Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Battle Begins

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Morning light streamed through the bustling streets and alleys of Ten Directions City, where crowds had already gathered in throngs, the air thick with noise and excitement. People converged into a vast tide, surging toward a particular place within the city.

That place, naturally, was the Heroes' Terrace.

Today marked the day of the Five Elements Assembly, and countless cultivators had come from far and wide—some to compete, others simply to witness the grand gathering that occurred only once every fifty years.

And so, at the first breaking of dawn, as the city gates creaked open, a multitude of people flooded in from outside, joining those already in the city and hurrying toward the Heroes' Terrace in hopes of securing a good vantage point to admire the valor of the era’s youthful champions.

Within Azure Affinity Residence, in the Bamboo Pavilion, Ye Zihan had maintained a meditative posture for two full days. Throughout this time, he sat as motionless as an ancient monk lost in contemplation; were it not for his slow, steady breathing, one might have mistaken him for a lifeless statue.

Before beginning his seclusion, Ye Zihan had instructed the innkeeper not to allow anyone to disturb him for two days, nor to bother about meals. Thus, the environment had remained relatively quiet.

At last, Ye Zihan slowly opened his eyes. His dark gaze sparkled like stars in the night, a strange light flashing within them.

Exhaling softly, he clenched his fists and murmured, “As expected, two days was too short—my source energy has only become a little more refined.”

Yet he was not one to be greedy for quick results. In the span of two days, to have purified his energy even a little was already an accomplishment. “Today is the day of the Assembly—youths from all corners will gather upon one stage. I wonder, on that stage, how far I can go?”

For such a renowned and prestigious contest, Ye Zihan felt both anticipation and a faint trace of nervousness.

After four years of bitter cultivation, to what extent had he transformed himself?

He swung his legs off the bed, washed and dressed with care, and, once attired, pushed open the door and stepped out.

“I wonder how Yan Chen is doing,” he mused.

Closing his door behind him, Ye Zihan made his way to the room next door.

“Yan Chen,” he called as he reached the door.

“Wait a moment,” came Yan Chen’s reply from within.

Ye Zihan was in no hurry. He stepped back, leaned against the railing, and idly admired the view of the courtyard.

A moment later, the door creaked open and Yan Chen strode out, still clad in his usual blue robe.

“Let’s go,” Yan Chen said.

Ye Zihan nodded, the two exchanging a smile before heading downstairs together.

There was still an hour before the Assembly officially began, so they were in no rush. They took breakfast leisurely in the main hall before making their way toward the Heroes' Terrace.

To participate in the Five Elements Assembly, contestants had to be between fifteen and eighteen years of age. Identity did not matter; as long as one’s age qualified and strength sufficed, one could compete.

Long ago, the rule of ignoring identity and focusing only on age had been seen as a loophole. Some youthful-looking cultivators had concealed their true ages to enter the Assembly illicitly. But under the oppressive might of certain figures, their deceptions had been laid bare, and as punishment, the violators had all their source energy destroyed.

Since then, no one dared attempt such a thing.

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In truth, long ago, the Five Elements Assembly was simply a contest among the disciples of the nine great earthly powers, held at one of their domains, with no outsiders allowed.

The battles among the young generation of these nine powers were grand and imposing, and as their fame spread, outstanding talents from the common folk yearned to join, to test their skills against the mighty. United, they petitioned the nine powers to make the contest public.

After deliberation, the nine great powers saw only benefits and gladly agreed, opening the Assembly to the world and choosing Ten Directions City as its permanent venue. For this, the city specially constructed the Heroes' Terrace.

Its reputation soared; the event became a spectacle of unprecedented grandeur, drawing ever more heroic youths eager to witness the mighty, to measure their own worth, and—should they catch the eye of a powerful faction—to secure a bright future.

With growing numbers, the contest’s format evolved. No longer did matches proceed one by one; instead, all registered contestants drew lots, were grouped for preliminary rounds, and only the finals would be held match by match.

There was no free lunch; the Five Elements Assembly was no exception. Every participant paid fifty taels of silver to register and received a numbered bamboo token for grouping in the preliminaries.

Yan Chen had already paid the innkeeper two days prior, registering them both and collecting their bamboo tokens, which allowed them to proceed without haste.

On the street, the throng only grew, voices raised in noisy anticipation as all surged toward the Heroes' Terrace.

Faced with such crowds, Ye Zihan and Yan Chen could only sigh helplessly and merge into the dense human current.

At their present cultivation—the mid-stage of the Triad Realm—they had not yet mastered artifact flight, and even if they had, no one dared fly within Ten Directions City.

In this city, flying on an artifact was considered a grave disrespect to the hosts—the Nightmoon family.

Pressed amid the crowd, Ye Zihan wore a look of bitter resignation. For someone who disliked noise and chaos, this was pure torment.

Finally, after much effort, they reached the Heroes' Terrace. But before they could even catch their breath, the spectacle around them left them stunned.

Today, the area around the terrace was a sea of people. Masses poured in from every direction; the high stands were already packed to overflowing, with latecomers even sitting on slabs of stone nearby.

Auras of every element mingled chaotically among the people, occasionally flaring up in minor clashes. The square was so densely packed that, seen from above, the crowd resembled a swarm of ants!

“To think it’s this grand…” Ye Zihan felt a chill at the sight, even more crowded and lively than before.

Yan Chen, too, was startled, but quickly regained his composure. He pulled Ye Zihan to the front of the terrace, where they studied the roster, searching for the names of their opponents.

This year, nearly a thousand contestants had gathered—almost every young elite under heaven. The competition was divided into ten groups, named after the Heavenly Stems: Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding, Wu, Ji, Geng, Xin, Ren, and Gui. Each group had eighty contestants, battling in pairs, with the top four from each group advancing to the semifinals. From there, the top ten would enter the finals.

It was well known that reaching the finals marked one as the pinnacle of the current generation, bound to draw invitations from every faction and secure a limitless future.

Glancing over the list, they soon found their places: Ye Zihan, fifth in the Wu group, facing an opponent named Liang Xuan; Yan Chen, eighth in the Geng group, matched against Song Ya.

“A woman?” Yan Chen raised an eyebrow.

Ye Zihan laughed and teased, “You lucky fellow, your very first match is against a lady. From her name, she sounds gentle and sweet.”

Yan Chen rolled his eyes. “Want to swap?”

Ye Zihan quickly shook his head. “No, I’m not so blessed. You’ll have to enjoy it yourself.”

Yan Chen regarded Ye Zihan with open disdain.

Ye Zihan chuckled and looked up at the massive terrace. “The Assembly should begin soon.”

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“Yes, in about a quarter of an hour. Look, those people have arrived.” Yan Chen nodded toward the left.

Ye Zihan followed his gaze and saw, at the very front of the terrace, a group of youths known as the Heaven’s Chosen.

The disciples of the nine great powers stood in a line, their auras radiating awe-inspiring presence.

Though the square was crowded, within a radius of several meters around them, everyone drew back—no one dared approach.

“Ye Xiang…” Ye Zihan’s gaze lingered especially on one among them.

“Apart from them, the other opponents mustn’t be underestimated, either.” As the contest drew near, Yan Chen’s expression grew serious.

Ye Zihan grunted in agreement. Four years surviving the Beastlands, facing emotionless monsters day in and day out, paying in blood for the slightest misstep—he would never make the foolish mistake of underestimating his foes.

Dong!

Suddenly, a deep, resonant bell sounded, shaking heaven and earth and making everyone’s ears ache. Alarmed, the crowd hastened to circulate their source energy, shielding their ears.

After a long moment, the bell’s echo faded, then finally died away completely.

All eyes turned upward, searching for the source of the sound.

The vast, empty Heroes' Terrace stood bare, but as all watched intently, the space above it suddenly rippled.

“A spatial ripple!” many cried out below.

Concentric waves spread outward, and after a moment, the entire space shuddered. Within the ripples, a foot stepped forth.

A man emerged: clad in a black robe, not particularly burly but tall and lean, his hair streaked with gray, his face gentle and smiling, exuding an approachable air. In his hand he held a small, golden bell—the source of that profound, lingering chime.

“Who…who is that?” The appearance of the black-robed figure was incongruous with the crushing pressure Ye Zihan suddenly felt. Under its weight, even moving was difficult, his source energy faltering—shocked, he asked in a low voice.

“That must be the second patriarch of the Nightmoon clan—Nightmoon Qian!” Yan Chen, struggling under the pressure, barely managed to circulate his energy in defense.

All around, others suffered the same oppression; those of lesser strength soon buckled, dropping to their knees.

“Nightmoon Qian—was it really necessary to use such a display against these youngsters?”

On the opposite side of the terrace, another spatial ripple appeared, and a calm voice rang out. An elderly man in gray robes, about sixty years of age, stepped forth.

“Brother Senfeng, you’re mistaken. Anyone brave enough to enter this Assembly must have some skill. If they cannot even withstand Nightmoon’s aura, then they are too weak.”

“Qi, it’s easy for you to say. Nightmoon’s aura isn’t something ordinary youths can endure. Even you, with your ‘Flame Beast’ reputation—could you have withstood it at their age?”

Like stones cast into a pond, ripples of space spread and connected above the terrace, one after another, appearing in rapid succession.