fantasy novels Chapter 161 Victory Celebration Banquet
Chapter 161 Victory Celebration Banquet
Looking at the five young faces, Chen Feng's eyes were almost overflowing with satisfaction. He put away the jade slip, took out a small notebook from his pocket, glanced at it, and then closed it again.
"I knew you'd agree. The Alliance has already allocated five spots to Xingwu University, which is exactly five for you." He paused. "You have two weeks to rest. After two weeks, we'll return to Xingwu University to participate in the school's selection trials and determine the final roster."
Cheers erupted again inside. Su Ling'er jumped up, nearly hitting the low beam, then bent over and jumped again, her ponytail whipping through the air in an arc. Chu Fan, infected by her excitement, smiled slightly. He didn't jump, but wrote two words in his notebook—"Victory is certain." After looking at it for two seconds, he crossed it out and added a more restrained word next to it—"Do your best." Leng Feng gripped the hilt of his sword, drawing it half an inch from its sheath. The blade flashed, reflecting in his eyes like a ignited flame.
That evening, a victory celebration was held at the Black Stone Mountain defense line. Soldiers lit bonfires in the open space beneath the city walls. The fires rose high, flames leaping two or three meters, illuminating the entire wall in a fiery red glow. Large chunks of meat simmered in iron pots, the broth bubbling and filling the air with an irresistible aroma. A low wall of wine jars was built, the seals still unbroken, yet some couldn't resist breaking open a few, the fragrance of wine mingling with the aroma of meat, permeating the night breeze. Soldiers sat in a circle around the bonfires. Some sang while tapping bowls, some clapped to the rhythm, and some danced with their comrades, their movements clumsy and awkward, more strenuous than fighting, but no one laughed. Not that they didn't want to laugh, but that they had forgotten how. Those who had guarded the walls for seven days and seven nights had lost the ability to laugh. But their songs were joyful, their gestures powerful, and their dances exuberant. Sorrow was for themselves; joy was for others.
Li Kuangdao arrived from the clinic at the rear. His left chest was still wrapped in thick bandages, blood seeping through, but his steps were steady, his back ramrod straight. The sleeve of his severed arm fluttered in the night wind. With his only remaining right hand, he held a bowl of wine. The bowl was coarse porcelain, chipped at the rim, and filled to the brim, the liquid bulging slightly like an inverted crystal ball. He walked up to Lin Chen, stopped, and said nothing. He looked at Lin Chen, his eyes cloudy, but within that cloudiness was a light—the light of a veteran, a general, a predecessor. He held the bowl up to Lin Chen, without saluting, without exchanging pleasantries, simply raising the bowl for Lin Chen to take.
Lin Chen took the bowl of wine. Li Kuangdao turned around and picked up another bowl from the table next to him, filling it to the brim as well. He held the bowl with his right hand, tilting it slightly towards Lin Chen, then tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp. The wine overflowed from the bowl, trickling down his chin, across the scars on his face, over the stubble on his chin, and dripping onto the ground, seeping into the soil.
Lin Chen didn't hesitate. He imitated Li Kuangdao, tilting his head back and drinking the wine in the bowl in one gulp. The wine was strong, spicy on the palate, burning his throat, esophagus, and stomach, like a ball of fire exploding in his abdomen. He didn't cough, didn't frown, turned the empty bowl upside down, not a drop of wine spilled.
Li Kuangdao laughed. It was a large, rugged laugh that pulled at the scars on his face, making his originally fierce features look somewhat comical. He stretched out his right arm and patted Lin Chen's shoulder. The pat was heavy; Lin Chen swayed slightly, but quickly regained his balance.
"Good lad." Li Kuangdao's voice was hoarse, but full of energy. "Bring me back the championship from the global tournament. Let the human race see that those standing on our borders are not trash."
The victory celebration lasted until late at night. The wine jars were empty, the iron pots were dry, and the bonfire had burned from towering flames to a pile of dark red ash, from which a spark or two occasionally popped out, crackling loudly. The soldiers dispersed in twos and threes; some were helped back, some walked back on their own, and some collapsed onto the straw mats beside the bonfire and fell asleep, snoring loudly.
Lin Chen didn't sleep. He walked alone onto the city wall, standing where the battle had taken place during the day, facing north. There were no soldiers left on the wall; after the reinforcements rotated out, the tired, wounded, and blood-stained faces of the day were gone, replaced by new, clean, and young faces. They didn't recognize him, and he didn't recognize them. He stood there not because of them, but because of the north.
The northern sky was clear. No dark clouds, no smoke of battle, no ominous fog. The moon was round and large, its silvery light spilling over the mountains and forests, over the city walls, and over him. The stars were dense, countless, like a handful of diamonds scattered on black velvet. The core of his martial arts within his dantian pulsated slightly, echoing the stars in the sky. It wasn't a deliberate activation, but an instinctive resonance, like two magnets attracting each other, or like birds singing homeward.
The Global Youth Martial Arts Tournament is more than just a competition. The Evil Clan won't let this opportunity slip by. They suffered heavy losses at the Blackrock Mountain defense line, at the Greenstone Border City, and in the secret realm; they will definitely seek revenge at the global tournament. Assassination, sabotage, framing, infiltration—he'd seen too many of the Evil Clan's methods.
But Lin Chen wasn't afraid. It wasn't arrogance, but a dulling of fear after experiencing so much. Having witnessed the blood pools of the secret realm, the ruins of the border town, and the unyielding figures on the Black Stone Mountain defense line, he found it difficult to be afraid of anything anymore. The global competition would present enemies stronger than Qin Kun, demonic experts more terrifying than those at the Void Breaking Realm, and ambushes more difficult to defend against than the Soul Control Gu. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he stood here, the Star Sword in his hand, the Star Martial Core within his dantian, and his four companions behind him.
Lin Chen gripped the Star Sword tightly, turned, and walked down the city wall. Dim light shone from the windows of the distant barracks. Su Muyue was probably still awake, perhaps drawing talismans, adjusting array flags, or waiting for his footsteps. Leng Feng was probably still polishing his blade; the battle sword gleamed brighter in his hands, the dark red patterns on its surface seemingly glowing. Chu Fan was definitely making a list; he would list every step of the global competition, from registration to accommodation to the competition itself to the return journey, each item written down clearly. Su Ling'er might be asleep, or she might be awake, rummaging through her medicine chest, checking how many pills, bandages, and other usable items she had left.
A night breeze blew in from the north, carrying the scent of the mountains and forests, the moisture from distant rivers, and a cool, clean, and malevolent atmosphere. The chirping of insects rose and fell in the distance, like a concert without a conductor. His footsteps pounded on the stone steps, neither too heavy nor too light, with a steady rhythm, as he walked step by step toward the light.