Ye Chen quickly reached out and clamped a hand over her mouth, rolling his eyes with palpable annoyance. "Shut up!"

The Seventh Princess, pinned against the wall, stared with wide, horrified eyes. After a moment, she saw Ye Chen slowly release his hold and felt a wave of relief wash over her, secretly counting herself lucky he hadn't suddenly succumbed to base instincts; that would have been a disaster.

"It's just the restroom," Ye Chen glanced at her. "Hurry up and activate that scrambler."

The Seventh Princess nearly skewered him with an imaginary dagger. Though struggling to maintain composure, she snapped back furiously, "Everyone knows it’s the restroom! The problem is, this is the men's restroom!!"

"Oh. Turn on the scrambler, then."

"……………"

The Seventh Princess gritted her teeth in bitter resentment, rubbing her wrist. On it was a fire-red crystal, fashioned into an elegant bracelet that, set against her pale, luminous skin, was breathtakingly beautiful. She tapped something on it almost imperceptibly, then said quietly, "Done. Hold my hand, and don't let go."

Ye Chen looked at her outstretched hand, hesitated for a beat, then took it. His skin registered the touch as cool and delicately boneless. "Follow me quickly," he urged.

The Seventh Princess almost fainted from sheer exasperation. It was harder to gain an audience with her than to scale the heavens, yet here she was, offering him her hand, and this infuriating scoundrel had the audacity to hesitate, as if he were the one being put out! How utterly insufferable!

Suppressing her rage, she puffed out her cheeks and followed Ye Chen out of the men's room. As they exited, they nearly collided with a group of people entering for the facilities. The group paused mid-step, utterly stunned, almost petrified, upon seeing the Seventh Princess and Ye Chen together.

Ye Chen acted as if he noticed nothing, striding forward with purpose. The Seventh Princess, however, turned completely scarlet, her face so flushed it looked like blood might pour forth. She buried her head, mentally cursing Ye Chen’s lineage back several hundred generations, convinced her entire reputation had been utterly ruined in that single instant.

Ye Chen led the Princess through several corridors until they reached the vicinity of the Battle Stage. He glanced toward the distant competitor seating area, mused for a moment, and then walked directly toward it with the Princess. There were no guards here, only shimmering bands of seven-colored light crisscrossing the air, barring entry.

In this entire zone, spatial density was compressed to an extreme, making teleportation nigh impossible. Furthermore, spatial detection devices were deployed; any ripple of spatial energy would trigger an immediate alarm. Attempting to blink here was tantamount to suicide.

Ye Chen simply pulled the Seventh Princess’s hand and strode forward. A strange thing happened: as the seven-colored lights made contact with their bodies, they vanished without a sound, and no alarm blared, as if their passage was the most natural thing in the world.

What Ye Chen and the Princess could not see was that, in the global monitoring station atop the peak, their presence was utterly undetected—they were ghosts.

Passing the security line, they arrived at the competitor seating area. They looked around: the Battle Stage was impossibly vast, spanning dozens of kilometers, encircled by eight entrances leading from the spectator stands. Inside the stage, everything was pitch black, devoid of light.

Above each entrance, the universal script of the Ancient Continent denoted the represented nation or Holy Temple. These eight entrances belonged exclusively to six Holy Temples and two Empires—the two Empires being the Dark Empire and the Thunder Empire. The Blazing God Empire and the Light Empire, familiar to Ye Chen, were conspicuously absent.

Ye Chen frowned slightly, thinking, If she were participating, she would represent the Light Empire. With her abilities, she can split into billions of clones. I wonder if the legends exaggerated her power, or if it’s true. Regardless, with that strength, defeating every genius here wouldn't be difficult.

Did she not come to compete?

If not, where has she gone?

Ye Chen’s gaze drifted, lost in thought. At that moment, a resonant, booming bell chimed, shaking the very ground beneath the Battle Stage. The sound pierced the heart, leaving his eardrums ringing painfully.

"Dark Empire, Snow Maiden is victorious!" the referee’s voice echoed, soaring and exultant, reaching every corner. The assembled crowd erupted in thunderous cheers. Some even broke free of their sensory restraints, leaping from their seats to shout their joy, or embracing strangers and acquaintances alike in an overwhelming, ineffable ecstasy.

Ye Chen turned his head briefly and saw Feng Wuji collapsed on the stage, both arms broken, a bloody gash across his back, his body riddled with wounds and utterly broken. Blood streamed from his lips, and he lacked the strength to even twitch a finger.

The black-haired woman stood motionless at the center of the stage, her expression cold. Her chest rose and fell slightly; though her black robe was torn down one side, she seemed otherwise unharmed.

In this Genius Tournament, battles were fought on real martial platforms. However, to guarantee the participants' safety, a strand of their soul was recorded beforehand. Even if the physical body perished in combat, so long as the soul remained, recreating a new body was simple.

As soon as the victor was declared, medical personnel immediately swarmed the stage, swiftly retrieving advanced healing tubes and rapid-regeneration devices from their exquisite toolboxes. These medics were the continent’s top doctors; it was no exaggeration to say that even if a body were reduced to a pile of white bones, they could quickly regenerate flesh and blood upon them, restoring a perfectly healthy physique.

At this moment, Feng Wuji’s body was, in essence, dead, but his soul—having reached the level of a Demigod—persisted. As long as the soul remained whole, true death was averted.

Under the care of these medics, Feng Wuji’s injuries healed rapidly within minutes. Soon, he stood up, vigorous once more. He glared coldly at the impassive Snow Maiden, his fists clenching until they cracked. He had fought his way so far, defeating so many contenders to reach the final eight, only to be eliminated now. A profound sense of injustice churned within him.

Just then, a fleeting glimpse in his peripheral vision caught sight of a small, dark shadow standing nearby. The shadow was unobtrusive, but from his specific vantage point, it was visible. He paused, focusing his gaze, and his pupils contracted instantly. A surge of wild elation flooded his features. "It's him!"

It was no exaggeration to say Ye Chen haunted his dreams. Ever since his defeat at White Spirit Mountain, it had been a consuming obsession. Once favored among his peers, that crushing loss in front of the woman he admired had instilled a humiliation unlike any he had known. Upon returning to the Holy Temple, he had cultivated like a madman. The secret techniques that had reached a bottleneck suddenly soared to new heights over the past century.

He was confident. While the opponent had far surpassed him back then, through sheer effort, he was certain he had now reversed the tide. Only he knew the immense torment and struggle he had endured over the last hundred years to reach this level!

He hadn't truly expected to meet Ye Chen again, especially after hearing that Ye Chen had dedicated his heart to Bai Yijun—a path that surely meant death. A mix of jealousy and admiration had filled him. To see him now brought a shock of joy that nearly overwhelmed him. He shouted loudly, "Hey—!"

The sunlight over the entire Ancient World was focused on the massive, kilometer-spanning Battle Stage, and naturally, Feng Wuji and Snow Maiden were the primary objects of scrutiny. Hearing his sudden outburst, everyone froze for a moment, then followed the gaze of the observation lenses, spotting two figures tucked away in a concealed corner of the stage: a young man with black clothes and white hair, looking utterly serene, and next to him, a red-haired girl huddled and trembling.

"Bad... bad man," the Seventh Princess stammered, her voice shaky. Despite being a Princess of the Blazing God Empire, she had never witnessed such a scene. In terms of nobility, Feng Wuji far outstripped her, and now, under the intense gaze of countless eyes, she felt as if every detail of her being was being dissected, every minor flaw magnified thousands of times and exposed to the public. She felt profoundly uneasy, clutching Ye Chen's sleeve. "W-we’ve been exposed."

Ye Chen turned his head toward Feng Wuji, arching an eyebrow, but before he could speak, more than a dozen guards rushed over, all at the peak Spirit God level. The leading man, middle-aged, barked, "Who are you? This area is strictly forbidden. Surrender now and come with us to the interrogation chamber!"

Ye Chen assessed the group with a brief glance, his fist tightening slightly. At that moment, Feng Wuji’s voice cut through. "Officer, please grant them three minutes." The dozen guards looked at the handsome man with surprise. Feng Wuji approached them with a graceful, unhurried smile, sizing Ye Chen up. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm genuinely happy to see you're still alive. Truthfully, I must thank you for the past century; without you, my progress wouldn't have been nearly as fast." Ye Chen studied him for a long moment before replying, "And you are?" Feng Wuji’s smile stiffened momentarily, and the air around them seemed to freeze. If not for the guards watching nearby, he would have probably attacked instantly. His face cycled through shades of red and white. Gritting his teeth, he said, "I am Feng Wuji. We fought at White Spirit Mountain a hundred years ago." Ye Chen thought hard for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't recall."

A muscle twitched along Feng Wuji’s jaw, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists. Feeling the strange looks from the surrounding guards, his cheeks burned with shame. Annoyed, he said through clenched teeth, "Since you're here, don't even think about leaving today. Do you dare fight me?"

The man in the middle hesitated. "Private duels are not permitted here, sir." Feng Wuji looked at him, his expression smoothing back to geniality. "Officer, just three minutes, please. I guarantee this fight will be over in three minutes!"

The guard was still wavering when the dialogue was instantly broadcast by reporters to the outside viewing area. Everyone watching outside was thrilled. To witness a genius of Feng Wuji's caliber fight, even if the opponent was a nobody, was exhilarating. Moreover, spectacle was human nature. Instantly, the entire spectator seating area erupted in deafening clamor.

"Let him fight!"

"Give him three minutes!!"

"Give him three minutes!!!" What had started as scattered noise coalesced into a single, unified roar that swept over the area like a tidal wave, clearly audible across the entire arena.

Public opinion could not be ignored. The middle-aged man paused, then relented. "Very well. Make it quick. This is outside the committee's jurisdiction; I am making an exception." "Rest assured," Feng Wuji replied with a confident smile.

Ye Chen spared him a detached glance. "I'm busy. I have no time to waste. One second is sufficient." (To be continued.)