What do you mean I'm a cultivator?-Chapter 50

The hollowed mountain was louder today.

Excitement from the first day had rippled outward like a stone tossed into still water. Now, disciples arrived earlier, talked louder, and moved faster. The air itself felt tighter, charged with anticipation.

Jiang Cheng took his seat in the outer disciple section, same as before. The stone beneath him was still cold from the mountain air, but it was practically nothing.

Even with a cultivation much lower than his, the natural temperature of stone so high up in the sky could be easily ignored, thanks to the incredible effects of Qi.

Cheng took a breath, letting the sounds wash over him. The chatter, laughter, and the serious whispers of disciples just like him, conversations ranging from cultivation styles, past match breakdowns, rumors of who might be fighting next, and even wild theories like a hidden book in the tower of records, just waiting to be read.

The stone benches creaked slightly as more disciples filed in, filling up row after row of seats.

And just as he finally let himself relax, taking a deep breath in, the morning air filling his lungs, he felt someone familiar moving.

“YO! I knew that was you!”

A voice rang out, cutting through the noise with the subtlety of a lightning bolt.

Cheng didn’t even have to turn. He felt the energy sprinting toward him before the words finished echoing.

Qiu Yiren, wide eyed and grinning like he’d just found a treasure lying on the road, skidded to a stop next to him.

He plopped down hard next to Cheng, nearly jostling him off balance.

“You’re so lucky I spotted you, bro. I was looking everywhere! Thought for a second you might be up in one of the balconies or something. That would’ve been wild! Can you imagine!?”

Cheng blinked once, glancing to his side.

“I’ve only been here for two minutes.”

“Exactly! Two minutes too early for me! What are you doing sitting all normal like that? You gotta lean forward, like this—” Yiren crouched slightly, gripping the seat edge with both hands, eyes locked on the stage as though something might explode at any second. “Gotta be ready for action!”

Cheng gave him a sidelong glance. “You do realize they haven’t even announced the first match.”

Yiren’s eyes sparkled. “Doesn’t matter! That pause before the matches start? That’s the good part. It’s the calm before the storm.”

He leaned over, voice low like he was about to reveal some hidden sect technique. “It’s where the legends start, y’know?”

Cheng stared at him, unimpressed. “Any other wise words you have lined up?”

Yiren grinned. “Absolutely. See, right when the announcer calls their names? That pause? That second when everyone turns to look? That’s the moment. The silence before the start.”

Cheng exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable.

Yiren took that as encouragement.

“Okay, okay okay, but who do you think we’re seeing today?” he said, practically bouncing now.

“I heard the Ember Cloud Sect might be sending Bai Ren. The guy who formed his foundation in an active volcano! Literall fire poured into his body! I don’t even care if it’s a myth, it sounds badass.”

“Definitely a myth. Qi condensation cultivators can't survive that heat for that long of a period.” Cheng spoke, a deadpan expression on his face.

“Awww, don’t kill the vibe Cheng!”

“You’re the only one with a vibe.”

Yiren laughed. Loudly. No shame in it.

“Come on, even you have to be a little hyped! Yesterday’s fights were nuts. That spin move Wei Lian did? I thought the stage was going to break!”

“You described it to me five times. I remember.”

“And I was right! You saw the crack in the floor, right?”

Cheng sighed, long-suffering. “Yes. I saw the crack.”

Yiren leaned back, stretching out like a flower that had decided the sun was shining just for him. “Man. I can’t believe we’re really here. Watching this stuff live. Our sect’s in the mix too. I mean, this is like. Peak cultivation youth stuff.”

Cheng allowed himself an exhale from his nose. A smile was forming, but barely there. Almost imperceptible.

“Heyyyyy! Don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying my company.” Yiren said with a sly grin, catching the change immediately.

“I’m tolerating it.”

“Which means you’re definitely enjoying it.”

“It means you’re loud and hard to avoid.”

Yiren elbowed him lightly. “Same thing, friend!”

Before Cheng could respond, the announcer’s voice rippled once more across the arena, just like the day before. Soft, composed, unamplified, yet heard by all.

“Let the second day of the Eighty Sixth Hundred Year Gathering begin.”

The noise in the mountain didn’t vanish immediately this time. It didn’t need to. It hushed like a wave pulling back, leaving everyone listening.

Yiren leaned in, muttering with wide eyes. “Here we go.”

Two names were called. Two new figures appeared.

“From the Blue Drought Sect,” the announcer continued. “Mu Hanyan.”

But Cheng barely registered them at first.

Because next to him, Qiu Yiren had gone completely still.

It was the first time he hadn’t spoken in more than twenty seconds.

Cheng looked over.

Yiren’s mouth was hanging slightly open, eyes fixed on the arena.

“Wow. She's pretty.” he whispered.

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Cheng had to suppress a snort of amusement, trying not to laugh.

"All that talk, and that's what's got you quiet?"

But Yiren didn't speak. The guy was practically frozen solid.

Not like you could blame him.

The girl was draped in silver and pale blue robes. She took another step forward, silent, her youthful face adorned with a small cut, giving her an almost rogue charm, as her flowing hair and bountiful assets moved, twirling her staff once.

This time, Cheng was the one to nudge Yiren, His face laced with amusement.

"So. What's got you so worked up...friend?"

"S-shut up Cheng." Yiren muttered, his ears burning red.

"Is that a first love I am seeing?"

Cheng spoke amused at his reaction.

"N-no, the hell it's not! Stop making up things in your head!"

"But that's my specialty. Oh. Look. She glanced at you."

"W-what!? Really?" Yiren asked blushing.

"No. Of course not. She wouldn't spare a glance at a peasant like you." Cheng said with amusement.

Yiren simply replied with a sharp elbow to Cheng's side.

“From the Ember Cloud Sect,” the announcer continued.

“Zhao Rencai.”

A low murmur passed through the east side of the arena. Ember Cloud disciples sat straighter. More than a few inner sect members leaned forward at once, upstairs in their balconies, and even one elder of the Ember Cloud Sect took another sip of her tea, opening her eyes in interest.

Zhao Rencai appeared in the arena like a drawn blade.

No flash, no aura, but the edge contained within him was palpable. His robes were neat, dark crimson, patterned with faint silver linings that shimmered when he moved.

He carried no weapon on his back. Just a pair of reinforced gloves, one of them humming slightly.

His presence was cold. Not in temperament, but in the way people gave him space. Like standing too close might cut you by accident.

The western side of the arena responded with polite but distant cheers. One or two even clapped.

The interesting part was when the woman laid her eyes on Zhao Rencai’s.

Something shifted.

Cheng felt it instantly.

He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it was there. A flicker in the air, a heat like friction, like two spirits brushing too close.

Beside him, Qiu Yiren lowered his voice for once, recovered his usual self somewhat. It was clear that the lady had quite an impression on him, evidently.

“You feel that?”

Cheng nodded once. “Yeah.”

“They know each other, don’t they?”

“Probably. That look in her eyes screams murder.”

Cheng squinted slightly at the arena. The sight was unfamiliar. And yet, he felt like he had read of something similar somewhere.

Like something he’d heard once, or read long ago. No, not even read. It was something deeper. A story he knew but couldn’t place. Like a name on the tip of the tongue of his soul.

He shook his head slightly.

And of course, their thoughts from his subconscious only spoke of some face slapped young master.

Despite how helpful they always were, Cheng felt that they were awfully targeted sometimes.

“You came after all.”

Even though Zhao Rencai's voice wasn’t loud, it carried.

Mu Hanyan spun her staff once, then twice, before slamming it into the stone with a dull crack.

“I didn’t come here for you.”

Zhao smiled. It wasn't some happy smile. It was an arrogant one. The one that people know you're an asshole just by looking at it.

“You’re lying.”

“No.” Mu Hanyan said. "I’m just here to win.”

“Then try. But nothing will change from that day. You're still a no good, empty genius.”

Zhao Rencai spoke, making Mu Hanyan's expression darken.

The announcer didn’t even need to say a word.

The duel began on instinct.

A flicker of movement.

Stone shattered beneath Mu Hanyan’s feet as she launched forward, her staff a blur, striking in a wide arc from the left.

Zhao ducked.

Then countered.

Fist to staff.

Wood met flesh in a dull ring, the impact spreading out like thunder.

Not a clash of Qi, not some grand spell or spiritual technique. Just force against force. Steel threaded gloves versus a reinforced staff. And Zhao didn’t move an inch.

Mu Hanyan did.

She spun away, fluid and fast, already coming in with another strike.

Zhao met her again.

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And again.

And again.

The arena floor trembled under their feet.

They moved like stormfronts colliding, each strike personal, vicious, full of weight and memory.

Cheng narrowed his eyes.

As they fought, Cheng paid attention to the stage itself. The arena. How the broken floor repaired itself, returning to its previous form. Yet another place where arrays showed their presence, even if only in the backdrop of this place.

It was clear that the two fighters had a history. A bad one at that.

The way Zhao Rencai targeted her left side. her side, specifically.

Over and over. Precision without hesitation. As if he knew of an injury that seemed to no longer be present on the woman.

And Mu Hanyan? She wasn’t fighting to win. She was fighting to kill.

Her early movements were reactive, restrained. She was testing him. Trying to confirm something.

Then, it changed.

After a particularly brutal deflection, her staff shattered a chunk of the arena floor and sent stone flying. She pivoted hard off the impact and swept low. Something changed in her form. Her movements grew sharper. Tighter. No longer just defense.

Cheng caught it.

She was going all out.

Beside him, Yiren was silent now, breathing carefully, knuckles white around the edge of the bench.

Neither of them spoke as Mu Hanyan pressed the assault. Strike. Twist. Feint. Leap. Her staff flickered like a serpent, dancing between openings.

No. It was a serpent. It truly looked like one, the way the staff kept twisting and coiling, moving in ways that should break the wood.

It was clear that the girl had grasped an incredible martial art.

And Zhao Rencai was starting to get angry with her performance.

The next blow connected. Clean.

It staggered him.

The crowd gasped.

And then it happened.

For the first time in the fight, Zhao Rencai roared. Not out of pain. Not even rage.

But pride.

“You're still nothing!” he said, voice ragged.

Mu Hanyan didn’t answer.

But the silence was enough.

They weren’t just fighting each other. They were fighting history. Memory. Maybe even the versions of themselves they used to be.

All the while Cheng watched. He strained his eyes and perception, trying to see as much as possible, despite their speeds being almost too fast for him to even react.

Something inside him stirred. Not a thought, not a feeling exactly. Just a whisper of recognition. The sensation of watching something old play out in new skin. Like he’d seen this before. Been part of it before.

He didn’t understand.

And maybe he never would.

But as Mu Hanyan’s final blow sent Zhao skidding across the floor, landing hard and motionless, the match ended in a clear and decisive victory.

"And you. You are less than nothing." She spoke, spitting a glob of blood on the tiled stone floor, having changed her mind. She didn't aim to kill, despite her murderous gaze before. She grew. Found something else within her. Was it pity? Was it just to let him live with the knowledge he lost to her?

Cheng didn't know. Yet he found it stupid all the same. If he had such hatred for someone as she had, he would spare none. That was just asking for trouble.

But that posed another problem. If in her place, he finished Zhao. Would some ancestral ties pursue him? Would breaking the rule of no killing at this gathering lead to exile? Was that another reason she spared him?

Cheng didn't know. And in the end, time thinking things like this was better spent absorbing the rest of the fights in his memories.

And so, the rest of the week came to a close. With Yiren talking his ear off and matches flying by, Cheng found himself itching to progress.

He knew it wasn't a smart decision, but maybe going on a mission or two more than he had planned wouldn't be bad.

By the time they returned to the Falling Star Sect, the sun was beginning its descent behind the peaks, casting long shadows across the stone steps of the mountain.

The journey back had been a blur. While the older disciples chatted with newfound friends and speculated wildly on breakthroughs, the younger ones were still high on adrenaline and awe.

Cheng wasn’t the talkative type, but he’d found himself in the middle of a small group regardless. Mostly because of one person.

Qiu Yiren.

The boy had been a hurricane of motion the entire return trip. Darting from one group to another, mimicking stances from the duels, asking questions with no one having answers to them, and somehow still managing to find his way back to Cheng’s side every ten minutes.

As the flying ship stopped at the part of the outer sect Yiren was part of, he stood in front of Cheng with a wide grin and a slight bounce in his step.

“Alright! This week was insane. Right? Like, come on! tell me this wasn’t the most badass thing you’ve ever seen!”

Cheng exhaled slowly, eyeing the narrow stairway that would take him back to his cabin from a distance. “It was something.”

Yiren gave him a look. “You mean legendary. I mean, that final match? Bro. I’m gonna remember that for years. I swear, if I don’t come up with at least five spirit techniques inspired by Wang Wan, I’ve failed as a cultivator!”

Cheng gave a small, amused snort. “You haven’t even mastered a technique yet.”

“That’s beside the point.” Yiren pouted, waving him off. “Creativity’s part of cultivation! Probably.”

And as the disciples walked off around them, Yiren spoke.

"Just so you know, I won't be letting you off the hook! You have to teach me like you promised!" he declared, slapping the back of his hand into his palm, forming the respectful gesture of a cultivator.

"Do as you wish. Yiren." Cheng spoke, and with a snort of amusement at the whirlwind that was his friend, copying the hand gesture.

"I'll bring snacks too!" Yiren yelled, practically running off the ship, waving away.

Cheng blinked. “Snacks, he says.” he murmured, and with another snort of amusement, he let out a small smile on his face.