By the time the morning light had fully spread, the snow in the arena had already been cleared.
The bluish stone slabs lay bare, and those dark stains that would not wash away stood especially clear in the daylight.
Bai Heng squatted on the windowsill, her gaze sweeping over those stains, then moving away.
That was blood.
It had seeped into the seams of the stone, stained them for many years, and would not come out.
The stands were packed.
A dark mass of people stretched from the bottom tier all the way to the top, like an ant nest stacked layer upon layer.
Human voices buzzed.
Mixed together, one could not make out what was being said, but that restless air drifted over from the stands and struck the face like a heat wave.
Bai Heng swept a circle with her Heavenly Fox True Pupils.
The people in the stands came in every shape.
There were wealthy merchants in brocade robes, martial artists of steady build, women holding children, old men leaning on canes.
The same expression sat on their faces: excitement, anticipation, and that hunger that could not quite be named.
They had not come merely to watch a contest.
They had come even more to watch blood and death.
The private box sat at the exact center of the third level.
The view was excellent, facing that stretch of bluish stone at the heart of the arena.
Qin Yun stood at the window, his hand on the sill, knuckles bent naturally.
Zhang Zheng stood beside him, arms folded, gaze calm.
Zhou An and Liu Qing stood behind them and said nothing.
Above the stands opposite, there was a specially built platform.
That was the presiding officials’ place.
Several people already stood on it, wearing official robes, sabers and swords at their waists, expressions solemn.
Due north of the arena was a higher stand, screened off by curtains, the inside unclear.
Bai Heng’s gaze swept over.
The Heavenly Fox True Pupils turned, and the scene behind the curtains came clear.
A middle-aged man sat at the exact center, wearing a dark dragon robe, his face square, a measure of majesty between his brows.
Several attendants stood beside him, along with two old men of deep, heavy auras who ought to be guards.
The emperor of Pu Kingdom, Li Hongwei.
Bai Heng withdrew her gaze and swept toward the other side.
On the eastern stands, three seats stood especially conspicuous.
Three people sat separately, and those around them kept a clear distance.
One was an old man in a white Daoist robe, lean-faced, eyes closed, as if in meditation.
One was a middle-aged woman in a cyan long shirt, her hair gathered in a Daoist bun, a short sword hanging at her waist.
There was also a bald monk in a gray kasaya, a string of prayer beads around his neck, fingers turning them one by one.
The representatives of the Three Great Sects.
Bai Heng glanced at them and withdrew her gaze.
None of the three had low cultivation.
At least Golden Core and above.
She did not want to look longer.
She did not want to draw any unnecessary notice.
The presiding official walked to the front of the platform, unrolled a scroll of yellow silk in his hands, and cleared his throat.
“Honored guests—”
His voice was not loud, but through the arena’s special architecture it was amplified, reaching every ear with perfect clarity.
The stands quieted for an instant, then stirred again.
“Today is the seventh of the twelfth month, the year’s-end deathmatches! As customary, ten matches.”
He unrolled the yellow silk and began to read.
“First match, man against beast!”
“Gladiator, Zhao Wujiu. Martial Way Grandmaster, mid-stage Meridian Opening. Condemned to death for rebellion against superiors. By Pu law, three deathmatches. Win all three and the death sentence may be pardoned. Today is his third.”
Bai Heng’s ears twitched slightly.
A burst of discussion exploded from the stands.
Clearly this man was not small in name in Pu Kingdom.
“Demon beast, Iron-Back Gray Wolf. Second-tier, late-stage Qi Refining strength. Captured from the deep mountains of Lan Province, not yet tamed.”
Lan Province.
Bai Heng’s gaze paused slightly.
He meant Lan Province of Li Kingdom, the place she had passed heading south from the cave at the start.
A wolf from Lan Province, caught and brought to Pu Kingdom, set in an arena for people to kill.
And she, a fox from Lan Province, was dressed as a cat on the stands, watching a “fellow provincial” fight to the death.
It truly was a strange twist of fate.
A low cry rose from the stands.
The Iron-Back Gray Wolf’s name was not small.
A second-tier demon beast, late-stage Qi Refining strength, fast, claws and fangs sharp, the stiff hair on its back able to turn aside ordinary blades.
Whether a mid-stage Meridian Opening Martial Way Grandmaster could beat it was hard to say.
On the south side of the arena, an iron gate slowly rose.
A middle-aged man walked out from behind the gate, dressed in black fighting clothes, a long saber at his waist.
His hair was slightly graying, a scar on his face running from forehead all the way to chin.
His stride was very steady.
Every step landed solid.
Bai Heng watched him, Heavenly Fox True Pupils sweeping his body.
The fluctuation of inner force was not strong, but it was very condensed, as if it had been compressed.
There were several hidden injuries in the meridians.
Not severe, but left to accumulate they would become a problem.
She withdrew her gaze and said nothing more.
The iron gate on the north side rose as well.
The sound of dragging chains echoed through the arena.
Behind the gate it was pitch black.
Nothing could be seen.
Then two green lamps lit in the dark.
They were eyes.
One pair, then two more pairs, three pairs, many pairs.
Bai Heng’s tail swayed slightly.
Beside her, Qin Yun’s fingers began to tap lightly on the windowsill.
He had hunted.
He knew perfectly well what that situation meant.
The Iron-Back Gray Wolves were not one.
They were a pack.
When the iron gate had risen fully, the people in the stands saw clearly.
Seven wolves, a circle larger than ordinary wolves, coats iron-gray, the stiff hair along their spines standing like steel needles.
They crowded at the gate, green eyes fixed on the black-clothed man in the field, low whimpers in their throats.
The presiding official’s voice rose again.
“Seven. One second-tier, six first-tier. Life and death disregarded, methods unrestricted. Whoever lives to the end wins.”
The stir in the stands grew larger.
Seven wolves.
One second-tier, six first-tier.
Second-tier equaled late-stage Qi Refining.
First-tier equaled early-to-mid Qi Refining.
A mid-stage Meridian Opening Martial Way Grandmaster’s combat strength barely matched late-stage Qi Refining.
One against seven, the odds were not good, but probably because of Zhao Wujiu’s name the spectators still held some expectation.
Zhao Wujiu stood at the center of the field and did not move.
He glanced at those wolves, then at the presiding official on the stands.
Then he drew the saber at his waist.
The blade was snow-white, gleaming cold in the morning light.
He set the saber across in front of him, the edge toward those wolves.
The wolves did not pounce at once.
They spread out, forming a half circle, trapping Zhao Wujiu in the middle.
The second-tier alpha stood at the very back, green eyes fixed on him, unmoving.
Zhao Wujiu moved.
He charged the nearest wolf on the left.
The saber light flashed.
That wolf did not even have time to cry out before it was split in two.
Blood splashed on the bluish slabs, especially glaring in the morning light.
The remaining wolves backed a few steps.
The alpha howled, and they all closed in again.
Zhao Wujiu let out a great shout and advanced once more with his saber.
The man-and-wolf battle unfolded in full, and wave after wave of sound burst from the stands all around.
Bai Heng watched the fighting in the field, her gaze calm.
Zhao Wujiu’s saber work was clean.
There were no extra movements.
Every cut went for a vital point.
But his inner force was spent very quickly.
After a few cuts, his breathing was already disordered.
Those wolves did not meet him head-on.
They circled him, pouncing in the gaps when he struck, biting once and running.
One wolf clamped onto his left arm.
Zhao Wujiu cut off the wolf’s head with a single stroke, but several bloody holes opened on his arm.
Blood ran down the arm and dripped onto the bluish stone.
His movements slowed.
The second-tier alpha had not moved the whole time.
It stood at the back, watching the first-tier wolves be cut dead one by one, cut wounded one by one.
It was waiting.
Waiting for his inner force to run dry.
Bai Heng looked at that alpha and thought, This wolf does not look as if it has opened spiritual intelligence, but wolves are fairly clever to begin with, and they have a measure of social nature.
They hunt in cooperation, harass and wear down.
It knows to wait until the prey is weak before pouncing.
Only three wolves remained in the field.
Zhao Wujiu was covered in blood, some his own, some the wolves’.
His left arm hung at his side and would not move, but his right hand still gripped the saber.
The alpha finally moved.
Its speed was too fast to see clearly.
Zhao Wujiu’s saber had not even been raised before it was already in front of him, biting down on his throat and dragging him to the ground.
A wave of shocked cries rose from the stands.
Zhao Wujiu struggled a few times and went still.
The alpha released its jaws, stood beside his corpse, and lifted its head in a long howl.
The howl echoed through the arena and sent a chill down the spine.
The presiding official’s voice rose.
“First match, the beasts win.”
Some in the stands cheered, some cursed, some were silent.
Bai Heng squatted on the windowsill, watching those wolves driven back behind the iron gate, watching Zhao Wujiu’s corpse dragged away.
The bloodstains on the bluish slabs were flushed with clear water.
The bloody water ran into the seams of the stone, seeped down, and vanished.
Qin Yun said softly, “The charge of rebellion against superiors. Clearly they never meant for him to live from the start. Does anyone actually get their sentence lifted by deathmatches?”
Bai Heng glanced at him.
Before she could speak, Zhang Zheng spoke first. “Young Master is thinking it too complicated. A rule that can be passed down a thousand years naturally has people who succeeded, and the difficulty is public as well. There is no shortage of condemned men willing to gamble everything.”
Qin Yun nodded and kept looking toward the field.
Second match, man against man.
“Gladiator, Zhou Huaiyuan. Martial Way Grandmaster, late-stage Meridian Opening. Condemned to death for treason. Today is his fifth deathmatch. He won the first four. If he wins this one, the death sentence may be pardoned.”
Bai Heng’s gaze fell on the man walking out from behind the iron gate.
The man was around fifty, tall of build, wearing a gray cloth long shirt, an iron spear in his hand.
The shaft was dull black, the tip snow-white, faintly gleaming with a cyan light.
His stride was very heavy.
Every step made the bluish slabs tremble slightly.
“Opponent, Pei Jinghan. Martial Way Grandmaster, peak Meridian Opening. Ranked seventeenth among Pu Kingdom’s Martial Way Grandmasters. Volunteered to fight.”
A wave of cheers rose from the stands.
Pei Jinghan’s name thundered in Pu Kingdom’s martial circles.
Seventeenth did not sound high, but anyone who could enter the top twenty was a top figure in Pu Kingdom’s martial world.
Pei Jinghan walked out from the opposite iron gate.
He wore cyan fighting clothes, a long sword at his waist.
The scabbard was black, without ornament, looking very ordinary.
His face was cold and stern, his gaze sharp as a sword edge.
He walked to the center of the field, drew the sword, and the silver-white blade flashed with cold light in the sun.
Zhou Huaiyuan gripped the iron spear tight, the tip pointing at Pei Jinghan.
“Grandmaster Pei, I have long admired you.”
Pei Jinghan did not speak.
Zhou Huaiyuan said no more and thrust the spear.
The tip carried a rush of wind straight at Pei Jinghan’s face.
Pei Jinghan sidestepped, sword light flashed, and slashed toward Zhou Huaiyuan’s wrist.
Zhou Huaiyuan withdrew the spear to block.
The sword tip struck the shaft and gave a crisp clang.
The two traded back and forth, fighting more than ten exchanges in the field.
Bai Heng watched their forms and had the measure of it.
The gap between peak Meridian Opening and late-stage Meridian Opening did not sound large, but Pei Jinghan’s sword was faster, more precise, and his inner force more enduring.
Zhou Huaiyuan’s spear work was fierce, his explosive power strong, but he could not last.
After a dozen moves, his spear lagged by half a beat.
Pei Jinghan’s sword caught that half beat.
Sword light passed through the spear shadows and pierced Zhou Huaiyuan’s chest.
Zhou Huaiyuan lowered his head to look at the sword in his chest, opened his mouth, said nothing, and fell.
The presiding official’s voice rose.
“Second match, Pei Jinghan wins.”
The cheers from the stands were deafening.
Bai Heng watched Pei Jinghan sheathe his sword and walk off the field without looking back.
His stride was still that steady.
His breathing had not even disordered.
Those who dared volunteer for deathmatches against condemned men fighting for their lives truly had some skill.
Qin Yun stood at the window, watching the whole time.
“Sister Bai Heng.”
Bai Heng’s ears twitched.
Qin Yun asked, “Peak Meridian Opening, how far is that still from early-stage Foundation Establishment?”
Bai Heng thought.
“One step. But that one step, no one has taken in more than a thousand years.”
Qin Yun nodded and said no more.
“And if you want to know the true gap in strength, those extra five immortal-versus-martial deathmatches can tell you the answer.”
Third match, man against beast.
A young man in plain cloth clothes, a short blade in his hand.
He faced a first-tier Iron-Scale Python.
The python’s body was as thick as a water bucket, its scales gleaming iron-gray in the sunlight.
The young man was agile.
He dodged left and right under the python’s attacks, found an opening, and drove the blade into the snake’s seven-inch spot.
The python struggled a few times and went still.
Cheers burst from the stands.
The young man stood beside the python’s corpse, covered in blood, gasping.
There was no smile on his face.
He only stood there, waiting for the iron gate to open.
Fourth match, man against man.
Two Martial Way Grandmasters, one with a saber, one with an axe.
The one with the axe was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, every swing carrying a rush of wind.
The one with the saber was slight of build, but the saber was very fast.
After a few exchanges, a wound opened on the axe-man’s chest, and the saber-man was struck on the shoulder by the axe.
Both were badly hurt, but neither would yield.
In the end the saber-man found a flaw in the axe-man and drove the blade into his abdomen.
The axe-man knelt on the ground.
The axe in his hand fell onto the bluish slabs with a dull thud.
The saber-man pulled the blade out and stood at the center of the field, his whole body trembling.
His shoulder was still bleeding, but he did not fall.
Fifth match, man against beast.
A middle-aged woman, her face calm, a long sword in her hand.
She faced a second-tier Crimson Flame Tiger.
The tiger’s body was scarlet, like a mass of fire.
The woman’s swordsmanship was refined, but the Crimson Flame Tiger was too fast.
A few pounces drove her into a corner.
The woman clenched her teeth and drove the sword into the Crimson Flame Tiger’s eye.
The tiger roared in pain and slammed a paw into the woman’s chest, sending her flying.
The woman struck the wall, slid down, and did not move.
The Crimson Flame Tiger also collapsed, twitched a few times, and lost its breath.
Mutual destruction.
The presiding official’s voice rose.
“Fifth match, a draw. Both perish. No winner.”
The stands were silent for an instant, then exploded into even greater uproar.
Draws were not rare in deathmatches, but they were also hard to produce in time.
Most often one died on the stage and the other failed to survive wounds after leaving it.
When both died on the stage, that was the most stimulating scene of all.
Bai Heng squatted on the windowsill, watching the workers drag away the woman’s corpse and the Crimson Flame Tiger’s.
The blood on the bluish slabs was flushed with clear water.
The bloody water ran down along the seams of the stone, who knew where it went.
Qin Yun stood at the window and had not spoken the whole time.
Zhang Zheng stood against the wall, watching the field, and shook his head slightly.
Zhou An and Liu Qing still stood behind Qin Yun and made no sound.
On the eastern stands, the representatives of the Three Great Sects still sat there.
The white-robed old Daoist still had his eyes closed.
The middle-aged woman still sat upright.
The gray-robed monk still turned his prayer beads.
They seemed completely unaware of the life and death in the field, or simply did not care.
Behind the northern curtains, Emperor Li Hongwei leaned against the back of his chair, expressionless.
An attendant handed him a cup of tea.
He took it, drank a sip, and set it down again.
Bai Heng withdrew her gaze and kept looking at the grounds below.
The sixth match was coming.