Those who chose to board this grand ship, the Guanghua, were neither few nor many.
Few, compared to the crowds gathered at the port.
Those able to board this ship, those daring to board it, were mostly Seal-Bearing powers, or families eyeing the Seal-Bearing powers, ready to supplant them.
These families sent their chosen candidates to the palace, all aiming for the hundred seats of the Dao Court. Naturally, they would use this night cruise before entering the palace to probe the strength of each family's chosen candidates.
Many, because all Seal-Bearing powers, across the Nine Provinces and Three Kingdoms, were generally expected to board. The total number of candidates from twelve powers, plus their attendants, was itself no small figure.
Yet even within the default, there were exceptions—the Three Kingdoms, for instance. With vast territories and abundant talent, every cycle saw numerous outstanding candidates from these kingdoms secure their places among the hundred seats.
The world tends to be forgiving toward the strong. When the Three Kingdoms' people declined to board, it was understood as conserving strength, avoiding conflict, and observing with quiet composure.
The Seal-Bearing clans, however, faced far more scrutiny. Among the Seal-Bearers, some were strong and some weak; certain families could barely keep hold of their Seal-Bearing authority.
The weak could hardly avoid harsh judgment—whether they boarded or not, gossip was inevitable.
At Yingtian Port, a girl with a pine-green forehead ornament spoke to the elder beside her.
"Grandfather, are we not boarding?"
The elder's hair had long turned white, but his gaze remained sharp. He shook his head. "Why bother joining such a petty contest of pride."
Feng Yao said, "But if we don't, the other clans will surely think the Feng family has no one. Once we enter the palace, probes will come one after another—staying low-key now won't reduce them."
In Feng Yao's view, the Feng family was indeed not strong among the Seal-Bearing clans. But the weaker they were, the more they needed to put on a show of confidence. Otherwise, slipping quietly into the palace now would only be an open admission of fear.
The elder frowned in hesitation, about to speak, when a colossal sword suddenly appeared in the sky.
Feng Yao's eyes widened. "Grandfather, that's—"
"One-Line Sky," the elder said gravely. "One of Chu Daixi's Eighteen Immortal Swords. The Chu family has boarded."
The Chu family. Feng Yao's eyes darted. The Chu family's situation was no better than the Fengs'. If the Chus were boarding so flamboyantly, then...
She glanced at her grandfather's face. Sure enough, the sword light in the sky seemed to spur him on. After an inner struggle, he gritted his teeth and said, "We board as well."
If the Chus could board, why not the Fengs? Let them see what tricks the Chu family was up to this year.
On the treasure ship's deck, the gathered crowd saw the giant sword descending from above and frowned, scattering out of the way.
The great sword struck down, as if cleaving a corner of the sky, leaving a distinct golden line in its wake. But as it touched the deck, the force abruptly receded.
Whether the deck was enchanted with a formation or made of special material, it hummed with resonance—unmarked, unbroken.
The sword aura set the palace bells ringing, each tier's bells swaying with sound.
A delicate, crisp chime that rang without end.
In the top-floor tea room sat the Master dispatched by the Dao Court to guard the ship, along with the steward overseeing the night banquet.
Master Fang had just lifted the teapot when he heard the bells ring outside. He glanced over, noticed it was sword aura, and looked up. A golden line like a scar still lingered by the window. Understanding flickered in his eyes.
His hand holding the teapot remained perfectly steady. He calmly poured himself a cup, brought it to his lips, and only after drinking said, "It's One-Line Sky."
"The Chu family—their style truly never changes." A hint of amused anticipation curled at the corner of his mouth.
The steward made a soft sound and rose to stand by the window, looking down. "The Chu family brought four people this year? All candidates?"
He swept his gaze quickly, then stopped on one person behind Chu Daixi. Thoughtfully, he said, "One of the Chu juniors has a red tassel at her waist."
Master Fang thought for a moment, then recalled something. "The Chu family does seem to have candidates this cycle—two, in fact. The one who examined them was Master Xiru. When she came back, she mentioned seeing an impressive youngster."
He tapped the table, certain. "That's Master Xiru's tassel."
The steward looked at the deck, his gaze brushing briefly over the golden mark on the girl's forehead. "Interesting," he murmured.
For the dean of the Heavenly Court Academy to personally bestow a tassel—that candidate was guaranteed a seat in the hundred.
The Chu family, this cycle, seemed to have real hope.
Sixth floor.
Elder Ming withdrew his gaze, disgust flickering in his eyes.
"The Chus... always making a spectacle."
Seventh floor.
The high-ranking members of the Bai and Shang families sat together.
A Shang elder chuckled. "The Chus are this flashy this year? Their previous patriarch is still out in the Mist Sea, isn't she? Found a new hope, have they?"
The Bai representative wore an air of detached indifference, commenting, "Chu Daixi has always been like this."
The Shang elder nodded. "Indeed. Even if the Chu family fell, Chu Daixi would still smile, raise her sword, and cut down anyone who mocked her, kicking up a storm."
The Bai representative said, "The Chu family has a candidate this year—I hear it's Chu Daixi's daughter."
"Now that's curious," murmured the Shang elder.
Eighth floor.
The Yan family from Qi Province.
A man in blue stood by the window, offering no comment on the Chu family's conduct, but remarking instead on Chu Daixi's swordsmanship.
"Her sword arts have improved again. Has she found the key to her third turn?"
The woman beside him said, "Doesn't seem like it. If Chu Daixi had reached the third turn, she might have split the ship in half today."
The man seemed amused by her words. "True."
If Chu Daixi's swordsmanship had reached the third turn, today wouldn't have been so "restrained." She would have done more than carve a symbolic line—at the very least, she'd have taken a few swings at the Ming family.
On the deck, the scattered crowd stared at the people standing at the center, expressions uncertain.
Chu Daixi slowly sheathed her sword, the corner of her lips curling upward. "Good girl, how was that? Didn't startle you, did it?"
Wangshu smoothed her skirt and gave a small, composed smile. "Not at all. Mother, I just sensed many gazes—all from the upper floors of the ship."
That single move had drawn no fewer than a hundred spiritual scans, at the very least.
Wangshu also noticed that some gazes lingered on her a few extra rounds.
Chu Daixi hummed lightly, saying offhandedly, "Once you're on this ship, the family leaders travel separately from the juniors. We're on the fifth floor and up; you all are below the fifth."
"Soon, a steward will lead me upstairs—we'll part ways here until morning, when dawn breaks and the night banquet ends."
Wangshu blinked, meeting her mother's gaze. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll play it by ear."
Whether to stir up trouble or lie low—she'd decide once she saw how things played out.
Sure enough, before long, a steward with a bell at his waist came to lead Chu Daixi and Chu Mingyan upstairs, saying respectfully, "The Lin clan patriarch requests your presence."
Wangshu watched her mother and the fifth elder wave goodbye as they walked away, then suddenly turned her gaze to the right side of the deck.
There stood an old man and a young girl. The old man wore a grey Daoist robe; the girl had a forehead ornament—a sprightly, distinctively styled young woman.
Those two seemed to have been watching her for a while.
But by the time she looked over, the old man had already withdrawn his gaze.
"Grandfather?" Feng Yao asked.
The elder frowned. "Quite perceptive. That mark on her forehead—hard to say."
Soon, the elder too was invited upstairs by a steward, leaving only the juniors on the deck.
"Little sister, what do we do now?" Chu Qinghe said. "When does this banquet even start?"
Wangshu said, "Probably have to wait until dark. Mother also said we can move around below the fifth floor, so let's find a room first."
She turned to look at Miaoying, seeing the lingering alarm on her face: "Miaoying, are you alright?"
Xu Miaoying shook her head, the tiny pearls on her peach-blossom hairpin swaying gently: "Just now... so many people were looking at us. I got a little nervous."
Lu Qi scratched his head and smiled in greeting: "Wangshu, Qinghe, long time no see."
His gaze secretly lingered on Wangshu's face—darting away, then unable to resist drifting back a moment later.
Chu Qinghe immediately struck up a conversation with him: "Whoa, kid, you've gotten pretty tall now!"
The group made their way deeper into the ship's interior.
The first floor had the largest space, divided into many sections by elaborately carved lattice screens. Each area featured elegant seating with all the curtains rolled up, revealing the vast, calm blue sea where sunlight scattered across the surface like scattered gold dust.
Wangshu spotted an empty seat and was about to head over when a man in a blue robe came stumbling toward her on the walkway. His steps were unsteady, his cheeks flushed crimson—clearly drunk.
Wangshu caught the smell of alcohol and moved aside to let him pass, but the man pitched straight toward her instead.
A cold glint flashed through her dark eyes. Her fingers began forming a seal beneath her sleeve—until she noticed the man staring at her, a golden gleam flickering in his gaze.
She stopped her hand and deliberately let shock and disgust spread across her face.
The man had barely collapsed halfway when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, pinning him in place. Turning his head, he saw Chu Qinghe glaring at him, eyebrows furrowed, wearing an expression that screamed "You've got a death wish, kid."
The man was about to stammer out an excuse when Chu Qinghe, using a single arm, sent him flying from the left side clean over to the right.
The lattice screen crashed down with a thunderous noise, and the tea set behind it was knocked over, ceramic shards scattering across the floor with a clatter.
The men and women behind the opposite screen all rose to their feet, frowning as they stared over.
Countless gazes swept in their direction.
Xu Miaoying and Lu Qi exchanged a look, then stepped up in unison beside Chu Qinghe, shielding Wangshu behind them.
Qinghe had already drawn her gun, pressing the muzzle against the man's face.
"Mm? Can't walk properly, huh? Where do you think you're leaning?"
The man covered his face and muttered, "My apologies, I've had a bit to drink."
"Had a drink?" Qinghe nearly laughed in frustration. "Alright then—let me have a drink, chop your hand off, and tell you I've had a bit to drink. You okay with that?"
On the second floor, Ming Chen, whose spiritual sense had been hovering there, frowned deeply as he watched the scene on the verge of spiraling out of control.
This idiot!
He was about to send someone to quell the commotion when he saw a woman in green step forward to mediate, so he held back for the moment.
"Sister, I don't think he actually touched anyone, and he really is drunk. Why not just let it go?"
Wangshu looked up and saw it was the woman with the forehead ornament, whose style of dress had struck her as unusual before.
Chu Qinghe was irritated. Who was playing the good Samaritan here? Her younger sister had nearly been accosted outside—how could she just let it slide?
She was about to snap back when she caught a hidden voice transmission: "He was sent by the Ming family."
The Ming family. Her eyes shifted, and she holstered her gun.
The man in blue thought he'd been let off, so he silently picked himself up, cupped his hands in a brief bow, and moved to leave.
Qinghe watched his retreating back and said flatly, "If any filthy thing tries to stick to us again, I'll break more than just your legs—your employer's too."
The man's back stiffened, and he hurried away.
Up on the second floor, Du Mei had just come up when a ceramic bowl shattered at his feet.
Smash!
Ming Chen snarled, "I only told you to test her—not to pull some drunkard stumbling into a woman's arms routine!"
What kind of occasion was this? They were heading to the Dao Palace to compete for the Hundred Seats!
Every single contender had been carefully groomed by their family. Who would make such a mistake over drink and lust?!
That pathetic little act, see-through at a single glance, was an utter disgrace to him!
Du Mei, whose name identified him as a member of a minor clan attached to the Ming family—the seal-holding house of Yuanzhou—had awakened a rare detection-type talent.
He'd just been sent by Ming Chen to probe the Chu family members when he'd failed spectacularly on his very first attempt.
He muttered in his defense, "I was afraid a direct confrontation would blow things out of proportion. I only meant to pretend to trip and brush against her so I could get a read on her. Who knew..."
Who knew another Chu girl would have such a temper, sending him flying with a single arm?
Ming Chen cursed under his breath.
Just now, Du Mei had asked which Chu family member to test. This time, the Chu delegation had brought four juniors aboard—three women and one man.
Ming Chen had taken one look at Chu Qinghe and known immediately she was a Chu. Women of the Chu clan were all the same—noses in the air, not to be trifled with. Chu Qinghe matched every stereotype of the Chu family perfectly.
Logically, there were three others to consider, but Ming Chen couldn't shake the feeling that Wangshu was the most off.
Not just because of how strikingly beautiful she was—it was the way she looked at everyone with that calm, faint smile that made Ming Chen feel a vague sense of threat.
Ming Chen trusted his instincts completely, so when Du Mei asked, he gritted his teeth and said, "Test the one with the golden mark on her brow."
That beauty—surely it was some kind of deliberate scheme from those Chu women!
And so he'd sent Du Mei to test her, only to walk straight into a misunderstanding of epic proportions.
Du Mei was regretting it by now too, wondering why he'd made such a foolish move. He said gloomily, "The one you told me to test—aside from her face, I didn't see anything special about her."
And she'd even seemed startled by him.
Du Mei's mind flashed back to a pair of dark, clear eyes trembling wide with surprise, and he added inwardly: well, beautiful in a way that's especially memorable. Like the immortal maidens in storybooks.
But these days, who cared about looks? Everyone judged by strength.
Du Mei shook the image from his head and continued, "It's the other Chu girl—that strength of hers... her talent's probably somewhere between purple-grade and gold-grade spirit seeds."
Ming Chen frowned. Could he really have misjudged?
Down in the private seating area, the woman who had spoken up introduced herself with a bright smile.
"My name is Feng Yao, of the Feng clan of Shuozhou."
Shuozhou had a bitterly cold climate, and when it came to strength among the twelve seal-holding houses, the Feng clan was the sort that, if someone tried to snatch last place, no one dared to claim second-to-last from them.
The Chu clan currently hovered between second-to-last and third-to-last.
This Feng Yao had lent them a hand, giving off a bit of a "we're fellow sisters in misery" vibe.
Shuozhou really was remote and far away. Qinghe asked curiously, "Are you a contender sent by the Feng family?"
Feng Yao shyly shook her head: "Where would Shuozhou get the money to support a contender? Just getting through the Dao Palace's culling is good enough for us."
Wangshu, seated across from them, blinked and pushed a cup of tea toward her.
She mused to herself—was the persona she'd adopted too generic? It seemed like she ran into someone with the same set-up no matter where she went.
She'd just taken a look with her talent.
This young lady from the bitter-cold homeland, who claimed she wasn't even a contender, actually possessed a fate-blessed talent worthy of a gold-grade spirit seed~
