"Outrageous! You dare doubt me, an elder?" Xin Yi'an flew into a rage on the spot. Xue Jianming was plainly provoking him; had he not been mindful of his station as the sect uncle leading the delegation, he would long since have struck out and taught the fellow a lesson.

At that moment Bing Wushuang, who had been standing to one side, suddenly spoke up. "I have heard it too. The vital point of Ye Luo Zhi Qiu really is at the soft spot on the flank."

Aiya! Xue Jianming nearly spat out a mouthful of old blood. He could argue stubbornly against Xin Yi'an, but he could hardly declare Bing Wushuang's words unworthy of belief as well—Bing Wushuang was one of his own.

Looking at Bing Wushuang's deadpan, corpse-like face, Xue Jianming wished he could break with the fellow on the spot. Unfortunately, he had neither the strength nor the nerve for it. After all, when it came to standing, Bing Wushuang outranked him both in the Snow Sword Sect and in the Center. So he could only shut his mouth in sullen silence.

"Now you have nothing left to say, have you?" Wei Zhao said with a faint smile.

Xue Jianming was choked speechless for a good while. Matters having come to this pass, anything more he said would be so much hot air, and he could only give a cold snort by way of tacit admission.

"Hey, just when are you going to move that hand of yours?" Duanmu Yu suddenly snorted as well.

Only then did Wei Zhao react, somewhat embarrassed. His hand had been pressed against Duanmu Yu's flank all this while. Though she carried herself with a man's bearing, she was a woman after all—and, truth be told, a fine-looking one. He hastily drew his hand back and said with an apologetic smile, "My apologies."

Any other girl in such a situation would surely have been thrown into a fit of shyness, yet Duanmu Yu seemed not to mind at all. Instead she asked curiously, "How do you know the vital point of Ye Luo Zhi Qiu's moves?"

It was no wonder that Wei Zhao and the others knew where the vital points of the Snow Sword Sect's moves lay—after all, they had Leng Leng among them. But that even she, of the Ye Spirit Sect, should know them inside and out was rather baffling. Wei Zhao, after all, was a man of the secular world.

"That is no wonder at all. He is our sect uncle from the Cangwu Sect of North Island. It is only natural that he should understand the circumstances of the various ancient sects," Xin Yi'an explained, stepping forward.

"Is that so?" Duanmu Yu gave Wei Zhao a half-believing look and said nothing more.

After this little disturbance, the trial tournament went on. Xue Jianming, having just been given a bloody nose by Wei Zhao, turned right around and unleashed his full might in his match, battering his opponent to within an inch of his life with a single move—plainly using the man as a whipping boy for his temper.

As a result, the ranks of Heaven-rank great-perfection disciples now included one more severely injured contender out of the running, leaving only six in all. But this was only to be expected; as the tournament wore on, such cases would only grow more frequent.

Soon, once the Foundation Establishment great-perfection disciples had finished, it was the turn of the peak-stage late Foundation Establishment disciples. Although the most talked-about figure, Ling Tianyou, had already secured his trial qualification ahead of time, this bracket still had no shortage of highlights—the most eye-catching of which was none other than Leng Leng, who had broken through and advanced mid-match in the previous round.

As it happened, Leng Leng this time drew a disciple of the Cangwu Sect of North Island: Lie Yingzu. Though for Xin Yi'an's sake he was not the delegation's leading senior brother, among all the Cangwu Sect disciples on this training expedition he ranked as the strongest.

Looking at Lie Yingzu standing across from Leng Leng, Xin Yi'an could not help shaking his head again. The leading senior brothers of other sects might not be heaven-sent geniuses, but most were at least fine hands at the great-perfection stage of Foundation Establishment. Not so his own Cangwu Sect of North Island—this one looked utterly unremarkable and inconspicuous even among the peak-stage late Foundation Establishment bracket. It was enough to make one's heart ache.

Here's hoping the fellow does not disgrace the Cangwu Sect of North Island! Xin Yi'an smiled bitterly to himself. Lie Yingzu had won his last match, true, but against an opponent at the very bottom of the field he had managed only a narrow victory—a thoroughly mediocre result.

He was the Cangwu Sect of North Island's number one disciple! If he failed to win three matches and was knocked out of the tournament in the end, the shame would be enormous—and even Xin Yi'an, the delegation's sect uncle, would lose face along with him.

Especially now: this was only his second match, but his opponent was Leng Leng, fresh from a breakthrough and still far from having consolidated her strength. By any reasonable reckoning he ought to win handily. If he lost even this, it would be more than a public laughingstock—his whole future prospects would be in doubt.

"Please." Lie Yingzu's expression was extremely grave. To outsiders this was no more than an ordinary match; at most it was notable because of Leng Leng. Few could appreciate the immense pressure weighing on him. Even Xin Yi'an merely worried that he would bring disgrace on the sect—only he himself knew just how crushing the pressure was.

To him, this was a match that concerned his future and his fate, a crucial duel he absolutely could not afford to lose.

"Please." Leng Leng was slightly taken aback. The trial tournament did determine qualification for the ancient trial, but in essence it was not a particularly important contest; ordinarily, simply handling it properly was enough. Someone as grimly prepared as Lie Yingzu was a rare sight.

Still, Lie Yingzu's attitude did put considerable pressure on her. After all, she had only just broken through; far from consolidating her strength, she had not even fully adapted to the power of the peak stage of late Foundation Establishment. Facing Lie Yingzu now, strictly speaking, she was the one at a disadvantage.

Infected by the two of them, the atmosphere in the whole arena began to grow tense. The murmur of voices gradually died down, and all eyes fixed on Leng Leng and Lie Yingzu. One and all found themselves silently speculating: which of these two would strike first?

By rights, in a match like this it was usually the stronger side that struck first, seizing the initiative to gain the upper hand. Yet Lie Yingzu, looking as though he faced a mighty foe, went so far as to take up a defensive stance first—a break with all precedent that left every jaw hanging.

Wasn't this fellow being a bit too cautious? The crowd exchanged glances. And while they were still dazed, Leng Leng's figure stirred in the arena—she, on the contrary, was the first to go on the offensive.

Disciples of the Ancient Snow Sword Sect generally favored the sword, though some chose sabers, spears, and the like. Leng Leng, however, was an oddity: to this day she had never trained in any weapon, and her sole means of combat was close-quarters hand-to-hand fighting.

This was not some deliberate effort on her part to be different, but purely her master's arrangement. Her very foundation lay in her Shattered Ice constitution, and until she had fully mastered the powers of that constitution, rashly training in any weapon would be akin to pulling up seedlings to help them grow—and might even lead her astray. (To be continued.)