Everyone watched as the fight between Jin Rong and Han Ceng reached the climax.
In a shocking twist, Jin Rong used Han Ceng's own technique against him—reversed in timing.
Han Ceng fell, face-first.
The arena was silent.
Lin Mu's smile was faint.
"Jin Rong has no natural talent. But he has eyes. Eyes that learn. This match… is mine to remember."
By the end of the second month, only one hundred disciples remained.
The final hundred.
The names of each were now known across the sect. They were talked about in inns, tea houses, private courtyards, and hidden cultivation chambers.
The Floating Immortal Platform glittered at night, lit by glowing lantern arrays. Music sometimes played in the background from the Melody Peak disciples. Small food stalls appeared near the edges. The tournament wasn't just a test anymore—it was a legacy in motion.
And above it all, Lin Mu remained at the center.
Judging. Teaching. Learning.
He hadn't drawn his sword even once.
