Beware Of Chicken v7c46: The Dueling Peaks Gala

“This way, please, Master Rou,” Xiulan said, offering a slight bow—and that simple act signaled the close of our brief pause.

Suyan stayed behind with Zhuye and a group of bees, as the rest of us moved forward. I yearned to keep talking with the others, especially Gou Ren and Xianghua… but sadly, that would wait. Responsibilities demanded our attention. We slipped into our best outfits… which for Meimei and me meant only adding our outer robes. She preferred projecting a serious, no-frills image. Much more at ease with her figure nowadays, she still shied away from flashy garb around outsiders. For family and close friends, though, Meimei happily donned her finest pieces.

I extended my arm to Meiling, who accepted it with a gentle smile. We proceeded back into the ancient corridors, our companions forming an escort of honor around us. The Dueling Peaks' passages appeared far less foreboding than on my first visit. Previously, the air had hung like in a tomb. Majestic, striking… and lifeless.

Now, it pulsed with life, vibrant almost.

“They've truly transformed this place,” Tianlan whispered into my mind. Affection and awe filled her tone. “Your disciples have outdone themselves.”

Indeed they had. Their achievements filled me with immense pride, none more so than Tigu's. Witnessing her growth was truly remarkable.

Xiulan kept us informed as we progressed, detailing the arrangements. “Your group will occupy the head table, joined by me and the Azure Alliance's key figures. During the feast's opening, little conversation is needed; eyes will fix on the arena's spectacles. But once the primary courses conclude, tables will withdraw, and guests will start mingling. Prime spots were hotly contested. The Hermetic Iron Sect sits right beside you, thanks to Tigu’s betrothal. On your left, the Grand Ravine Sect holds favor toward you as well.”

“Anyone we need to watch?” I inquired. Someone always sought trouble.

“No one would risk open hostility. This gathering leans more toward festivity than conflict,” Xiulan replied.

The setup seemed simple enough.

We soon entered an antechamber adjacent to the arena—and it demanded every ounce of composure to avoid staring wide-eyed as all eyes turned our way, bowing deeply. Next to me, Meimei drew a quiet breath, her grip tightening on my arm; reality was sinking in. The arena had felt distant before, but here, close inspection awaited.

A genuine red carpet guided our steps inside, leaving me awkwardly aware of the spectacle. This evoked those lavish galas for elites from the old days. I'd never attended one, just glimpsed them on store TVs or channel-surfed past. Still, our arrival mirrored that grandeur. Thankfully, no flashing cameras or recording crystal chimes disrupted the moment.

Cultivators donned splendid silks—graceful robes alongside ostentatious designs, or crisp martial attire. Women shone in dazzling ensembles, silks swirling in vivid hues. Certain Young Mistresses and Sect Elders sported rather revealing outfits. Some gowns bared ample skin, bordering on contemporary styles.

Being thrust back into the realization that I counted among the elite—rather than a urchin or farmer's boy—delivered a jolt. Meimei and I shared that humble origin.

Yet the performance continued. We strode through the opulent chamber, delicate scents wafting toward us. Surprisingly, Azure Hills folk favored subtle, elegant perfumes over overpowering blasts to the nose.

I figured we'd socialize briefly, but my arrival kicked off the proceedings. Time to adapt.

“Tie Delan, Master Gen. Eager to witness your son's efforts and your disciples' displays!” I called. Pride swelled in both.

“You won't find it lacking, Master Rou,” Master Gen assured, inclining his head.

We emerged through the doors into the arena; I took the lead, as befitted my station, delaying for no one. The transformed space immediately raised my brows—from colosseum to grand amphitheater.

Our places offered prime viewing, perfectly centered on the “stage.” Moreover, accommodations suited humans and Spirit Beasts alike. Washy and Babe enjoyed broad benches to lean on, sparing them constant standing—a delight for the dragon.

Quickly, lights softened, and a refined voice announced.

“The Azure Alliance greets Master Rou Jin and his retinue at the Dueling Peaks,” the velvety tone proclaimed, fitting for a premium concert. “We offer respects and trust our welcome pleases. Special performances await your enjoyment. Behold the opening act.”

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Then water flooded the arena. Meimei gasped, eyes alight, as a figure ascended from below, resembling a mystical water sprite.

Xiulan and the sects had assembled a full live spectacle.

Elder Xinling, remembered from prior lessons with Xiulan, began her melody, and I settled in to savor it.

The display proved masterful; Elder Xinling excelled. Lady Wu, skilled on guzheng herself, teared up at the exquisite strains echoing across the arena, stirring my very core. Even Tianlan sniffled softly… due to the selected melody.

The tune hailed from Xiaoshi’s memory crystal, crafted by Ruolan for an opera.

Xinling captured its essence flawlessly.

Instinctively, I clapped upon its close, the sound carrying far… before noting such enthusiasm was rare here. Dignity called for restrained acknowledgment.

I adjusted to measured, approving taps instead of exuberant cheers, though she had slayed it. Fears of tedium faded; this caliber promised more.

“Fantastic,” I declared, my words resounding. Applause followed from others. Xinling blushed, bowing profoundly before emerging with a triumphant grin. Then she submerged as the stage withdrew.

“Our next feature brings something unique: an exhibition of a rare discipline shared with the Grand Marshal by Master Rou. Grace, prowess, strength, endurance—a mock combat where cunning rivals brawn. Verdant Blade Sect and Misty Lake Sect will demonstrate,” the announcer intoned. I blinked, puzzled—until ice encased the arena.

Glancing at Xiulan, I saw her sly smile. Xianghua stood hands-on-hips, beaming widely. Teams glided from each side; Verdant Blade disciples eyed Misty Lake rivals intently. Faces painted like Xiulan's Solstice style adorned one squad, while reed hats marked the others.

“Behold the mighty art of ice hockey. Tradition names these cultivator squads. Thus, Verdant Blade Sect's Wusheng Heroes face Misty Lake Sect's Dragon-Fisher Herons. The Grand Marshal starts the contest.”

I leaned in, captivated. Xiulan rose as teams positioned for the initial clash—the sole familiar element. Formations baffled me: ten per side, not six, on a vast rink.

“Battle with honor and righteousness!” Xiulan ordered, flicking the puck centrally with a wrist snap.

Thus erupted the frenzy.

Players surged alive. Four per team clashed instantly, sticks swinging like spears—their rears would've earned ejections back home, but here it thrilled. The raw scrum gripped every baffled cultivator.

Cultivators relished brutal contests.

Wusheng Heroes seized control first, their rapid advance tearing ahead. The puck darted among them like a frenzied hare, passes weaving an untraceable ballet.

Yet Dragon-Fisher Herons lived up to their title. One plunged through enemies, snagging the puck and shattering lines—till a brutal check hurled her aside.

Then madness reigned. Speeds neared a hundred miles per hour at peak, puck strikes—carved from spirit jade—cracking like thunderclaps. Acrobatic leaps propelled blistering shots at padless goalies wielding only sticks. Deflections returned play to allies.

Utter mayhem, yet masterfully orchestrated. Brawls erupted. Every forbidden maneuver from old rules appeared. Violence reigned, even gore at times.

And it enthralled utterly; the banquet crowd concurred. After ten minutes, restraint crumbled—cheers erupted for favorites, roars hailed scores, laughter boomed at fresh scraps. Bladed skates forbade kicks, seemingly the lone taboo.

A 3-2 thriller sealed it, Wusheng Heroes clinching via final passes. Respect gestures flew to foes, then fans—proving brutal fray bred no grudges.

Battered and bruised, grins lit every face, born of fierce contest.

…damn, how I longed to join; it'd have been epic.

Amused murmurs rippled from spectators meanwhile.

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Distant, Bai Huizhong gaped, eyes gleaming. His spirit blazed with fervor.

That… incredible. The velocity. The might. Beautiful!

Puck's whirl under Wusheng Heroes' command. Bold Herons lunging to reclaim amid the whirl.

His pulse hammered. He craved more. Needed to witness more.

Roars swelled from the packed stands. Frozen field central.

Ideas surged. Glorious visions—this demanded scale. Mortal variants too. Town squads. A league!

Glory for the supreme warriors.

For once, Bai Huizhong ignored profit schemes.

He pondered:

“How to unveil this worldwide?”

Thoughts spun wildly, nearly missing his signal. His aide waved frantically.

Coughing, he refocused, igniting the Resounding Crystal Dais.

“Next comes a poetic recitation from an Age of Heroes relic, by Azure Horizon Sect…”

Pity their tough slot, but duties pressed.

Bai Huizhong confessed his distraction, ignoring the verse entirely.

Sticks and pucks dominated his reverie.