acquaintance.

However, Yang Poxiao’s brow was furrowed, a shadow of gloom hanging over him.

The flawless, icy face of his master, Long Zhi, kept surfacing in his mind, unbidden and tormenting.