Mountains and rivers bear witness, old fires rekindled Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Grand Competition Begins

On Lingwu Street, the walls were plastered with notices. For the past few days, Chen Zhiming had not been selling his paintings but was instead wholly focused on preparing for the grand competition. A month earlier, Mo Yinzhi and Lu Fengjun, the two young women he had befriended over the past two months, had both departed in haste, citing urgent matters at home. After seeing them off, Chen Zhiming devoted himself entirely to his preparations.

During their time in Lingwu, the two women had not observed any signs of the county-level competition, which left them suspicious. Then, one day a month ago, a woman in a blue dress appeared and took Mo Yinzhi as her disciple, permitting her to formally acknowledge her as master only after the competition. Since this woman’s arrival, Chen Zhiming had not seen the disheveled man for over a month—not that he particularly longed for the eccentric uncle, but the absence did strike him as odd.

Three days before the competition, the prefecture sent envoys to each county to collect the final candidates—the top three from each. Alongside Chen Zhiming, two others represented Lingwu. After he boarded the carriage, it traveled some distance before stopping by a residence to collect the second candidate; the two of them rode separately, and Chen Zhiming had no intention of seeking out the other.

The carriage pressed on, stopping only once more at a dilapidated house to pick up the third, then headed straight for the prefectural city. Night had already fallen by the time they arrived. They were escorted to the reception quarters, where each was shown to a private room, and none knew the identities or even the genders of the others, for Chen Zhiming had arrived last.

At midnight, unable to sleep, Chen Zhiming leaned by the window, lost in thought beneath the moonlight. The endless night cast a silver frost across his brow.

Sleep eluded him entirely, and morning found him early in the courtyard, admiring the tasteful arrangements. He settled briefly in a pavilion, savoring the quiet pleasures of life—chief among them, tranquility.

A girl, perhaps ten years old, dressed in a simple pale-pink gown, approached. On seeing Chen Zhiming, her delicate yet youthful face blossomed with a sweet, clear smile. “Hello there,” she greeted, her voice as crisp and melodious as a lark’s. Even Chen Zhiming was momentarily captivated—not by any improper thought, but simply charmed by her innocence, so much so that he forgot to respond.

The girl seemed unbothered and quietly took a seat nearby, her eyes fixed intently upon Chen Zhiming. He snapped to attention, somewhat embarrassed, and awkwardly adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry,” he offered hastily.

She shook her head, unconcerned, and turned her gaze toward the scenery outside the pavilion. Seeing she had no desire to converse further, Chen Zhiming withdrew his attention and fell into silent contemplation.

Suddenly, a voice called out, “Young Sir.” Chen Zhiming started and turned to the girl. “Are you speaking to me?” he asked.

She smiled meaningfully, her finger tapping lightly on the armrest. Suddenly, a strange gust of wind swirled up, sending a flurry of leaves straight towards Chen Zhiming. Yet just as the leaves were about to reach him, an odd force emanated from his body, halting the leaves in midair before they drifted gently to the ground. Chen Zhiming was none the wiser, supposing it to be nothing more than a capricious breeze.

The girl cast him a sidelong glance, an enigmatic glint in her eyes, but smiled and said, “It seems there are only the two of us here, don’t you think?”

Chen Zhiming understood, but replied with feigned ignorance, “There’s no shortage of young gentlemen or prodigies in this world. I’m not sure which one you mean.”

Seeing him play dumb, the girl stood and said languidly, “It doesn’t matter whether you admit it or not. Out of kindness, I’ll give you a warning—not everyone is as friendly as I am. There are those who already harbor resentment towards you.”

With that, she glanced toward a certain room, then turned to Chen Zhiming, who was still bewildered, and whispered, “I’m looking forward to the surprises you’ll bring to the competition. Many are bound for trouble, I imagine.” She left without another word, leaving Chen Zhiming alone and unsettled in the pavilion.

Once her figure disappeared, a window in one of the rooms quietly closed.

At that moment, Chen Zhiming’s expression grew serious, entirely different from before. Now, he could sense the slightest movements within several hundred miles, yet when this girl had appeared, he hadn’t detected a thing. In fact, he had sensed a boy spying through a second-floor window, but not the girl’s arrival at all.

Recently, aside from the elusive uncle, whom he could sometimes sense and sometimes not, he had managed to monitor nearly everyone else in Lingwu. However, his perception was limited to external movements—he could not probe deeper.

The next day, more people arrived at the reception quarters. Though also in their early teens, their sturdy builds marked them as martial artists. Chen Zhiming observed them from his window, slightly puzzled. At that moment, the window next door slid open, and the girl from yesterday poked her head out. He was surprised to learn she was his neighbor and that he had been wholly unaware.

She explained as she watched the newcomers, “This competition among the three counties includes both literary and martial contests. Of course, scholars and warriors have always been at odds, which only heightens tensions between them. Best keep your distance.”

“Are they strong?” Chen Zhiming asked, confused.

She scoffed, “They’re just a bunch of unremarkable kids. Compared to true experts, they’re nothing.”

Chen Zhiming silently mocked her—she spoke as if she herself weren’t a child. “But they’re the best in their counties. If they’re not considered experts, then who is?”

She explained further, “Let’s not mention others. In our age group, there are the Three Paragons of the Capital, Chen Wuya—first disciple of Tianlin City, Lin Ruoxi—young lord of Wanhua City, and Ling Yun—heir of Sword Rain City. Any one of them could defeat these boys with ease.”

Chen Zhiming nodded, half understanding, and then, almost unwittingly, asked, “And what about you?”

The girl smiled sheepishly. “I’m here for the literary competition. What do you think?”

Sensing her reluctance, Chen Zhiming wisely asked no more, though he now had a clearer picture of martial cultivation.

Seeing his confusion, the girl’s playful spirit was stirred. She turned and teased, “If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me. But of course, you’ll have to offer me something in return.”

Chen Zhiming hesitated. “What kind of reward?”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you. I just want you to paint a portrait of me.”

“That’s all?” Chen Zhiming regarded her uncertainly.

“That’s all,” she replied earnestly.

Seeing she was sincere, Chen Zhiming agreed. “Fine, but you’ll have to wait until after the competition. As you can see, I didn’t bring anything with me.”

She smiled and nodded, then rested her chin in her hand, gazing at the treetops, her voice still somewhat childlike. “Ask whatever you want to know.”

Encouraged, Chen Zhiming asked all the questions that had been troubling him. “How are the levels in martial arts divided?”

The girl patiently explained, “There are eight realms in martial arts. First is the Initiate level—that’s those noisy boys downstairs.” She pointed to the muscular youths squabbling below.

“Next is the Acquired level. For ordinary people, it takes diligent study and practice to reach this stage. Beyond that is the Innate level. Some prodigies are born as Innate experts, creating a huge gap. Generally, until an Acquired expert becomes Innate, they cannot match those born with it, though there are exceptions. Once an Acquired expert breaks through, they’re usually stronger than ordinary Innates—again, barring exceptions.

“After that comes the Master level, which you might reach after accumulating experience as an Acquired or Innate expert. But Masters are rare—among a thousand martial artists, perhaps only twenty will achieve it. Beyond that is the Transcendent realm, where the practitioner returns to simplicity and nature. Such experts are one in a hundred, true elites, each a leader of a sect or guild.

“Then there’s the Hall level—only a handful exist in each nation. Across three nations and the outer territories, fewer than a hundred in total. If Transcendents are iron, Hall-level experts are refined steel. The Hall level is further divided into Outer Hall and True Hall, with a vast gulf between them.”

“That’s all?” Chen Zhiming inquired.

“Of course not,” she replied with a sidelong glance. “There’s another realm—the Unity of Heaven and Man, where the path merges with nature itself. This is the legendary level, encountered perhaps once in a thousand years, one in hundreds of millions. At this height, a single thought can slay an enemy from a thousand miles. For swordsmen, it is said they can unleash their blade across ten thousand miles, cleaving rivers, seas, and mountains with a stroke. Of course, these are just legends. And beyond legend, there is one more level.”

“What level is that?”

“Divinity,” she pronounced each syllable with the gravity of a thousand weights.

“Divinity?” Chen Zhiming looked on, full of anticipation.

“Yes. The so-called Divinity—even the ancestral founder who created martial arts a millennium ago only glimpsed its threshold at the moment of his passing. This level is known from the records of his disciples alone. For centuries, none—even the most gifted heroes—have ever touched that door. All that remains are the few words left by the founder’s chief disciple in the ancient texts:

…As my master’s vitality waned, he gathered his disciples to impart his last instructions. Thereafter, he ascended to the summit of Xiushan, seated himself atop the clouds, and beheld a flock of cranes rising to the heavens. Deeply moved, he pointed from the cloud’s edge—and a hundred thousand miles away, the mountains and rivers shattered in an instant. Such was his godlike might. After that single gesture, his strength was spent and he passed away. Thus was this realm named Divinity, to be remembered by all future generations…