What do you mean I'm a cultivator?-Chapter 49

Cheng's thoughts were cut short as a shimmer pulsed through the very center of the arena.

A single figure now stood there, though no one had seen him arrive.

He looked unassuming. No flashing robes or weaponry, no blinding aura. But the moment he opened his mouth, the entire arena fell into silence.

“Welcome. This is the eighty Sixth Hundred Year Gathering.”

The words were spoken in a calm, conversational tone.

Yet they rang out across the entire hollowed mountain, touching the ears of all, outer disciples, seated inner disciples in their private balconies above, and distant elders whose cultivation concealed them from sight.

“This Gathering marks the convergence of talent, ambition, and legacy. You all.” he swept an arm across the crowd, not dramatically, but with the practiced ease of someone used to attention."—will not be participating. Not today.”

Some disciples stirred, either in relief or disappointment.

“But you will watch.” the announcer continued. “You will remember. For one day, it may be you standing on this arena!”

He paused, and the air itself seemed to inhale.

Then, without a beat, his voice rang again. This time sharper, more ceremonial, and with a hint of respect, more so towards the sects than a single person.

“From the Falling Star Sect. Wei Lian!”

A ripple moved through the audience.

“From the Ember Cloud Sect. Yao Menghua!”

Two figures appeared on opposite ends of the arena, each likely moved by an elder.

Wei Lian stepped forward. His robes fluttered in the air, and he rotated a halberd longer than he was tall.

Foundation Establishment, around mid stage.

On the other side, Yao Menghua moved more gracefully. She held no illusions, no dazzling effects, just a sword at her side and clarity in her gaze.

She radiated confidence. A calm storm ready to be unleashed.

She stopped across from Wei Lian and unsheathed her blade with a sound like wind slicing through silk. The sword glinted, unadorned, deadly.

Cheng felt his heart rise.

He wasn’t alone.

All around, the outer disciples leaned forward subconsciously, instinctively. The atmosphere had shifted.

The announcer raised one hand, and the arena shifted. A barrier, almost invisible, hummed to life around the dueling ring. The cultivators stepped into it without hesitation.

“No fatal blows.” the announcer said. “Victory by disarmament, submission, or incapacitation.”

Then, his hand fell.

And the arena exploded into motion.

The halberd struck first, moving in a overhead arc that split the air with a thunderclap of force. Wei Lian moved like a crashing tide, his weapon a blur of steel and power.

But Yao Menghua flowed around it.

Her body twisted, the sword flickering up in a single elegant motion, deflecting the halberd with barely a clash of metal.

The crowd gasped.

Cheng couldn’t look away.

These were not legends or sect tales. These were real people. Not even that much older than him. And yet, every strike they exchanged shattered the sound barrier with ease.

Every dodge was executed with a control that only came from endless hours of cultivation, training, and battle.

As Cheng watched, eyes locked on the arena below, he was fully absorbed in the fight. The swirl of motion, the grace and violence, the sharp tension hanging in the air. It all pulled him in. Every strike of the halberd and flick of the sword echoed through his bones.

But the disciple next to him?

He was less quiet about it.

“Did you see that?!” the boy hissed, nudging Cheng sharply in the ribs. It was a guy younger than Cheng, likely in his early teens, and around the second level of Qi condensation.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Cheng didn’t respond.

“I mean look at him! Wei Lian just spun that halberd like it was nothing! And the girl! That footwork! I couldn't even see her move!” The disciple leaned forward, gripping the edge of the stone seat, practically vibrating.

Then, another clash accompanied by a ringing clang as weapon met weapon, the vibration of the impact carrying all the way to the outer ring of the arena.

“Oh my god, did you see that?! Tell me you saw that!” the guy said, grabbing Cheng’s arm this time, shaking it slightly in his excitement.

Cheng offered a side glance. “Yeah. I saw it.”

The guy grinned. “He’s insane! That’s our sect, man. Can you imagine having that kind of strength? I bet he's already being eyed for Core disciple status. Maybe even Elder Meng is watching him.”

Cheng gave a small nod, eyes drifting back to the battle. He didn’t want to ruin the man’s enthusiasm, but something about it rubbed him the wrong way.

Not because Wei Lian wasn’t impressive. He absolutely was, but because of the blind fawning.

The way the disciple next to him couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop shaking with wide eyed amazement, as though the gulf between them and the ones in the arena was infinite.

Because Jiang Cheng didn’t see it that way.

Yes, they were stronger. Yes, they were better trained. But that kind of power wasn’t some otherworldly magic. It was earned. Step by step. Strike by strike.

It was built.

And Cheng intended to build his own.

Still, the guy next to him kept going, half muttering to himself in disbelief, half commentating on every move like he was watching some divine match. “Did you see the way he forced her back just now?! That wasn’t even his full strength. No way.”

Cheng crossed his arms, still silent, gaze fixed on the clash below.

The guy next to Cheng just couldn’t shut up.

Every few seconds, it was another nudge. Another whisper, turned mutter, turned full sentence that really didn’t need to be said.

“Did you see that step? She moved like smoke!”

Nudge.

“Is that a self made sword style? It has to be! No way that’s standard form!”

Nudge.

"Wow! Did you see that! He sent that girl flying back! That's so cool!

Nudge, nudge.

Cheng clenched his jaw ever so slightly, forcing his attention to stay on the arena.

His brow twitched when the guy tugged at his sleeve for the fifth time, speaking a little louder than before. “Bro, are you seeing this? Wei Lian’s a monster! That footwork just now? That’s Inner Sect elite stuff. We’re actually watching it live!”

Cheng didn’t respond. He just gave a slow, deliberate nod.

He was seeing it. All of it.

And while the fight was truly something, grace, violence, momentum, and raw power trading places with each blink, Cheng found his focus constantly interrupted because of the excited voice in his ear, and its constant nudging.

He was getting annoyed. Quite a bit. But he didn’t say anything.

Because in a way, he understood.

This guy, whoever he was, probably hadn’t seen real combat before.

Probably hadn’t ever watched a fight of the Qi condensation realm, much less one like this. And now here he was, front row seat at the most prestigious event happening every hundred years in the Hongwu, watching someone from their own sect hold their ground against another sect’s genius.

It was hard not to get caught up in the awe.

So Cheng endured the nudging. The whispering. The nonstop commentary.

Eventually, the clash came to an end.

Wei Lian stood tall, halberd braced against the ground, the other disciple from the Ember Cloud Sect kneeling, gasping, her weapon shattered to the side as blood gushed from their arm, almost torn off completely. A flash of golden light marked the official end of the match, and just like that, the winner was declared.

The crowd exploded.

Well, two thirds of it did.

The Falling Star Sect’s outer disciples were on their feet, roaring, whistling, and clapping like they had personally witnessed the birth of a legend.

Even the Blue Drought Sect's own outer disciples broke into cheers, some pounding the stone benches, others calling out Wei Lian’s name with renewed vigor.

But to the east, the Ember Cloud Sect remained seated. Silent. Stiff.

Their side looked like a frozen lake. No one cheered. No one spoke.

Cheng noticed the tension immediately.

“They’re pissed!” the guy next to him muttered, whispering like he thought they could hear him. “Can’t even cheer for a good fight. I mean, come on.”

Cheng said nothing, only exhaled quietly, eyes still on the arena.

Moments later, a new voice echoed through the vast space. Not loud, but clear as glass.

“Next match. Li Xinya of the Ember Cloud Sect. Yun Shuang of the Blue Drought Sect.”

As if drawn by strings, two figures appeared on opposite sides of the stage.

Two women this time.

Li Xinya, clad in flowing crimson, held a metallic fan with bladed edges. It gleamed like the sun, every flick of her wrist sending a shimmer across its surface. Her stance was elegant, but there was a simmering danger in the way she stood. Like a flame kept just barely under control.

Her Qi felt a bit different. More lively. Perhaps this was some kind of physique or unique cultivation method.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freёnovelkiss.com.

Yun Shuang stepped forward, spear in hand, robes light as cloud mist. Her expression calm. She looked like someone who’d fought a hundred duels and had never once raised her voice.

Cheng leaned forward slightly.

And as the match continued, with the boy next to him keeping up his antics, Cheng found himself changing his opinion of the boy, bit by bit. It was kind of hard not to, considering how happy and excited the guy was. It was practically infectious.

"Hey. What's your name? I am Cheng. Jian Cheng."

The boy nearly jumped at Cheng's voice.

He blinked, turning his wide, sparkling eyes away from the arena for the first time in what felt like hours. His mouth, which had just been forming another breathless sentence about the previous clash of spirit techniques, paused mid sentence.

“Oh! Uh, me?” he said, pointing at himself with a look of disbelief, like he hadn’t expected Cheng to speak, let alone ask him anything.

Cheng gave a slow nod.

“Yeah. You’ve been talking nonstop since the first match. Figured I might as well know who’s been shaking my arm off.”

The boy flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head with an awkward laugh. “Sorry, sorry! I get a little excited, you know? It’s just this stuff is insane, right? I mean, I’ve read about battles like this, but seeing it with my own eyes? Damn. I mean like you know what I'm saying, right? It's way too fun seeing them move and fight!”

He held out a hand, grinning. “I’m Qiu Yiren! Nice to meet you Cheng!" The boy spoke with a laugh.

Loud, easily excitable, unfiltered, and overly friendly. Yiren was everything Cheng wasn’t.

And yet, it seemed that a friendship was slowly forming between the two, as matches came and went, bringing the first day of the hundred year gathering to an end.

Though if you were to ask Cheng, he'd wish Yiren weren't nudging his arm every few seconds or so.