Last night's absurd scheme involving the "Shadow Sect" and "True Monarch" in the Rotten Shed District seemed like nothing more than a fleeting dream beneath Black Wind Ridge.

  When the first rays of dawn pierced through the rolling clouds, casting golden brilliance upon the ancient bluestone walls of Black Blood Stockade, all the darkness and scheming was temporarily veiled by this dazzling light.

  "Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!"

  The deep, majestic thundering of kui-ox hide war drums erupted from the main peak's summit, sound waves splitting clouds and shattering stone, echoing through the endless mountain range.

  The entire Black Blood Stockade erupted in excitement.

  Today, every shop within the stockade closed its doors, and the External Affairs Hall suspended all non-urgent mission postings.

  Thousands of clansmen, household servants, and affiliated rogue cultivators surged like ants drawn to the scent of blood, flooding toward the bluestone martial arena at the stockade's center—a space large enough to contain several football fields.

  This was Black Blood Stockade's once-in-a-decade grand event.

  It was not merely a tournament, but a bloody reshuffling that would determine the clan's resource allocation and even power succession for the next ten years.

  Banners blotted out the sun around the arena.

  To accommodate the massive number of participants in the preliminary rounds, the originally open grounds had been forcibly elevated and divided into eight enormous square platforms, surrounded by sturdy protective Gu formations flickering with faint light.

  Lin Mu wore a crisp, immaculate blue Steward's robe, standing ramrod straight beside the referee's station at the platform's edge.

  He hadn't bothered squeezing into the spectator stands. Instead, he'd used his position to openly claim an excellent vantage point in the inner arena.

  Watching those faces flushed red with excitement and fervor under the sunlight, hearing the tsunami-like roar of voices around him, Lin Mu let out a silent sigh in his heart.

  Last night's mud-covered, nauseating Rotten Shed District formed an extreme contrast with this golden, glory-filled martial arena before him—as if from different worlds entirely.

  Yet this daytime glory and nighttime conspiracy, this glamorous exterior and rotting interior, together composed the truest reality of the Gu cultivation world.

  As time passed, the clan's upper echelons began taking their seats in the core viewing area to the north of the arena.

  That was power made manifest—a radar for the silent wars waged without smoke.

  Elder Lin Lengyan of the Medicine Hall—Lin Xue's father—had specially donned a brand-new cloud-patterned brocade robe today.

  Stroking his long beard, he watched his daughter below, surrounded by numerous disciples amid thunderous cheers, his face beaming with spring warmth.

  His composed demeanor suggested he already considered the True Inheritance position to be in the Medicine Hall's pocket.

  In stark contrast sat Grand Elder Lin Nuo of the Punishment Hall nearby. This notoriously hot-tempered elder now wore a face dark as water, cold snorts escaping continuously.

  The Western Mountain Swamp incident two months ago had turned his proud grandson Lin Yan into the stockade's laughingstock.

  He'd been holding in a bellyful of rage, just waiting for Lin Yan to use his fists to reclaim his lost face on the platform.

  As for Lin Mu's direct superior, Elder Lin Maomao of the External Affairs Hall, he maintained his perpetually unflappable appearance.

  He held a purple-clay teacup, blowing at the floating foam while playing dumb—as if this clash of dragons and tigers had nothing to do with a logistics bureaucrat like himself.

  Just as various factions were silently competing—

  "Screech—!"

  A piercing eagle cry suddenly tore through the clamorous sky.

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  A Rank 3 flying Gu beast with a wingspan exceeding five zhang, its entire body covered in iron feathers, dove down from the main peak's cliff face, bringing a fierce gale as it landed steadily at the viewing platform's central position.

  A figure as robust as an iron tower leaped down from the eagle's back.

  Following closely behind was Supreme Elder Lin Zhen, whose imposing presence remained formidable, eyes sharp as blades.

  Patriarch Lin Cang had arrived.

  Without any superfluous words or pretense of approachability, Lin Cang stood firm as the Primeval Essence pressure belonging to a Rank 4 Gu Master—deep as an abyss, heavy as a hundred thousand mountains—swept unreservedly across the entire venue.

  "Hummm—"

  The air seemed to freeze in that instant.

  The thousands who had been wildly cheering and spitting moments ago, upon sensing this pressure, fell silent as if their throats had been seized—like strangled ducks. The entire massive arena descended into pin-drop silence.

  "Greetings to the Patriarch! Greetings to the Supreme Elder!"

  Thousands bent at the waist in unison, bowing deeply in salute, their voices like muffled thunder.

  This was the absolute iron fist of a righteous clan. Before absolute strength, all factional scheming and maneuvering had to obediently submit.

  Lin Cang's gaze swept like lightning across the entire venue, and he nodded with satisfaction.

  Raising his hand, Primeval Essence surging, a brief yet powerfully stirring opening address resounded throughout:

  "Ten years sharpening a single blade—today we test its edge! The men of our Lin Clan shall forge glory with blood and sweat! Let the Grand Competition begin!"

  "Roar! Roar! Roar!"

  The explosion after suppression pushed the atmosphere to its absolute peak.

  In a corner of the preparation area beneath the platforms, every manner of expression played out vividly.

  Lin Feng, the overwhelming favorite to win, stood in snow-white robes, arms crossed, eyes closed in meditation. To all the adoring and flattering cheers around him, he turned a deaf ear, maximizing his aura of composed mastery.

  Lin Yan of the Punishment Hall was like a starving lone wolf, bloodshot eyes fixed intently on his surrounding competitors.

  Fire-attribute Primeval Essence fluctuations radiated from him without concealment. He didn't need composure right now—he desperately needed a satisfying slaughter to vent two months of frustration.

  And in the most inconspicuous corner, deliberately ignored by everyone, stood a youth in tattered clothes, his complexion still pale as paper.

  Lin Wuxie.

  The surrounding clamor seemed to have nothing to do with him.

  Yet deep within his downcast eyes, there was not a trace of awe for this grand spectacle, nor any fear of those seeded contestants. There was only an almost pathological fervor.

  "Never use the black light... must never expose my Food Path identity..."

  He repeated last night's teachings from his "senior brother" over and over in his mind.

  "This is the Sect's trial. I must not disgrace the Shadow Sect! I must not fail the reputation of Purple Mountain True Monarch!"

  Not far away by the referee's station, Lin Mu appeared to be sternly directing subordinates to maintain order, but two fingers hidden within his wide sleeves gently rubbed two betting slips of sturdy paper.

  These were his "shadow bets" placed with real gold and silver.

  Bet one: on Lin Yan, wagering on victory rate.

  Due to the swamp poisoning incident, the public generally believed Lin Yan's fire poison had damaged his foundation and greatly reduced his strength, causing his odds in the external betting pools to soar.

  But only someone like Lin Mu, deeply versed in actual combat, understood that Lin Yan's core Gu—Burning Fire Gu—combined with Iron Leaf Gu, plus his crazed personality, made him a terrifying meat grinder on these cramped, no-retreat platforms. A wounded beast often bites hardest.

  Bet two: on Lin Wuxie, wagering on an upset.

  This betting slip carried absurdly high odds, because in everyone's eyes, this orphan from the Rotten Shed District was completely invisible.

  But Lin Mu knew better than anyone that within that frail-looking body—seemingly ready to topple in a breeze—lurked a monster that had devoured countless wind wolves and possessed physical strength alone comparable to a peak Rank 1 fierce beast.

  "Come on, let this fire burn even brighter." Lin Mu smiled inwardly.

  On the high platform, Lin Cang waved his hand.

  In mid-air, an enormous Recording Gu was activated, transforming into a golden light screen dozens of zhang wide. Participant names scrolled and crossed frantically across the screen.

  Everyone's hearts rose to their throats. Ordinary disciples prayed desperately not to draw any of the four seeded contestants in the first round, while clan elders tensely evaluated their people's bracket luck.

  "Ding!"

  The light screen emitted a crisp chime, and the first round matchups locked into place.

  The crowd instantly erupted in a cacophony of wild joy and despairing wails.

  The Steward overseeing Platform Five glanced at the jade token in his hand, cleared his throat, and announced loudly:

  "Platform Five, first match!"

  "Punishment Hall, Lin Fang!"

  "Versus... branch family, Lin Wuxie!"

  The moment this pairing was announced, an eerie silence fell around Platform Five, followed by an explosion of raucous laughter.

  "Hahaha! Who's Lin Wuxie? Never even heard of him!"

  "I know him—that orphan living in the Rotten Shed District who picks through garbage every day! Senior Brother Lin Fang is one of the Punishment Hall's finest. His 'Stone-Splitting Fist' is extremely refined—one punch can shatter green brick!"

  "What ridiculous luck! That skinny monkey probably can't even take one punch from Lin Fang, right? Hurry up and surrender before you get beaten to death!"

  Amid the torrent of mockery and contempt—

  Lin Fang cracked his neck, bones popping loudly, and leaped onto the platform with a savage grin.

  In the corner, Lin Wuxie walked out expressionlessly.

  Step by step, he slowly ascended the stairs. He didn't look at his swaggering opponent across the way.

  Instead, the instant he stepped onto the platform, he discreetly swept his peripheral vision toward the spectator stands and referee station.

  He believed that the unfathomably mysterious "Shadow Sect senior brother" must surely be lurking somewhere in the shadows at this very moment, watching his every move.

  Sensing that hidden gaze, Lin Mu—standing at the platform's edge in his blue Steward's robe—slightly lowered his head.

  Under the pretense of adjusting his sleeves, the corner of his mouth curved into an inscrutable smile.

  The show had begun.