Chapter Five: The Confrontation Style

With victory in his first match, Zhou Qi's confidence soared. He had only expended physical energy running around, without using up any spiritual power. For a cultivator, running dozens of kilometers was hardly an issue, but spiritual energy was a different matter—once depleted, one was immediately left powerless.

Before he could reflect on his experience, a second disciple leapt onto the stage, also at the ninth level of Qi Refining.

His opponent attacked with vigor, opening with a Fireball Spell. Zhou Qi dodged at a distance, but then came the Earth Spike Spell—countless stone spikes erupted beneath his feet, almost catching him unaware.

The adversary alternated ceaselessly between Earth Spike and Fireball, forcing Zhou Qi to keep moving; stopping even for a moment meant risking a direct hit. The spectacle was hardly elegant, with Zhou Qi endlessly circling the stage while his opponent stood in place, casting spells.

Unable to break through after a prolonged assault, the challenger grew desperate and summoned his flying sword with all his might.

Zhou Qi parried with his own sword. Seizing the opportunity, he unleashed three Fireball Spells, one aimed at the opponent’s face and the other two at his flanks.

Having just exhausted himself with a barrage of spells and having his crucial sword maneuver blocked, the disciple’s spiritual energy was spent. Now, with three ordinary fireballs coming at him, he had no way to dodge. He retreated hastily, only to realize he had backed off the stage entirely.

This, of course, was part of Zhou Qi’s calculation; forcing an opponent off the ring was far easier than defeating them outright.

Liu Chengfeng nodded to himself. Though Zhou Qi’s cultivation was not high, his perception and combat instincts were solid. Defeating two disciples at the ninth level of Qi Refining in succession could hardly be chalked up to luck.

Already, many female disciples began to cheer for Zhou Qi. It was in their nature to be nurturing, and seeing Zhou Qi, so young and repeatedly overcoming the strong with the weak, they couldn’t help but side with him.

Zhou Qi cupped his fists in salute, preparing to step down from the stage—winning two matches was enough.

Yet another disciple leapt up.

This time, it was someone at the eighth level of Qi Refining. Just as Zhou Qi was about to speak, the disciple launched an attack.

Instead of casting spells, the challenger charged with his sword, clearly having realized from previous matches that conserving spiritual energy by relying on physical combat might be wiser.

This played directly into Zhou Qi’s hands. He raised his sword, feigning a readiness for close-quarters combat. Yet in his left hand, a Fireball Spell was silently prepared. As their swords clashed, Zhou Qi suddenly cast the fireball directly at his opponent’s face.

He was caught off guard and failed to dodge—regret flashed through his mind.

The fireball struck him head-on, and before he could even cry out in pain, Zhou Qi followed up with a Taiji Palm, hitting his chest and sending him flying off the stage.

The crowd was stunned. Weren’t you the one who just ran circles and used no spells?

This is not fair play!

This junior brother was certainly tricky; for a moment, many disciples in the Qi Refining stage hesitated to challenge him.

Finally, one disciple could not resist, convinced he had deciphered Zhou Qi’s tactics. He, too, was at the ninth level of Qi Refining.

He leapt onto the stage, keeping his distance just as Zhou Qi did. Neither attacked; they simply eyed each other, unmoving.

Zhou Qi tried tossing a few fireballs, but his opponent dodged with ease.

His adversary tested an attack, which Zhou Qi avoided just as easily.

The two circled the arena in a stalemate, neither willing to make the first move.

The many cultivators of Zhengyi Sect watched with bemusement—why won’t you fight?

But both were too cautious, neither willing to risk defeat. In the end, Zhou Qi gave in and conceded the match himself; he had never intended to participate in the Five Sects Tournament. His three victories already felt like flukes—better to play it safe.

What Zhou Qi didn’t know was that his style had given rise to a new combat school within Zhengyi Sect: the Confrontation Style. The essence was surprise and patience, but its fatal flaw was that if the opponent was even more risk-averse, it became utterly meaningless.

Moreover, this approach would never work in the Five Sects Tournament—if a Life-and-Death Sect elder grew impatient, he would simply cut you down, and there would be no one to complain to.

Zhou Qi went on to observe matches at other arenas, absorbing combat experience.

The Golden Core disciples were fierce as wolves and tigers, their auras intimidating. Exchanges were so swift that only shifting blurs could be seen.

The Foundation Establishment disciples favored direct attacks, each deploying their best spells. Sword rain, unleashed in concert with flying swords, covered their opponents in a deluge of blades, punctuated by explosive bursts that resounded with thunderous intensity.

Most matches began with probing, but when neither side could prevail quickly, they fought desperately, for the number of victories was what mattered—and protracted combat severely drained spiritual power.

Gradually, some disciples were injured and withdrew, some departing with arms severed, their faces shadowed with gloom.

Those who entered the ring later wasted no words—each unleashed their might from the start.

The number of wounded grew, the battles became ever bloodier. Though no disciple perished outright, some were left barely alive, surviving only because the final blow was not struck on stage.

Zhou Qi found himself chilled to the core; it seemed he had fought in a much tamer arena.

The tournament lasted three days, with three victors determined in each rank.

In the Qi Refining stage, all three were at the ninth level.

The Foundation Establishment champion was astonishingly a disciple at the eighth level, usually unremarkable, who relied on a superior defensive artifact—the Eight Trigrams Shield—to last through thirty matches before being forced off. The second and third places were both at the ninth level.

Among the Golden Core disciples, the top two both won twenty matches. They had to fight once more to decide the winner.

The rewards for first and second place differed greatly, so neither was willing to yield. They resorted to every ruthless trick, intent on victory.

In the end, the elders forcibly separated them and declared them tied for first place, splitting the rewards. If deaths had occurred between the top two before the Five Sects Tournament, what purpose would the sect contest serve?

Thus, for each stage—Qi Refining, Foundation Establishment, and Golden Core—three winners emerged. The victors were elated; the defeated brooded, reflecting on their losses in hopes of returning next year.

The sect’s tournament had become their fastest means of gaining spirit stones—far better than sect missions.

As they waited for the contest to be declared over and for the awards to begin, everyone harbored their own thoughts. Only Zhou Qi remained calm; with no expectations, there could be no disappointment.

He would never dare participate in the Five Sects Tournament; the other sects’ cultivators would only be more ruthless.

“Where is Zhou Qi?” Liu Chengfeng’s voice rang out.

Zhou Qi was surprised—he had no idea why the sect leader was summoning him. Was it to commend him again?

He stood and replied, “Disciple present!” Approaching Liu Chengfeng, he cupped his fists and asked, “What does the Sect Leader require of me?”

“It’s like this,” Liu Chengfeng said, his gaze complex, filled with helplessness and concern. “I have just received word. For this Five Sects Tournament, the quota for the Qi Refining stage has increased to four. You must participate as well.”

What? At these words, the disciples could no longer sit still. They had fought so hard, won more matches than he, yet none received a spot—how could he be selected directly? There must be foul play!

“Disciple’s strength is too meager to shoulder such responsibility. Participating would only bring shame to the sect. These senior brothers and sisters are all outstanding—please, Sect Leader, choose one of them instead.” Zhou Qi was bewildered. Something was amiss; a strong sense of conspiracy filled the air.

If he had any connection to the sect leader, it was only from the previous commendation ceremony. But if anything, the sect leader would likely resent him for how that turned out—a model turned into a scapegoat. As the instigator, surely the leader still held a grudge. Was this an attempt to send him to his death?

Zhou Qi hurriedly saluted, then pointed out several fellow disciples who had performed impressively in the matches, earnestly recommending them.

Those disciples felt deeply grateful.

Junior Brother Zhou is truly a good man. To willingly give up such an opportunity—he’s more and more likable the more one looks at him.