On the day of the Sword Master Qualification Exam, the ring matches were set up on a carefully cleared hillside. Since dawn, a surging crowd had gathered. Due to the sheer number of participants, the organizers had to resort to preliminary elimination rounds to pare down the field before proceeding with slower selections.

One hundred large arenas were situated across the slope, from top to bottom. The mere staging of this venue had taken the organizers a full month to construct. The layout was a masterpiece of artful design, leveraging the imposing backdrop of Mount Wudang to accentuate the rings, offering a grand welcome to guests from all over the realm.

Amidst the throng, Yang Ying maintained his attire of a trench coat, hat, sunglasses, and scarf. Absolutely no one paid him any mind; partly because the crowd was enormous, and partly because many around him were dressed even more strangely.

Since his return to the hotel the previous evening had been late, he hadn't contacted the Xin family. When he reached out this morning, Xin Jinyun informed him she was already at the venue and told him to come on his own.

Thus, Yang Ying made his way to the site alone.

Guided by his sixth sense, he found Xin Jinyun watching as a spectator beneath one of the rings; her mother was nowhere near her.

Yang Ying stepped forward and clapped her on the shoulder. "Miss Xin, you certainly made me work to find you."

Xin Jinyun turned, surprise blooming on her face. "Yang Ying?" But her expression immediately darkened. "Didn't you promise you’d visit our home again before today? Why the broken appointment?"

"Well..." Yang Ying thought to himself, I certainly can't tell her I’m being hunted by the Baiyuan Cult, and the later I arrive, the longer I can delay being discovered. She shouldn't be dragged into the Baiyuan Cult's affairs. He searched for an excuse.

Seeing Yang Ying hesitate, Xin Jinyun waved it off. "Forget it. It’s good that you’re here. Let’s not bring it up again."

"Thank you." Yang Ying looked at her face and nodded. "Where is your mother?"

Xin Jinyun pointed toward the reviewing stand atop the hill. "She’s with the judging panel. Especially today, with so many people here, it's hard for her to find a moment."

"I see," Yang Ying acknowledged.

"Right," Xin Jinyun asked. "Why do you call me 'Xin Guniang' (Miss Xin) instead of 'Miss Xin'?"

"It's a habit," Yang Ying spread his hands. "Perhaps I’ve read too many wuxia novels; I carry a bit of an antique style about me."

"Is that so?" Xin Jinyun seemed unsatisfied with his answer, but after pondering, she conceded, "That's fine, too. We are martial artists, after all; a touch of antiquity suits us."

Just then, Yang Ying felt a camera turn in their direction to film them. He shifted his stance slightly and angled his face away, presenting his back to the lens.

Xin Jinyun had already found his heavy disguise strange, and seeing him actively evade the camera, she asked, "Yang Ying, what's with the cameras?"

"I don't want to be on television. There are people who dislike me intensely, and I finally managed to ditch them. It would be disastrous if they spotted me on TV," Yang Ying murmured softly.

"I understand. But there must be dozens of cameras here. Can you dodge them all?" Xin Jinyun’s voice lowered too, but her expression suggested she suspected Yang Ying might be hiding something disreputable.

"My perception is sharp. As long as I’m not completely boxed in from all sides, I can evade them." Yang Ying pulled his scarf a bit higher, feeling the camera sweep past them momentarily before moving on.

The fight on the stage above them had reached a fever pitch. Swords clashed, producing sharp ringing sounds. Both used quick sword styles, and their skills seemed evenly matched. They were the most captivating duel among the surrounding rings, drawing shouts of approval from the audience. Yet, the expressions of the combatants grew increasingly strained, as if they were destined to lose.

"Yang Ying, what do you think of these two?" Xin Jinyun asked, gesturing toward the fighters.

Yang Ying watched for a few moments, having already grasped the core techniques of both swordsmen. Though he couldn't replicate them instantly, judging the moves of lesser fighters from a master's perspective was effortless; verbal commentary was more than sufficient.

"I see both have achieved a certain level of skill, and their gap is small. If they hadn't met in this round, they might both have advanced. But since they collided here, one must fall, and the other will likely be too depleted to pass the next round easily."

Xin Jinyun’s dimples reappeared as she sighed. "Luck is also a part of strength, isn't it?"

Contestants were scheduled for three matches daily, proceeding through elimination rounds. Losing once disqualified them. Opponents were selected randomly by computer, injecting massive chance into the proceedings, making luck crucially important.

At that moment, a voice cut in behind them. "Only seeing luck? The distribution of stamina across three daily matches is also a crucial test for the contestants. Can't you see that aspect either?"

Yang Ying turned. The speaker was an elderly man with graying temples and a solid build, though his small eyes paired with an aquiline nose gave him a rather sinister look.

"It's you. Aren't you also on the judging panel?" Xin Jinyun frowned upon seeing him and quietly introduced him to Yang Ying. "This is the veteran Sword Master Tong Jinhe. He earned his title twenty years ago. He is also Coach Tong’s uncle and sword instructor. After Coach Tong resigned, he visited the guild hall once to cause trouble."

Although she didn't specify the magnitude of the "trouble," Yang Ying could sense from her tone that the old man made her deeply uncomfortable.

"What are you two whispering about?" Tong Jinhe squinted at Yang Ying. "And who are you? Hiding your face, afraid to be seen?"

Xin Jinyun quickly interjected, "He is my friend, and he's never met you, sir."

Tong Jinhe snorted, ignoring Xin Jinyun’s defense, and glared at Yang Ying. "I heard a young master came to the Xin Family Guild hall and severely humiliated my nephew, Tong Zhishan. Was that you?"

"It was. What of it? Are you here to avenge him?"

Yang Ying’s voice was devoid of heat or anger, sounding like casual conversation, yet it struck Tong Jinhe with a sense of oppressive pressure.

Tong Jinhe thought to himself, Hmph, this youth seems anything but simple. I must handle him carefully.

"Heh heh..." He let out a cold laugh. "It's nothing. My nephew was simply outmatched; it's not your fault. You stay here and enjoy this grand event. I must return to the judging panel."

With that, he turned and started walking up the hill.

Xin Jinyun reached out and tugged Yang Ying’s sleeve, whispering, "Be careful. That old man doesn't play fair. I hear that whenever he participated in sword tournaments, his opponents often suffered accidents before the matches. Many of his enemies have also mysteriously vanished, but since no evidence of his wrongdoing could ever be found, he’s gotten away with it for years."

"I understand." Yang Ying nodded slightly, raising a hand to summon an invisible Specter Agent, sending a voice transmission. "Follow that old man ahead and see what he does."

Voice transmission was a method of psychic application, using mental energy to vibrate the air and generate sound. The point of vibration could be right next to the target’s ear, functioning like an earpiece, allowing the sound to be extremely quiet and highly concealed.

This technique was recorded in the book on psychic powers. When Yang Ying first attempted it, he could only produce a series of meaningless static noises; it took long practice to articulate clear speech. Furthermore, the divine race, lacking mouths, used this exact method to communicate.

"Yes, sir." The Specter Agent carefully avoided contact with the crowd, quietly trailing after the old man.