Volume One: The Celestial Palace of Mist Chapter Ten: The First Person

Chapter Ten: The First

A dazzling golden light burst forth from Nangong Ying's entire body, and on his right arm, a golden qilin pattern appeared—brilliant and blinding, radiating an aura of unyielding dominance. The silver sword marks that filled the surrounding air shattered like fragments of a broken mirror, dissolving into countless showers of light. Even Su Qing, dressed in snow-white robes, was forced back, her pupils narrowing sharply.

“Golden Qilin Arm!” Su Qing’s gaze was cool, her tone detached.

The others, naturally, noticed the battle raging between Nangong Ying and Su Qing, but this was the moment of a full-scale melee between both sides’ factions—who had the leisure to be distracted?

Nangong Ying’s lips curled slightly, though he said nothing. At that instant, his aura surged, a golden vortex swirling around him, its powerful field spreading wide, displaying his true might. Standing at the vortex’s heart, he was like a sovereign, his right arm shining with blinding radiance as he drove it toward Su Qing.

Boom!

Even the very air trembled. This punch was violently fierce, capable of shattering stone and metal. The fist itself hadn’t yet arrived, but the wind from it already whipped Su Qing’s pristine immortal robes. Yet she, with one hand gripping her sword, met the assault with an effortless calm.

She merely lifted her sword—forward.

The razor-sharp sword tip pointed straight at the golden fist. For a moment, all present saw gold and silver lights colliding on the field, two destructive forces poised to erupt. Their dueling ground was already saturated with pulsing energy, ready to explode at any moment.

Crash!

A terrifying storm of energy swept across the blue-brick plaza, utterly uncontrollable. The other six combatants were forced into the sky to avoid it. Sword tip met iron fist—a full-powered strike from both masters.

The silver-white sword pierced through all obstacles, the golden fist shattered every barrier. Both were offensively driven, advancing relentlessly—one a piercing thrust, the other a crushing blow.

Clang!

No one could have predicted the outcome—despite the might of their strikes, victory was undecided. They remained evenly matched: the sword tip could not pierce the fist, nor could the fist shatter the sword. The fierce battle continued unabated.

The Golden Qilin Arm was a celestial combat technique discovered by Nangong Xun, bestowing upon its wielder a body of immense power—pure, blazing, unyielding. Nangong Ying, his son, had naturally inherited this art.

The silver immortal sword in Su Qing’s hand was no ordinary weapon either. Forged from the highest-grade starlit silver of the Immortal Domain, it was utterly indestructible.

Gusts of fist wind and waves of energy rippled like tides. At this moment, Nangong Ying was enveloped entirely in golden light, his true form obscured, his golden fist overwhelmingly fierce. The plaza rumbled as if thunder struck, though it was only the sound of his blows.

Meanwhile, Su Qing stood alone with her sword, holding the Golden Qilin Arm at bay. Her silver blade swept arcs of dazzling light—sword beams that could pierce mountains and rivers, trailing like meteor tails across the sky. Above her, it seemed as if a meteor shower was descending, beautiful and resplendent, transforming the battlefield into something almost romantic.

“An immortal maiden, indeed—even the fiercest battle becomes a vision of beauty and romance in her hands!”

Cao Shuang was the most relaxed at this moment. Cheng Yan, his opponent, could hardly last a few rounds against him. Though this chubby fellow was not fond of sword practice, his cultivation was genuine—just a notch below the three prodigies of Yunmiao.

“Senior Sister, you know I’ve not even cultivated as long as you’ve slept for a night—do you really think I have the slightest chance of beating you? Could you maybe give me a few pointers?” Zhou Hao was utterly spineless at this point. He, along with five others, was fighting in the air (the ground was too dangerous). Opposite him was Xiao Shanshan, petite and adorable, yet wielding her immortal arts with flawless skill. His own amateurish spells were already overwhelmed.

“So you’re saying I’m lazy and love to sleep?” the girl retorted with a roll of her eyes.

“Huh? Senior Sister, how could you think that? My admiration for you is as boundless as the Yangtze, unending, as uncontrollable as the Yellow River in flood. How could I say such a thing? You’ve misunderstood me. I just wanted you to guide me, since beating me is hardly an achievement—I’m so weak!” Zhou Hao, desperate to save his life, had forgotten all dignity.

“Hmph, I’ve heard enough of your flattery to last a lifetime. Boring. Let’s keep fighting—don’t stop!” But Xiao Shanshan was unmoved. With a flick of her slender hand, a bolt of lightning struck.

“You…!” Zhou Hao was speechless—this little imp was cunning indeed!

The lightning struck Zhou Hao squarely on the lips. Instantly, his mouth swelled like a sausage, his hair stood on end, and smoke rose from his head. For a moment, he stood dazed, frozen.

Xiao Shanshan burst into peals of laughter at the sight.

“You little brat—you can hit me, you can beat me, but you mustn’t trample on my dignity as an immortal!” Zhou Hao managed to mumble, once his lips could move again.

“Oh, I’m trampling on it—and I’m not done yet! What will you do about it?” she replied.

With a thud, Xiao Shanshan’s right foot landed squarely on Zhou Hao’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Zhou Hao was on the verge of tears. He swore that, given even a hundred years, he would strive with all his might to reach the level of Cao Shuang or even Yu Nan, rather than be bullied by a seemingly harmless, adorable little immortal.

“You keep calling me a brat. I just want to stay this way—what’s it to you?” Xiao Shanshan shouted, her voice deliberately pushing Zhou Hao to his limits.

“Get your stinky foot off!”

Slap, slap...

“Senior Sister, please take your foot off!”

Slap, slap...

“You little brat, don’t refuse a toast... Ptooey, where are you stepping?!”

Slap, slap...

“Help!”

Zhou Hao felt all his dignity vanish. Xiao Shanshan was relentless, stomping his face, grinding her foot in for good measure. The pain was excruciating—his previously fair face now a patchwork of red footprints, burning with pain.

“Why aren’t you yelling? Doesn’t it hurt? Then I’ll step harder!” Xiao Shanshan wondered, seeing Zhou Hao only staring at her with wide eyes, silent.

Her delicate foot still trampled his face, but Zhou Hao, though in agony, had grown numb to the outrage.

What else could he do? If the pain wouldn’t kill him, he’d just let it hurt.

“So boring, not fun at all. I’m done!” Finally, Xiao Shanshan relented.

Zhou Hao reflexively blinked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but Xiao Shanshan caught it instantly.

“Oh, so you were just pretending not to hurt! Trying to fool me? Take this!”

As if inspired by some mysterious power, Xiao Shanshan went wild, stomping everywhere except his lower body, even flipping him over to trample what little dignity he had left.

Before long, everyone on the field had witnessed Zhou Hao’s unique predicament. Some prayed he wouldn’t die too quickly (so the fun would last), some cheered for Xiao Shanshan, others encouraged Zhou Hao to hold on, while some waved their arms for Xiao Shanshan.

“Buddy, you’ve suffered enough—Big Brother’s coming to save you!” Cao Shuang, seeing Zhou Hao’s humiliation, leapt into action.

“Let go of that handsome guy, beauty!” Cao Shuang shouted.

“Are you sure this pig-head, who looks just like you, is handsome?” Xiao Shanshan retorted, as Cao Shuang arrived.

There was nothing left of Zhou Hao’s once delicate looks—his face was swollen, covered in footprints, eyes barely open, looking exactly like a pig’s head.

“Little Sister Xiao, how could you be so ruthless? My friend is new here and has fallen under your wicked foot—if word gets out, it’ll ruin your adorable, kind reputation!” Cao Shuang couldn’t bear to look, covering his eyes.

“Well, I’m tired of playing anyway. I’ll let him off,” Xiao Shanshan said, stepping away.

“Wonderful! Immortal Xiao, you truly live up to your name—so lovable and kind, a heroine among women!” Cao Shuang, picking up Zhou Hao, couldn’t resist flattering her.

Soon, the aerial battles concluded: Cao Shuang defeated Cheng Yan, Xiao Shanshan triumphed over Zhou Hao, and Wen Yuan was vanquished by Yu Nan.

On the plaza stage, the two strongest combatants still clashed furiously. Nangong Ying’s hair was sheathed in gold, his body robust, his fighting spirit ablaze. He seemed like the Sun’s own child, his entire body a blazing golden light, his right arm shining like a sun, each ray more than Zhou Hao could withstand—the true power of a master!

But by now, victory would soon be decided. On the Immortal Hall above, three temple masters watched in silence, awaiting the final result. They all wished to know—who would be recognized as number one in Yunmiao?

Zheng!

Sword radiance layered a thousandfold; Su Qing remained serene, her expression natural. She unleashed a killing move, splitting into eight avatars, each wielding a sword, surrounding Nangong Ying. He, eyes cold, his body glowing with immortal light, responded with a final attack, his right arm trembling with power, clearly using his full strength.

Boom!

Eight figures struck in unison at Nangong Ying, who raised his fist to meet them. The sound shook the plaza, endless beams of energy blanketing the blue-stone arena so thoroughly the watching disciples below could no longer see what transpired.

“The number one in Yunmiao has emerged, just as I expected,” the Immortal atop the temple nodded.

“After today’s battle, these disciples should settle down and prepare for the grand tournament thirty years hence,” Cao Mengda said with a smile.

Below, on the blue-brick plaza—

Within the obscured battleground, a solitary figure began to walk out. At first, the shape was indistinct, but soon, a graceful silhouette came into view. Only then did the disciples realize—and it seemed only natural.

Clad in fluttering white, sword in hand, Su Qing stood quietly. The crowd, eager for the outcome, held their breath, making the scene even more silent and vast.

“Oh! It’s Immortal Su Qing—she’s won, just as I said! Look!”

“Immortal Su Qing, my goddess, you truly are perfection!”

“Flowers blooming on the moor, jade-like beauty—Immortal Su Qing is unrivaled in all the world!”

“Immortal Su Qing, I love you…”

The quiet was soon shattered by the fervor of countless young disciples. At this moment, the lady in white on the field was nothing short of a goddess, revered and adored by all.

In stark contrast, Nangong Ying still lay on the plaza, sprawled on the blue stones, several sword wounds on his body, eyes wide and dazed, the qilin pattern gone from his right arm. He lay motionless, utterly defeated.

“Congratulations, Senior Sister—you are now truly the first among Yunmiao!” Wen Yuan strode over to Su Qing.

Su Qing walked gracefully toward Yu Nan and the others. Cao Shuang and Zhou Hao were also there—Zhou Hao, back to his original appearance, wore a look of deep frustration: to be so bullied by that little imp was truly intolerable!

So, as Su Qing approached, Zhou Hao could not help but glare daggers at Xiao Shanshan, wishing his eyes could dissect her on the spot to vent his anger.

“Junior Sister Yu, I have a request—will you agree?” Su Qing asked, looking at Yu Nan.

To be questioned by a woman even more beautiful and poised than herself, Yu Nan was visibly flustered.

“What is it?” she faltered.

“From now on, please don’t trouble Zhou Hao any further.” Su Qing’s words were calm and natural.

Yet, as these words reached everyone’s ears, they ignited a thousand speculations. If Su Qing speaking to Zhou Hao had caused little stir, her making a request of Yu Nan on his behalf was truly significant!

Yu Nan paused for several seconds before replying, “Ah, alright, I promise.” But as soon as she spoke, she wanted to slap herself—what a foolish answer! Promise? Promise what? Why should I listen to her?

“Thank you. Now, we’ll take our leave.”

Su Qing turned away, her gaze briefly meeting Zhou Hao’s. He, still perplexed, managed a faint smile.

Mist swirled as the lady in white and her sisters soared into the sky, vanishing from the longing eyes of countless onlookers.

“Let’s get out of here, buddy, or we’re going to get mobbed,” Cao Shuang whispered, grabbing Zhou Hao to flee.

“The looks from everyone are murderous—why are they all staring at me? I don’t even know what’s going on!” Zhou Hao was terrified; three hundred disciples seemed ready to pounce on him.

“Heh, everyone, enjoy yourselves! We’ll be going now!”

As Zhou Hao and Cao Shuang waved goodbye, the crowd’s glare grew even sharper—like knives. Both knew they could not linger here any longer.