Beware Of Chicken v7c45: Welcoming the Earth

Ulagan Baatar, the Master of the Grand Ravine, panted heavily while nearly crumpling into a seat.

“You were right, grandson. His presence was….” he faded off. Everyone who hadn’t experienced Master Rou’s power previously mirrored his condition, eyes bulging and souls quivering.

Baatar had summoned every ounce of his determination to avoid dropping to his knees and dishonoring his forebears when Lord Rou fixed his eyes on them.

His son and grandson had warned him about Master Rou. They insisted his strength surpassed all others. They vividly recounted how his mere aura made the ground shudder.

Yet Cai Xiulan also embodied the Earth’s essence. She could compel the Dueling Peaks to recognize her as a dominant force. Unleashing her full might, she might rattle the whole province. Among his kin, debates raged over who truly served as the Earth’s Herald between the two.

Didn’t Cai Xiulan forge their unity? Didn’t she restore their lost heritage? Hadn’t she demonstrated exceptional leadership? All accepted these truths. She was the Ravine’s ally, with the Earth woven into her very core.

Still, Master Rou’s arrival erased any uncertainty. Cai Xiulan resembled a gentle spring, a soothing surge of power cradled by the Earth’s embrace.

Master Rou embodied the Earth itself. His aura blanketed the Dueling Peaks. The ancient mountain permitted Xiulan to direct it. Before this man now standing among them, it bowed low, sprouting grass and activating long-dormant mechanisms.

The peaks themselves greeted him as returning home.

Something grander, akin to the Ravine’s holiest site, lingered faintly around Cai Xiulan.

In Master Rou’s presence now, it permeated the entire world; it evoked ten thousand golden spires that his people revered as the Earth’s lifeblood. The sensation overwhelmed, almost like a potent elixir. Baatar sensed it pressing softly on his shoulders. Far from crushing, the burden soothed him.

“He’s… even stronger now,” Tarkhan murmured. “The sensation wasn’t half this fierce last time. Previously, it was a faint murmur I strained to hear. Now, after viewing the memory crystal… it’s crystal clear.”

“Temuulen, who had joined Tarkhan at the tournament, whispered.

His statement prompted several heads to lower. “The Ancestors’ Wisdom remains flawless.”

“And we descendants will obey this wisdom,” Baatar responded. “A dragon heralds him—that suffices as evidence. Yet every Spirit Beast he encounters submits, turning tame and gentle. Bi De of the Spiritual Realm. Crystal Hill’s monkeys. The ox plowing with a Spirit Weapon… and even the bees.”

“The bees?” Tarkhan queried; others appeared puzzled too. Baatar couldn’t fault them fully. As a youth, he might have overlooked it himself.

“They perched atop the carriage, scanning the crowd like vigilant guardsmen—no, more like guardswomen,” Baatar noted softly, struck by fresh insight. “The Wreckerballs. We credited Ancestral knowledge guiding On Gang to end their grudge. But could Master Rou’s spirit be so immense that it compelled even those Spirit Beasts to negotiate?”

Once more, Baatar felt profound humility; they all did. The Herald of the Earth wielded power far beyond their grasp, glimpsing merely the base of a peak piercing the skies.

“What about those two women accompanying him? His servants? They concealed their Qi, leaving me unable to assess their strength,” another clansman inquired.

Those two women gave Baatar pause. Both masked and restrained their auras so thoroughly that probing further would seem impolite, forcing his Qi against theirs.

Which indicated they rivaled his own might... or stronger.

Two cultivators—at minimum—high Profound level, serving as escorts for his servants and son.

“I suspect they’re kin to Yun Ren and Gou Ren,” his grandson suggested. “Their eyes, facial contours… they match. I glimpsed the profile of the one honored to carry Master Rou’s son. She wore a blue hair tie bearing their tribe’s emblem.”

“Sharp observation, Tarkhan,” Baatar commended his grandson. “Yes, their eyes resemble… though I never realized our northern kin harbored such prowess. Could they be additional disciples of Master Rou?”

The chamber buzzed with murmurs briefly.

“What’s our next step, Patriarch?” one man ventured at last.

Baatar answered without delay.

“His role as the Earth’s Herald stands undeniable. Let no one question it. Dispatch word to the Ravine at first opportunity. For this evening? Observe and bide time. Let others swarm him, seeking favor. They’ll vie to lure him to their sects. He’s consented to the Grand Ravine, securing our victory. Instead, connect with his servants. Chat amiably, foster positive views of us. Welcome our cousins if confirmed, inviting them to the Ravine. Even converse with the ox and bees, should they speak.”

Nods rippled through the group.

“Grandfather, should I approach him?” Sarnai inquired. His granddaughter displayed equal parts anxiety and thrill. She bloomed as their loveliest flower; genuine and endearing. They had prepared her for potential service… or marriage to the Earth’s Herald, sealing their loyalty and alliance.

Sarnai evidently welcomed the notion. He was the Herald… and beyond that, she found the man strikingly handsome.

One obstacle remained, however.

A mighty cultivator naturally claimed a mighty spouse; Lady Meiling’s strength matched her husband’s without question… yet she barely registered. She offered courteous greetings, then receded as Master Rou dominated notice.

Something about her, though, held Baatar’s attention even after she withdrew.

She wasn’t an Imperial Jade stunner, nor the fierce hawks or wolves Ravine men adored. Handsome over beautiful, freckles dusting her nose and cheeks.

But her eyes.

Their gazes locked briefly as she surveyed the crowd. For an instant, Baatar beheld soaring constellations traversing the skies, then the vision vanished, forcing him to look away.

One truth he grasped perfectly… provoking her enmity spelled catastrophe.

“Our Grand Marshal notes his devotion to his wife. Gather more details before advancing any scheme that might offend them,” Baatar directed.

Further nods followed. Baatar drew a steadying breath. He’d require utmost poise to endure the night.

=====================================================================================================

“Everyone set?” Bai Huizhong, Lord Director of Spiritual Ascension Affairs for the Azure Hills, barked, striding into the Earthly Arena. Tension knotted his stomach. He usually relished such high-stakes moments, but tonight’s mishaps could spell doom—he recoiled at the fallout.

They hosted elite nobility. Peak authority. A Cloudy Sword Sect affiliate… and Cai Xiulan tasked mortals with this segment.

True, they oversaw it routinely, but not spectacles this grand… Their sole boon: the Grand Marshal wisely allotted ample rehearsal for the impending display.

Huizhong admired the Grand Marshal. Astonishingly pragmatic. Far more than Pale Moon Lake City’s typical bosses, plus infinitely more appealing visually.

“Yes, Lord Director! All in position,” Bao Wen reported promptly. The youth fidgeted, brandishing his control rod. Huizhong ignored it, despite the sleeve-tugging. This newly carved mountainside section brimmed with radiant runes. Huizhong scarcely credited the mountain’s feats ahead… yet it could. He’d witnessed rehearsals.

Huizhong scanned the arena underbelly, where fellow keepers mimicked Bao Wen’s rhythmic motions, near-dancing. The overhead floor throbbed, crystals blazing brighter than accustomed.

“Is that… ?” he queried, then chided himself for interrupting.

“It’s better than good. The mountain’s cooperating fully today, Lord Director. I sense it. Thrilled? Anticipatory?”

…Absurd notion, yet even Huizhong had sensed the outsider cultivator’s Qi. Was it aiding the arrays?

“He’s heading in, taking his seat!” a voice yelled from above.

Bao Wen inclined his head toward the figure below stage.

“Lady Xinling? Ready when you are, My Lady,” Bao Wen grinned at White Water Sect’s Master. “You’ll dazzle.”

“Thank you, young man,” she replied warmly. “I appreciate your diligent practice.” Passing him, she patted his shoulder lightly. Elders doted on the lad like kin.

Huizhong valued it. Bao Wen excelled at delicate errands, like bad news or nagging paperwork the Elders delayed.

Bao Wen invariably returned beaming, mission accomplished.

“Cue! Lord Director!” Huizhong assented, casting a final anxious look at the vivid crystals, then dashed upstairs to the Resounding Crystal Dias.

The Earthly Arena stands had morphed. Standard seating yielded to one-sided concentration, crafting a vast elevated platform with enormous tables for cultivators. The foremost table for Master Rou rose on a rear dais, granting arena and platform oversight.

Escorted by the Grand Marshal, Master Rou claimed his spot amid sect masters. His seating prompted all others to follow.

One subordinate raised three fingers, then two, one, jabbing toward Huizhong.

The Resounding Crystal Dias ignited. Bai Huizhong inhaled deeply. Formal address tonight, no tournament hype.

“The Azure Alliance greets Master Rou Jin at the Dueling Peaks,” Huizhong proclaimed, voice flowing flawlessly from the dias, free of past static. “We offer respects, hoping our welcome pleases. Behold attractions prepared for you. Savor the opening performance.”

He struck the crystal precisely. Lights faded across glowstones, plunging all into shadow save the arena floor.

Suddenly, the Earthly Arena stirred.

Water surged silently from tiles, like a bubbling spring filling the arena. Pristine and gleaming under illumination, mist swiftly veiled it entirely.

A lone guzheng note pierced the hush, resounding through the venue.

The arena’s heart parted, elevating a platform. Water clung, encasing it in a liquid sphere—no spillage.

Guzheng resumed, weaving a timeless melody’s opening.

The sphere shattered into myriad glittering droplets, suspended impossibly midair.

Awe-struck gasps erupted from spectators.

Lady Xinling atop the platform, guzheng in lap, evoked a spectral water sprite. Veil absent, her gaze locked on the head table.

“Welcome to the Dueling Peaks, My Lord,” she chanted, launching into her piece.

Lady Xinling mastered the guzheng utterly.

And merely the evening’s prelude.