Volume One: The Palace of Celestial Clouds Chapter Forty: The Gathering Begins

Chapter Forty: The Grand Assembly Begins

The sky was vast and blue, with a gentle breeze drifting by. Majestic mountains soared straight into the clouds, their peaks wrapped in swirling violet mist—this was Cloud Veil Immortal Mountain. Among the surrounding ranges, it stood like a sovereign, a king among kings; from its summit, immortals could gaze down upon the entire miniature world of the Immortal Realm.

At this moment, more than three hundred immortals of the Cloud Veil Immortal Palace had gathered atop the mountain at the Sword Training Plaza. The first event of the grand assembly was to select ten outstanding disciples from within the palace itself, so naturally every member had to be present.

Seeing that the appointed time had arrived, the Cloud Veil Immortal cleared his throat and spoke, “Everyone, I now declare the grand assembly of the Immortal Palace officially begun!”

No sooner had his voice faded than the three hundred young men and women surrounding the plaza burst out in enthusiastic cheers. In truth, such grand events brought the disciples the greatest joy. Cultivation was endlessly monotonous and tedious, every day a repetition of the last. These disciples, in the mortal world, would be considered youths in the bloom of spring—how could they willingly endure such a life day after day? Collective activities like this were a welcome diversion. They could witness others’ strength, test their own cultivation against their peers, discover their weaknesses and strengths, and thus gain much benefit for their own progress.

“Now, first I must know which of you are qualified to participate in the Immortal Palace assembly. As is known, this star region is managed by sixteen Immortal Palaces. The future of each palace depends on its most outstanding disciples. Therefore, the elders and I must determine who among you truly possess the strength to be called outstanding disciples. Only ten will be chosen, meaning each of you has but a one-in-thirty chance to stand out and advance to the competition between the best disciples of every palace!” Though the Cloud Veil Immortal’s voice was not loud, it carried clearly to every disciple.

Zhou Hao stood quietly among the crowd. Many disciples glanced his way, for in their eyes, he was a certain contender for the top ten. Nor was he alone: Yu Nan and Su Qing, the two most popular beauties, were the focus of many gazes, as was Fei Ling, who had once fiercely battled Zhou Hao. Though Fei Ling had lost to him, his true strength was undeniable, so the top ten was not out of reach for him.

Yet at this moment, there was one person who puzzled all the disciples—Nangong Ying, the eldest and biological son of Nangong Xun. When Zhou Hao had first arrived at Cloud Veil, Yu Nan tried to trouble him, but Su Qing intervened. Yu Nan then called upon her senior brother, but even he could not match Su Qing. Now, after thirty years in seclusion, Nangong Ying had returned, clearly aiming for the great immortal cave. Where had his strength reached?

Thirty years might seem brief, but for Nangong Ying, whose father was a master of alchemy, his progress was swift and remarkable. None dared underestimate him. Even if Su Qing had defeated him before, who could say how the outcome would be if they met again?

In the front row, Nangong Ying stood clad in white, his face cold and indifferent. Handsome and of medium build, he carried an air of gentleness and refinement, much like his father.

“The first round will be an elimination match. Three hundred disciples will face each other in pairs, for two rounds, leaving seventy-five. The numbers on your robes now come into play: Number One faces Number Three Hundred, Number Two faces Number Two Hundred and Ninety-Nine, and so on until Number One Hundred and Fifty faces Number One Hundred and Fifty-One. This round tests your individual combat ability. Let the contest for the top ten begin!” The Cloud Veil Immortal swept his gaze across the plaza.

At his words, the disciples eagerly sought out their numbered opponents. Each had a number on their right chest, and their formation was arranged from one to three hundred, making it easy to find their rivals.

Zhou Hao was Number Ninety-Nine, facing Number Two Hundred and Two. They exchanged respectful bows and immediately launched into battle. Brilliant immortal lights burst forth, dazzling as fireworks.

Swords flashed, cold and sharp, colliding in midair with ringing chimes. Before long, Number Two Hundred and Two was easily defeated by Zhou Hao. Although they only clashed blades, the true contest lay in the depth of their immortal power—and Zhou Hao, with merely a century of cultivation, prevailed.

Elsewhere, Su Qing, Yu Nan, Nangong Ying, and others similarly dispatched their opponents with ease. For them, these battles were mere warm-ups.

With the start of the second round, only half the original three hundred remained. The Sword Training Plaza sparkled with myriad colors; as the rounds progressed, the strengths of both sides became more evenly matched, battles lasted longer, and the contests of spells became ever more thrilling.

“Elder Yun Fang, your disciple truly impresses. In just thirty years, he’s achieved such progress. In the first round, he faced a promising disciple under Elder Nangong, and swordplay is all about one's own immortal power. He defeated his opponent without effort!” An elder, who was on good terms with Yun Fang, praised Zhou Hao.

“You flatter me. Zhou Hao is as sensible as Yu Yang. As his master, having such a disciple is enough to content me for the rest of my days!” Yun Fang watched Zhou Hao in the arena with deep satisfaction.

Soon, the second round concluded, leaving seventy-five disciples. Victors wore confident smiles, while losers grinned ruefully, though no one much cared. The strong earned their flowers and applause—they had proven themselves.

“Excellent! Now for the second stage: groups of five will compete until only twenty remain. You must draw lots from this box. There are seventy-five red wax pellets, each numbered from one to thirteen—five pellets per number. Those with the same number form a group. This round tests your teamwork! Remember, if any member of your group is eliminated, the entire group is eliminated. Thus, you must fight not only for yourselves but for your teammates as well!” With these words, the Cloud Veil Immortal produced a wooden box from thin air, flicking it so it landed before the seventy-five disciples.

The disciples tensed at the announcement. Five-on-five demanded unity; self-preservation alone would not suffice—they had to ensure their teammates survived. Some, thinking quickly, realized that if they simply defeated the weakest member of the opposing group, victory would be theirs.

They stepped forward to draw lots. Soon, each held a vermilion wax pellet; opening them revealed a slip of paper with their group number, and so those sharing the same number immediately gathered together.

“Nine? Ah, I’m fated with Nine today—three rounds and all with Nine!” Zhou Hao murmured to himself, looking at his slip.

“Huh? You’re Nine? I’m Three. Let’s hope we don’t meet!” Cao Shuang glanced at Zhou Hao’s paper, worried.

“The palace master said only twenty will remain, meaning eleven groups will be eliminated and only four will advance. Don’t worry, yours will be one of them!” Zhou Hao flashed a bright smile, patting Cao Shuang’s shoulder and gesturing for him to look at someone.

“Su Qing? She’s Number Three too?” Cao Shuang’s eyes widened as he gazed at her graceful, slender figure, feeling a surge of confidence.

“Then what’s there to fear? Even if Nangong Ying comes, he won’t dare compete with our group. Hahaha…” A moment ago, Cao Shuang was anxious, now he boasted loudly.

“This guy changes his tune faster than flipping a page,” Zhou Hao thought, sweating inwardly.

“Zhou Hao, we’re in the same group! Aren’t you happy?” Suddenly, a tall figure bounced over to Zhou Hao, her honeyed voice making everyone nearby start in surprise.

“Ha—happy! Very happy!” Zhou Hao nearly jumped at Yu Nan’s sudden appearance and playful demeanor. For someone with her regal features to act cute, the effect was almost surreal.

Not far off, Nangong Ying and Cheng Yan were furious. The former managed to restrain his anger, but the latter ground his teeth. “Damn Zhou Hao—he can make Senior Sister Yu Nan act like that toward him. I wish I could kill him right now!”

“Don’t worry, he won’t live much longer!” Nangong Ying’s gaze was colder than ever, his hands clenched white within his sleeves.

“That’s right. He won’t have long—let him boast for a couple more days. Soon, we’ll reclaim our honor!” Cheng Yan sneered, eyes fixed on Zhou Hao.

Clang!

Swordlight flashed, thunderous in the vast plaza as seventy-five disciples began the new round. With five per group, the battles became even more spectacular. To avoid elimination, everyone had to unite against their adversaries—few could stand alone against five.

Of course, “few” meant there were still some who could, and among them, some sought to prove themselves by doing just that.

Nangong Ying, at this moment, his arms seemed cast from gold, shining brilliantly like a sun illuminating all directions. Each swing brought forth the roar of a qilin—a famous immortal martial art, the Golden Qilin Arm.

Boom!

Nangong Ying struck, his domineering fist sweeping an entire group of disciples aside. At this stage, every group was composed of fierce competitors, not easily beaten—but against Nangong Ying, they suffered a crushing defeat. All five were struck by the blow; though not killed, each was left vomiting blood and gravely wounded—truly “unable to withstand a single blow.”

Everyone knew it was not that group who was weak, but that Nangong Ying’s strength was extraordinary. Otherwise, he would not be ranked among the top three.

Yet most disciples felt Nangong Ying was too ruthless. They were fellow disciples; even to prove his post-seclusion strength, he shouldn’t have treated them as live targets.

“Haha, Elder Nangong, your son Ying’s cultivation truly advanced in this seclusion. Congratulations!” Cheng Bing flattered Elder Nangong, seated beside him.

“Not at all. Your son Yan has done well, too—two rounds passed with ease!” Nangong Xun smiled, waving his hand.

Cheng Bing chuckled, thinking: Yes, indeed—without your immortal pills, my Yan couldn’t have advanced so easily.