“The Sword Freak of Jiangbei!” Fear, stupor, scorn and admiration intermingled in the audience’s eyes as it stared at the enigmatic figure. The White Immortal sect disciples couldn’t identify Xia Hu, but among the thousands of gathered spectators, White Immortal sect disciples didn’t account for 30%. The rest came from Purple Wind city and nearby Dongli prefectures. Those foreign spectators knew a lot more about the outside world than the average White Immortal disciple. In their ears, the name Sword Freak echoed like rolling thunder.

“Who?” Asked a White Immortal sect inner disciple, more impressed by Xia Hu’s high-flying entrance than the unflattering title he seemingly carried.

“You don’t know? A couple weeks ago, a masked swordsman appeared in the Jiangbei prefecture to capture young to middle-aged women. At first, the Jiangbei people were ready to crusade against the flower thief, and some even linked him to the Flower Plucking gang, but it soon became clear that the masked swordsman only targeted the most corrupt and depraved women of Jiangbei—ridding the common people of untold evils!

Many of these women either had the backing of mightily shameful scoundrels or possessed a respectable cultivation base in their own right. The most notorious was the Jiangbei prefect’s wife. By relying on her husband’s peak Foundation Building strength, she operated an unlawful slavery ring that caused the systemic capture and sale of over 12,000 children! The masked swordsman would have none of it, chopped the vile husband’s head with one sword slash, and took the bitch into custody.

Because of his peerless sword skills and...hum, unusual green clothes, Jiangbei’s common folks named him...Sword Freak!”

“The green though...so much green. What an eyesore. He even dares to put on such a tall and glossy green hat. I respect the audacity.”

“If wearing green hats is a mark of audacity, I’d rather die a craven.”

“What do you know? This is an example of uber masculinity. You are no man until you have the gal to put on the green! The Sword Freak is so above us that he doesn’t care for our petty standards and will proudly wear any color he fancies!” Men and women…mostly men, challenged one another.

“He can fly too. How...is that possible?” Without a Spiritual Pulse, cultivators couldn’t defy gravity and soar into the air...well they could, but that was more a product of absurd leaping prowess than immortal flying skills. Foundation Building experts could go around that rule by riding flight artifacts, but Qi Refinement cultivators had no such ability. However, Xia Hu didn’t conceal the Qi Refinement cultivation base leaking from his dantian—making several question how he accomplished that feat.

The sect elders and masters observed him with scrutiny—their eyes widened in disbelief.

“Rubbish, the Sword Freak is a Wind Spiritual Root owner. Is there such a thing as a Wind Spiritual Root owner that cannot fly?”

“A Wind Spiritual Root? So that’s how it is. When did the White Immortal sect produce this monster?” A chaotic bluster of dissonant debates spread throughout the audience. The five elements and Void Spiritual Root aside, humans had access to three mutations: the Wind, Thunder and Ice Spiritual Roots. The three mutant variants stood above the average Single-Element Roots but below Void Spiritual Roots. More importantly, unlike the traditional elements, mutant roots granted their owners uncommon innate skills—making them infinitely more valuable.

Eyes shifted toward the Yang stele, wondering which name would get crossed out. Each White Immortal sect disciple had an identity token. As soon as they stepped on the yang or yin platform, the matching stele’s runes would connect to the token and erase the newcomer’s name—granted that they didn’t step on the wrong platform. When the disciples died, their identity token crumbled into dust. And in the case of theft, the sect had many ways to verify ownership.

No one believed that any rationally thinking low-level cultivator would attempt to mess up the White Immortal sect’s most important event. So, all assumed that the Sword Freak was either Xia Hu or Xinzi’s second identity. However, eyes stared, time passed, and still the yang stele refused to cross any of the last two names. Excitement turned into silence, the sparks of building tension teased the spectators’ nerves, and as questions multiplied, Guang Fanghu sent the guarding elders a mental message.

“Sword Freak or Sword Baboon, only White Immortal sect disciples can step on the platforms and join the competition. Child, are you trying to fraud your way into my sect’s competition?”

“If you’ve yet to register, present your token and write your name. But if it turns out that you’re trying to defraud our sect, humph! Out of respect for your talent, we can give you the opportunity to leave the darkness and join the light—our light. That, or death! Your choice!” The yang stele’s guarding elders said. Assuming that the newcomer didn’t belong to the White Immortal sect, they’d attempt to rope him. Mutant Roots came in short supply—supply controlled by Hegemon-level factions or above? How could they let this one go?

Driven by their Golden Core cultivation bases, the words carried irresistible momentum that pressed on Xia Hu’s shoulders like a tumbling behemoth.

Underneath his mask, the Sword Freak turned livid and bit his lips, restraining a blood spurt. He too didn’t know why the stele refused to cross out his name—no, rather, he didn’t want to know.

“I wouldn’t dare. This...is my identity token,” Xia Hu said and tapped his storage ring, pulling out a bronze token engraved with his name. Due to the mask modifying his voice, no one could see through Xia Hu’s gender issues...yet. Without waiting for the elders’ inspection, he cut his thumb open, letting his blood dip the token—it flashed in response.

With this demonstration, the elders no longer doubted Xia Hu’s membership. Still, they cast their Spiritual Senses, analyzing the token to not only check Xia Hu’s identity but also to verify that he didn’t somehow fudge the token—they found nothing wrong, and their eyes widened at the name.

“Xia Hu?”

“Heavens, Xia Hu is the Sword Freak of Jiangbei? As expected of the Sword Fairy’s beloved. What an upstanding gentleman!”

“Rubbish! What upstanding gentleman goes around kidnapping women? Clearly he’s using them for some nefarious purpose, but is trying to keep his conscience clean by targeting the wicked ones!”

“That...makes sense.”

The guarding elders’ words triggered a new uproar. Elders and masters scanned the token to make sure that their ears had not betrayed them. After confirming that they didn’t, the elders sat back, pulling out tanghulus to enjoy the upcoming fun with.

“It’s him? Wait, if he is the one that rescued the Liberation Temple, why isn’t Xinzi with him?” That thought flashed by Guang Fanghu’s mind, but confused as to why the yang stele ignored Xia Hu’s presence, Guang Fanghu put that at the back of his mind and stood up.

“Don’t bother.” Lord Hanxing’s mental message halted Guang Fanghu’s move. Teleporting from his seat, the great elder appeared before Xia Hu, snatched his token and took him back to the leaders’ floating platform. Instantly, Xia Hu realized that despite his rapid rise and absurd battle-power, he was still nothing more than an insignificant beetle before these elders. The thought rattled him, but with a rare display of flawless self-control, he kept his cool.

“Although it can hide the truth, the mask is just a black-grade artifact. With your cultivation level, can’t you see the Yin-Yang imbalance in this boy’s body? The stele rejects him...because he’s not a man,” Lord Hanxing said. From the start, Zi Yao, Lady Ziyue and Hanxing had noticed the outrageous imbalance in Xia Hu’s yin and yang. Guang Fanghu would have too, if he weren’t so concerned about trivial matters.

To prove his words, Lord Hanxing yanked off Xia Hu’s mask, revealing a beauty with full lips and dark, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with a mesmerizing allure. That face superimposed with Xia Hu’s, and Guang Fanghu’s eyes nearly popped out of their socket. The vassals had it worse and had to hold on to their seats to not fall face-first.

“This...what is going on? How did you suffer such a tribulation?” Guang Fanghu leaned over, peeking at Xia Hu as if it were not a man, but a unique and foreign specimen standing before him. Lord Hanxing ignored him, shifting his attention back to Xia Hu.

“Child, I won’t beat around the bush. You can wear 10,000 layers of clothing and hide underneath myriad masks if it makes you feel better. But the way you are now...you’re only qualified for the Yin Platform,” Lord Hanxing said.

The words hit Xia Hu like battering rams. His body teetered, gravity’s pull over him seemed to intensify, and he lurched onto his knees. There was a strange glint in Lord Hanxing’s eyes as he glanced at Xia Hu. Zi Yao aside, no one noticed it—not even his wife of centuries.

“However, you are not without hope. The Nine Paths of Yin and Yang hide miraculous opportunities, the Yin-Yang Sword Array is only one of them. If you can cultivate it to perfection, inverting Yin and Yang is not impossible. I am willing to make an exception and let you compete for your crippled manhood. What will you give me in return?”

“W-what do you want?”

“A successor,” Lord Hanxing said, making Guang Fanghu and Ziyue’s faces twist into grimaces.

“Uncle this…”

“Nephew, your uncle was not blessed to be Xinzi’s master, but just found another good seedling. Are you trying to interfere with your uncle’s legacy?” Lord Hanxing’s usual merry voice made way for a cold and unforgiving tone. In that moment, Guang Fanghu didn’t doubt that if he dared to stand in his uncle’s way, one year from now his daughter would celebrate his death anniversary. His mouth refused to open, and he fell back into his seat.

“Agree. If that cultivation method can help you return to your previous form, I don’t mind. That man isn’t as simple as he looks, but with me here, he can’t play tricks,” Xue Yuanshao reassured Xia Hu, and the swordmaster’s eyes flashed with determination.

“Master, your disciple greets you!” Xia Hu said and kowtowed to Lord Hanxing.

…

Meanwhile, concealed within the spectators, Xinzi fanned the flames of discord while maintaining a low profile. As a White Immortal disciple, it was his duty to make sure the event didn’t lack in clamoring crowds. But as he waited for the best moment to make a flashy entrance, Lord Hanxing pulled Xia Hu to the leaders’ side for reasons only he understood—suspicion flashed in Xinzi’s eyes and his lips curled into a wolfish grin.

“Interesting. Master, master, I wonder how much of your old friend you understand. Oh well, it’s now or never.”

…

As the confused audience’s eyes sought answers from the leaders’ platform, a column of cold-blue flames soared into the sky, golden runes coiled around it, and a monastic figure appeared in the midst. The frigid flame pillar curved like an arcing rainbow, driving the monastic figure towards the yang platform. With that one entrance, the momentum shifted from Xia Hu to gather around the new entrant—last of the contestants, the Liberation Abbot: Xinzi!