Volume 2, Chapter 62 – A Hundred Faces

Just as leisurely days always pass in the blink of an eye, whenever a major formal event arrives, the people involved always feel that time crawls unbearably slow.

Wen Qingxuan and the others had gotten up at six in the morning to work. By six-thirty they’d checked the first print run, and a little after seven they were already distributing the still-warm campus papers, sending staff to drop bundles at the door of every dorm building.

The students of Qizhou University all knew there would be “spectator ceremonies” all day today. They called each other out of bed early, and on the way to the cafeteria, clusters of people could be seen gathering everywhere.

These gatherings came in two kinds.

One was the loud sort, where some busybody would read the campus paper out at the top of his lungs, stirring discussion and drawing students over until they were bickering non-stop.

The other kind was a bit more under-the-table: students secretly opening betting boards, taking down names and setting lines.

In the strict sense, “betting boards” were banned both in society at large and on campus. But what counted as one was always a fuzzy definition. Given that a single bet might be just two or five yuan, some teachers would turn a blind eye even if they saw it—some even personally put money down.

“So? Who’s got the best shot at winning?”

“Zhao Jinyan, right? Ever since Qingze got Zhao Jinyan, the only ones they can’t beat in any event are those in the ‘Golden Belt.’ They’ve been solidly fourth among the Nine Prefectures, no problem. Gotta keep betting on Zhao Jinyan!”

“How can you boost the enemy’s morale and crush our own like that! Everyone’s saying Xia Ran’s already broken through to Purple Blood, and you still won’t give Senior Xia a little more credit?”

“Quit your damn yapping, there’s people in line behind you. Hurry up and say who you’re betting on!”

“…I’ll bet on that Zhao guy.”

“Classy.”

“Shut up and pay up!”

Arguments like this were happening everywhere. Some enthusiasts had already tallied the rough betting numbers first thing in the morning and posted them on the forum, saying that as of now, Qingze’s side was still the most favored. That was entirely thanks to Qingze producing two top-tier prodigies in a row.

Those betting on Qingze made up a little over forty-five percent of the total, putting them ahead of Qizhou University’s forty-two percent. The remaining percentage had been thrown by the degenerate gamblers onto the Luohou delegation. This stood in stark contrast to the public poll that had been pinned on the forum for a full week.

In that public poll, over ninety-nine percent had backed Qizhou University.

But once it became a matter of “voting with money” on the betting board, their share dropped this much. It clearly showed that the Qizhou students themselves weren’t all that confident in the result of the bout.

The post instantly triggered a flood of flame wars. People furiously denounced certain classmates for saying one thing in public and doing another in private, for selling out their position and righteousness over a bit of petty cash, speeches impassioned and righteous enough to shake the heavens.

In less than ten minutes, though, his roommate had replied to the thread and ratted him out, exposing that he’d not only bet on Zhao but also on Leng—placing chips on both shores of victory. The result was that the original poster’s reputation collapsed, and his thread was pelted with countless rotten banana peels.

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In the end, it took Wen Qingxuan personally stepping in to pitch these rhythm-leading brats into the little black room before the forum atmosphere went back to normal.

“The Shinu—and the people from Qingze Sword Institute—can see the forum too.” Just thinking about it gave Wen Qingxuan a headache.

The visitors had come from far away and were now staying on campus. They couldn’t very well be denied temporary accounts for the intranet, could they?

“I just hope these little bastards don’t stir things up again, and that the visitors don’t see it and go complain to the teachers,” was all Wen Qingxuan could think.

It never even crossed his mind that quite a few of the IDs he’d just tossed into the black room had been hired.

In a corner of campus, in the shadows of the guest dorms, a dark little transaction was underway.

A bespectacled boy showed the person opposite him his posting record and the ban notice. He was then promptly handed an envelope, which he took and slipped off, delighted.

And the one handing out the envelope was no stranger: a tall, imposing Sword-Track Student with sharp, regular features—none other than Qingze’s top disciple, Zhao Jinyan, on whom countless people had placed their biggest bets.

As Zhao Jinyan handed out envelopes with one hand, he used the other to check the forum on his phone. Through his informants on the betting boards, he kept constant track of the changing odds. Only after confirming that his popularity was dropping did he finally breathe a little easier.

“Senior Brother Zhao? What are you doing!”

The blue-skirted girl hadn’t managed to catch up to Xia Ran. On her way back, she happened to see this shadowy scene, narrowed her eyes, and strode over, suddenly shouting.

“Nothing,” Zhao Jinyan said quickly, signaling to the Qizhou students to leave while he held out an arm to block his junior sister. “Just balancing out the luck a bit.”

“What do you mean, ‘balancing the luck’!” The girl laughed angrily. “You’re being superstitious again!”

“This isn’t superstition!” Zhao Jinyan’s expression turned solemn. “Don’t you know the crowd favorite always dies? The higher you stand, the harder the fall!”

Here we go again.

The girl was speechless.

Her senior brother was perfect in every way—except that he was too cautious. Whatever he did, he had to make it flawless, and before anything even began, he’d already start thinking about how he might lose.

Like this sword bout: every time there was a competition, Zhao Jinyan was terrified of being defeated and seeing his reputation crash. Even when he was already the heavy favorite, he could still do something as incomprehensible as hiring people to smear himself.

Honestly, your name shouldn’t be Jinyan ; it should be Jinyan —“cautious words.”

“Junior Sister Leng, you don’t get it.” Seeing the disbelief all over her face, Zhao Jinyan knew she hadn’t understood him at all. He raised a finger, ready to lecture.

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“Let me ask you—when experts cross swords, what’s most important?”

“Obviously strength,” the girl said, giving him a sideways look.

“And if their strength is about the same?”

“Then it depends on their condition, on their mentality in the moment.”

“Exactly.” Zhao Jinyan nodded hard. “When a Sword-Track Student enters the Dao, mind and technique become one. Adjusting your condition is usually not hard—but that’s on the premise that there’s no outside interference.”

“And what if the outside interference is very strong?”

“What if everyone expects you to win, and that enormous pressure is crushing down on your shoulders?”

The girl froze.

She hadn’t looked at it from that angle.

“So your senior brother’s methods have their reasons,” Zhao Jinyan said proudly, smiling. “My pressure lightens, and then I can fight however I like. Even if I run into Yan Yuan, I can still trade two moves with him.”

Why is it not possible that it’s just your mentality that’s not up to par, Senior Brother?

The girl sank into thought, wondering if she should tell their master that he played dirty tricks before every match.

“Don’t you dare go tattling to Master.”

Maybe he’d seen the doubt on her face. Zhao Jinyan’s expression darkened. “She already knows.”

Does she, now?

The girl stared at her senior brother suspiciously. After he left, she pulled out her phone to check the forum—and was stunned to find that the number-one favorite had become her .

Wait—so your way of dealing with pressure is just to dump it all on me?

“Qiu’er, what are you doing?”

From around the corner came a cold-faced woman in an antiquated black robe, a sword on her back, looking every inch the fierce Daoist nun. One glance at her face told you she was hard to mess with.

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“Master.” The girl snapped her feet together on reflex and stood straight, bowing respectfully.

“I… I was just enjoying the scenery here!”

“Really.” The woman’s expression didn’t change as she shot her a look.

“Not off looking for that Xia Ran to chat with?”

“No… hehe… of course not…”

The woman’s gaze shifted from straight-on to sidelong in an instant.

Clearly, she didn’t believe a word her disciple said.

But she didn’t plan to push the issue either. She sighed. “In that case, it’s getting late.”

“Come with me.”

“We’re going to pay our respects to Dao Lord Wang.”

On the other side, the dark-skinned youth had also returned to the guest dorms next door. He walked in silence, answering greetings with nothing more than a nod.

He finally reached the main hall of a small building, where he saw an old monk in a python-patterned robe kneeling on a meditation cushion, offering incense and chanting to a small golden Buddha. Only then did he move his lips and murmur a soft, “Master.”

The old monk didn’t answer at first. He finished the entire ritual sequence, then finally turned to look at the youth.

“How many did you meet?” the old monk asked.

“I saw Xia Ran,” the youth said after a pause. “And that Leng Qiu from Qingze.”

“How did they feel to you?” the old monk asked again.

“Not good enough.” The youth shook his head. “Neither of them looked surprised when they saw me.”

“Is that so?” The old monk gave a cold snort, stood up, and began pacing back and forth in the hall.

The youth simply stood there obediently the whole time, holding his posture without moving.

“Xia Ran is already the most outstanding disciple of the Benling branch today.” The old monk muttered under his breath.

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“And that Leng Qiu as well… they say her strength is already comparable to ‘Carefree One’ Zhao Jinyan.”

“If even those two aren’t your match, then we should have this in the bag. Taking the leadership in this land-reclamation effort shouldn’t be a problem.”

The youth still said nothing.

It was as if these assessments and this bright future had nothing to do with him.

“They originally had a new commission lined up over there.”

The old monk glanced at him and spoke slowly.

“I was afraid it would distract you, so I didn’t accept it.”

“But since the biggest obstacles can’t even see through your deep concealment after meeting you, then you do, in fact, have the qualifications to be distracted.”

“Do you want to know what the commission is?”

“No.” The youth shook his head.

“Your disciple leaves everything to Master’s judgment.”

“…Good child.”

The old monk’s brows relaxed. He pulled a phone from the pocket of his waist sash, tapped on it a few times, and handed it to the youth.

“It’s her.”

“If there’s a chance in public, challenge her.”

“If there isn’t…”

The old monk narrowed his eyes.

“Then your teacher will arrange the opportunity.”