Chapter 172: The Dispute

On a misty dawn, Zhao Yuying accompanied Qian Ye towards the Marrow-Washing Pool. At the gate of Zhaoyuan Garden, they surprisingly encountered Zhao Xiuzhu and Zhao Fenglei.

Of course, Zhao Yuying didn’t bother to feign politeness with Zhao Fenglei. Rolling her eyes with disdain, she jeered, “What are you doing here now? Had another failed run for inadequate points, did we?”

Zhao Fenglei cast a glare ablaze at Qian Ye. Yet, for now, in the open presence and countless eyes, he, as the eldest grandson of Marquis of Yan State, still must observe grace and ceremony rather than follow Yuying’s example and indulge his temperament.

After all, even though Yuying was notoriously unladylike – careless with decorum and foul with language – no serious flaw of morality could be pinned on her, and her prowess in battle was enough to excuse any trifling defects.

Unperturbed by the ill meaning in Zhao Fenglei’s gaze, Qian Ye showed no deference at all, meeting him eye to killing eye, exuding a merciless hostility.

Zhao Fenglei flared, unable to hold back fully any longer. “I just want to see whether that wretched upstart, who you invested so much into seeing through, has got any real hidden potential! Heaven help us if after this much effort he steps into that pool without even drawing enough notice to cause a stir!”

Zhao Yuying smirked cynically, replying, “Can’t be worse than others who couldn’t even muster the courage for battle and earned barely enough scraps of points for the pool.”

It was a remark squarely aimed at Zhao Fenglei’s most humiliating moment. His face flickered with greenish anger; his expression distorted and livid. “You forget your place! Did I not mention how I carry our marriage contract?”

Zhao Yuying waved off carelessly: “Who even cares if Old Lady hasn’t accepted it yet? What they say is of no consequence.”

She drew closer. Whispers dropped into his ear just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “I’d rather be taken down in gang-ravaged streets, but that’s the least of concerns with you around to worry about.”

“You!!!!” Enraged beyond capacity to speak, a helpless Zhao Fenglei only pointed fingers, unable to retaliate at all while her words ensured the crowd’s future amusement as gossips took off. Everyone knew how unrestrained she’d always been—nobody found shock in anything from her mouth. Only Zhao Fenglei became the laughing stock overnight.

Watching beside, Zhao Xiuzhu bit down a rising smirk but barely held back as Yuying turned, eyes flaming, “And what’re you snickering about? Keep the laughter!”

Xiuzhu managed composure with his ever-poised grace; smiles lingered as his calm flowed gently outward while confessing, “This being a rather sensitive juncture, it seems impossible being a bystander still. Thus, I elected to advance from refining origin force and step toward Champion Rank sooner. Lately, fortune smiled on my immersion—I witnessed ‘purple qi manifest as twin pillars rising to divide north, south.’ Alas—not as mighty an omen though as the famed Jundu witnessed.”

This modest act barely disguising a surge of conceited pride—Zhao Xiuzhu had indeed created rare phenomena among his generation who wielded “West Extreme Purple Qi”. None but Zhao Jundu had previously produced so extraordinary an omen!

Though clearly different from theirs in technique tradition, Zhao Yuying’s progress was nothing to be overshadowed by. Even so, she dismissed this prideful brimming as if flicking a bothersome fly right aside. With that, she gave Qian Ye an encouraging clap onto his shoulder: “Your cue. Don’t disappoint us by underplaying it now, won’t embarrass yours truly.”

Qian Ye could barely acknowledge with an understanding nod. Yet even he couldn’t guarantee such mystical signs manifest at will.

Not skipping even for a blink, she drew to a nearby elder in attendance asking a few swift quiet inquiries, then approached once again for a hushed murmur: “Confirmed—Qian ye follows Master Jundo last with the Pool only a third drained. Clueless clowns like Xius were trivial. More over half source liquid remained—don’t hold back on taking all for your turn this go.”

A grin tugged at Qien Ya’s lip. It was an audacious tease—draining too excessively risked explosive consequences in force backfiring. Still memories vivid about last time’s Tian-grade chambers at the Song Estate were fresh as day, and his own ascent demanded quantities far more substantial than standards required. Definitely enough exceeding Zhao Xius to spare.

With the appointed stroke of bells and time marked for ceremony to unfold—they approached the ancient, sturdy doors that led to enclosed inner sanctums of marble-stone-paved courtyards: one centered around the sacred pool of multicolored rocks encrusted edges, steaming turquoise inside.

Mystery hung in thick clouds across its surface heavier seemingly like tangible weight yet confined to the water’s plane by invisible force walls beyond the pool rim.

Using his ability True Sight Eye revealed the vapors not merely as mist but densely concentrated primordial forces; the liquid a liquid force essence within which were compounds unknown beyond his recognition skills too.

A mere breath in brought a pulse of vibrancy throughout internal channels.

Undeterred by the stinging sensation as boiling needles needlingless flesh, he steadied quickly as guided by instructions—reciting ancient formulas and guiding primordial energy in a rhythmed circulatory system, initiating a coagulative pull between key energy centers, weaving threads of force toward the torso into nascent spirals.

This unique art crafted through centuries of mastery within Zhao Clan accelerated Champion-Rite evolution while amplifying success.

As soon as initial coils stirred pools erupted as heated streams, merging with latent reservoirs bursting from meridian gates pouring into central gathering vortex.

Extreme foundations fortified—beyond ordinary ninth-level capacities multiplied thrice. Absolute refined power, unexceedable, brought quick passage from initial cycles of power condensation.

Yet, what came now was no sprint.

For it felt like feeding a boundless abyss. Unending volumes fed the vortex but devoured without visible change except in painstaking microbursts—an expanding inch with patience measured by timeless meditation alone.

Yuying by then, ascended the third floor of the Hall—a privileged area traditionally for elders—but interest in Qian Ya’s rise stirred curiosity rather from youths not higher ranks. Even the revered were disinterested to observe.

The truth had echoed through the Clan by ripples of Zhao Jundo adopting the newcomer formally—an action not to be denied lightly.

All gathered now sought to witness the mystery within him. Pride, however, burned hot; within Zhao offspring not one doubted secretly within self being a worthier candidate. None expected signs of true magnitude—those divine signals of fate which granted insights or blessings rare enough. Only two others had agendas—seeking ways to disgrace a rival in court of his beloved, the bold faced Zhao Yuyang and clever smiling Zhao Xiuzhu.

At her table with wines poured and scrolls unfurled like royalty, none doubted Zhao Yuying wouldn’t let him out even for seconds unattended, lest sabotage attempts arose from petty jealousy.

Meanwhile across floors below in less favored seating, two reluctant foes occupied modest positions unwilling to climb into that lion’s den she transformed.

To kill passing stillness between early stages idle of others—Xiusu asked: “Dear Elder Cousin, word spread you already met Yuying’s protégé before? With your experience, dare we suspect the prodigy may actually capture fair raindrops heart with charm or talent?”

“Mind your tongues!” roared Fenglei standing instantly aflame with indignancy.

Xiuzhu merely smiled, “Only considering—perhaps unknown birds might spring singing heights none forethought yet.”

“You’re deluded,” he shot back in mockery, “some mongrel stray picked from refuse bins! Dreams tower far over their roots. Mark my words, my dear Yuying is mistaken but merely temporarily lost her reason,”

Zhou Xiuzhu’s response: silence cloaked laughter behind knowing glares.

Though many whispered Zhao Jundo might recognize a secret lineage—the implications too serious to ignore—yet without verification any move carried severe weight, in matters of noble blood and formal rites.

A hush also lingered with the word—how Marquis Enchen and the noble High Princess herself had granted audience privately once with that boy; their stance unclearly promising or perilous?

Even Zhao Fenglei felt ire boil, yet could not unleash it. For though below heir ranking and status himself, this fourth younger cousin carried twin pillars omens when ascending—heralds proclaiming potential greater even by him. With rising prospects, no longer just a target ripe for discipline.

Thus, the best action now merely was leaving be—their unity, though competitive—resting upon stronger common goals outweighing petty disputes.

And right amidst rising thoughts of tension—entrance stirred. All paused. Eyes lifted with shared question.

Upwards stepped the last unforeseen guest: Zhao Ruoxi’s approach was unmistakable—silent strides echoing in every heart below.

With haste they rose—a polite greeting attempted but she looked neither left nor right; her glance merely skimmed disinterest toward their presence and moved past toward third-floor without even a nod.

Fenglei stood red-faced; rage built within him in silence, a prince’s grandson not lightly slighted in these halls!

Yet she—a singular anomaly among his woes.

Fiercely respected as the bearer of Manshazhi, her might had ascended realms past mere peerhood! To even the once rising Jundo, she had posed unmatched dominion!

Without a word of introduction Ruoxi ascended like wind spirits gliding between clouds straight ahead past the table Yuying held, halting in front directly, seated with cold uninvited eyes burning silently.

Yuying—caught entirely off-guard though always closely tied with Lord Zhang brothers remained distantly connected at best from that one.

Her gaze met with an unexpected challenge she could trace no source.

“Well?” she raised an incredulous tone, “What tempest winds led you here to my company without even a warning? Have I offended your highness somewhere in a forgotten life?”

“I’ll handle him myself first, starting tonight,” her voice—chilling yet clear with demand.

“Tonight?” snapped Yuying, “He moves only if relocating into Master Jundo’s estate—since when my quarters are for YOUR relocation to claim! Dare not order me about!”

A metallic click echoed in the hall’s corner.

In her hand rested opening palm—a shoulder-mounted cannon. The infamous *Kai-Shan* resting on table like she’d planned this moment’s need for explosive insurance at arms reach should treacherous mischief ever stir nearby.

But against her—a hand moved upon table top, soft in appearance; yet gripping it was the infamous flower-like blade—bloodthirsty *Manzhu Sahua* itself.

Fright surged as her skin prickled, bones freezing beneath that weapon whose murderous intention now coiled around her very spine. Her world, every muscle stilled—air, pressure around her—locked, paralyzed, and trapped.

For the *Manzhu Sahua’s* reeking presence alone held space and life within its deadly command.

“Lost your mind!” Yuying spat the unthinkable shock—“You cannot do this now, here! One pull and both this place AND YOU vanish like ash!”

Fate hung by a thread. Unforeseen was Ruoxi willing to unleash divine weaponry upon Factions grounds, ready for utter annihilation…