Boom!
At the very moment Lin Zhengren closed with Zhang Linchuan, about to unleash his art, Zhang Linchuan exploded.
No exaggeration, but a plain statement of fact.
Lightning that had gathered over who knows how long burst open upon his body. His hair stood on end, his frame was burned black in places, and little sparks flickered here and there.
And in the same instant, Lin Zhengren, who had pressed almost body-to-body against him, was caught in the blast as well, flung clean through the air. When he struck the ground, he twitched and shuddered.
It was the first time in all of this battle that Lin Zhengren had been reduced to such a sorry state.
The cause of it all was a single upper-grade Grade-B Dao art — Thunder Execution.
What no one had imagined was that this art's target was Zhang Linchuan himself, not Lin Zhengren.
When Lin Zhengren broke off his Grade-A art, Zhang Linchuan had never tried to hold it together. Instead, he had at once invoked the instantaneous art engraved within his Heaven-Access Palace, and directed it straight at himself.
This was unquestionably a reckless, even mad gamble. Had Lin Zhengren not chosen to press so close, or slowed by even the barest fraction, Zhang Linchuan might well have become the only cultivator in this entire Three-City Dao Debate to be felled by his own Dao art.
As luck would have it, his wager paid off, winning him that thread-thin chance of victory.
Thunder Execution wounds both parties at once, and Lin Zhengren, after all, had only newly stepped into the Sixth Rank. Zhang Linchuan, long seasoned in thunder arts, managed to shake himself free a few breaths earlier, and his hands flew through seals, determined to seize that fleeting window and finish his opponent for good.
But his face suddenly stiffened.
He found his Heaven-Access Palace utterly empty!
This art could not be completed.
It was only then that he noticed, somehow planted some five paces before him, a small, half-translucent blade of grass swaying in the breeze.
He recognized it — the Essence-Drawing Grass, a lower-grade Grade-C Dao art.
Its effect was this: within its range of influence, the consumption of Dao essence was increased.
Its flaw was this: it made no distinction between friend and foe.
Yet Lin Zhengren had already opened his Heaven-Earth Gate, replenished at every moment by the primal energies of heaven and earth. Zhang Linchuan, still barred before that gate, could fight only on the reserves of Dao essence within his Heaven-Access Palace.
One, two, three... the more Zhang Linchuan counted, the uglier his face grew. Right under his nose, Lin Zhengren had planted a full nine Essence-Drawing Grasses across the field of battle. Had Thunder Execution not interrupted, he would surely have sown more.
Clearly holding a vast advantage, with victory within easy grasp, still Lin Zhengren had buried such a scheme.
What a steady, what a careful fellow he was! Guided by nine Essence-Drawing Grasses, Zhang Linchuan's Dao essence had been drained completely dry.
That chance of victory flickered, and was gone.
Lin Zhengren shook off his daze and rose into the air.
"I concede." Zhang Linchuan rasped.
He had no path to victory left, and he would certainly not hand Lin Zhengren the chance to toy with him.
Fenglin City had missed its chance at a three-year run of champions, had surrendered the most important of all prizes — the place in the National Dao Academy.
Yet no one on the field blamed Zhang Linchuan.
To fling a Thunder Execution upon one's own body — what a savage, ruthless act that was.
And this from a fellow so jealous of his appearance and grace. To look at him now, scorched black from head to foot, who could say he had not given his all?
Even Dong A had nothing to say. He could not claim this disciple had spared himself any effort.
In truth, Zhang Linchuan had not been wholly without recourse a moment ago. Had he been willing to shatter a single Dao Spiral, he could have won a great flood of Dao essence on the spot, and used that gap to defeat Lin Zhengren. But had he done so, even in victory he would have fallen back to the Eighth Rank and remained mired there for life.
Supposing he truly entered the National Dao Academy, what would be the point?
The honor of Fenglin City's Dao Academy mattered, but he could not stake his own future on it.
The referee announced the result.
The fifth-year champion of this Three-City Dao Debate was Lin Zhengren, a cultivator of the Sixth Rank, the Dragon-Rising Realm, of the Wangjiang City Dao Academy.
Come next year, he would be a new student of the National Dao Academy, a future bright and boundless.
Fenglin City claimed two lesser championships, and so its prestige did not fall.
It was only the Sanshan City Dao Academy that returned empty-handed from all of this debate.
Jiang Wang saw how Zhao Tiehe, Yang Xingyong and the others had reddened eyes.
But this was competition.
...
Pavilion of Three Parts Fragrance.
Miaoyu stood before a mirror, using the tip of her little finger to dab on rouge with delicate care.
Behind her, an elder in black knelt in supplication, wailing: "Holy Maiden! Please, lend your hand! Otherwise our people will be killed to the last!"
"I told you long ago not to be greedy. The moment you heard of the Nether Candle you all lost your wits. Now you come begging me to act — of what use is it? The Phantom Image of the Gate of Ghosts has been sent off to the Yun Kingdom. With what am I to stand against Wei Quji?"
"We were old and muddle-headed, but the White-Bone Envoy agreed as well..."
"Ha." Miaoyu gave a smile: "Then go ask him to lend his hand."
The elder was momentarily at a loss for words, and could only knock his head against the floor.
"The moment I show myself, Wei Quji will move to bind and slay me on the spot — not to mention Dong A lurking and watching with eager eyes. We have no chance." Her voice carried a note of petulant reproach: "Was it not you who refused, back then, to leave me the Phantom Image of the Gate of Ghosts?"
The elder ground his teeth: "The White Bone Path has amassed its strength with such difficulty. Are all these fellow Daoists to die for nothing?"
"Enough, enough. Don't squabble before me. The countermove I have laid is already in place. By now, counting the time, the Nether Candle should have been smuggled out safely. As for those fellow Daoists..."
Miaoyu paused, closed the rouge box.
"Let the dead be dead."
...
For the city defenses were tight and the deployments well ordered, the sudden ripples of unrest throughout Fenglin City rose and settled in the same breath.
In the end, the news of the Nether Candle had come so suddenly that the White Bone Path had no time to prepare anything more careful before it was forced to choose. Its meaning to them was such that they could not possibly refuse — and Wei Quji and Dong A, working together, had long since laid a net spread to the heavens and the earth. The ending had been written before the beginning. Not one of the men the White Bone Path had sent this time would live.
But this is not to say the result was a settled victory, for the White Bone Path had prepared for total annihilation. So long as they snatched the Nether Candle, they would not count themselves defeated.
...
On Green Wood Avenue, the peddler with his carrying pole still ambled slowly along.
He knew this city as though he had been born and raised in it. That Wei Quji would set an ambush, he had anticipated; what he had not expected was that the assault would be so fierce, the preparations so thorough.
He understood that the fellow Daoists who had come this time were as good as dead. But he would not die. Sudden as the turn of events was, he knew this city well, and knew where the main strength of the city guard would gather once it threw itself into full deployment. He could slip clear at leisure.
Ahead, a small lane branched left, passing by a bathhouse. His plan was to stop in for a soak, washing off the dust of travel. His pole could be left with the scrubber, Master Song, an honest man who would not touch his things.
Who would ever think so precious a thing as the Nether Candle would be left carelessly in a common bath-house scrubber's keeping? He could even sleep awhile, wait for the storm to pass, then saunter out of the city at his ease.
In short, he would not die.
But he saw a shaven head the moment he set foot into that lane. Perhaps a man of the Buddhist school? Yet this shaven head had too savage a look, one that did not in the least match the image of the Buddhist faithful.
"I smell something strange." Said the shaven-headed one. And licked his lips.
A sudden, fierce dread seized the peddler, and he gathered his Dao essence to prepare for battle.
It was then that he found his heart was already gone.
The whole world sank into eternal darkness.
"Holy Maiden, so this is the view from the bottom of the River of Forgetfulness?" He thought, at the last.