I heard you had a white moonlight who died young.

When Fan Zhiyi saw what Bing Nandong was holding, he exclaimed: "Damn it, I forgot that I was wearing a disguise prop!"

So, he was just recognized by the sect leader's son, the gatekeeper disciples, and Bing Nandong, all in this disguise. What happened to the disguise? Damn it, it was completely useless!

Bing Nandong stared at him: "Who gave you this idea? Your chin is all red."

Fan Zhiyi: "..." silently complaining in his heart, the young master is indeed very unreliable.

"Alright, you two, stop flirting." Zhuang Yujing couldn't wait any longer and asked, "What's going on on this stage? Why are sects secretly training these extremely talented disciples? What's going on inside the cultivation world?"

"Zhuang Yujing." Bing Nandong glanced at him. "You posted that for Fan Zhiyi?"

"How about it? My disguise skills are pretty good, aren't they?"

"You're stupid, and you look even stupider."

Zhuang Yujing was about to explode in anger, and Fan Zhiyi, trying to mediate, felt exhausted: "Let's get down to business first."

Zhuang Yujing snorted and raised an eyebrow at Bing Nandong: "You tell me first, what exactly is going on here?"

"There's nothing to say." Bing Nandong grabbed Fan Zhiyi and pulled him outside. "Let's go out first."

Zhuang Yujing quickly grabbed Fan Zhiyi's other hand: "We have important business to discuss with you."

The two sides stared at each other, an unspoken tension rising between them. Fan Zhiyi, caught in the middle, suddenly grabbed both sides with a swift gesture: "Let's go, let's all go."

He tried to pull, but found that he couldn't budge Zhuang Yujing at all. He turned around and saw Zhuang Yujing with a disgusted expression. Fan Zhiyi could understand what he meant: You dare to pull on me, young master? You're finished.

Fan Zhiyi reached out to pull Bing Nandong, but seeing Bing Nandong staring at him, he then seemed to remember something and, to his credit, took a step toward him and stopped moving.

Fan Zhiyi let go of his hand. Why would someone with no spiritual power or physical strength want to humiliate himself?

Bing Nandong had a headache. He knew that if he didn't make things clear, Zhuang Yujing would definitely keep pestering him, and getting involved in this kind of thing would do him no good.

"This competition is held by the cultivation world to select the best among the new generation of disciples. Therefore, all those who can participate have their own strengths. So you can start to reflect on why you were not invited."

Bing Nandong's tone was absolutely nonchalant, which was often extremely damaging to Zhuang Yujing, making the other party's face turn pale and then green: "You, you're talking nonsense!"

"Why would I talk nonsense? You saw the competition just now, didn't you? Don't you have any judgment in your heart? Young Master, go back and cultivate properly. Before others recognize you, hurry up and leave." Then Bing Nandong's gaze fell on Fan Zhiyi, "Don't mess around with him."

"How am I being ridiculous? If it's really as you say, why hold it secretly? Why not just do it openly and honestly? I'm not someone who can't take a joke."

"In order to maintain the confidence of the people in the cultivation world and prevent them from being too discouraged and developing inner demons."

Zhuang Yujing: "..."

Bing Nandong said, "Let's go quickly."

Fan Zhiyi glanced at the stage, where new contestants had started the competition. But something was amiss this time. The outcome was already decided; one side was clearly defenseless, yet the other was still going all out.

Bing Nan and Dong hadn't noticed the changes on stage yet; the two were still bickering.

Zhuang Yujing retorted, "Then why can you go!"

Bing Nandong didn't say anything, but gave Zhuang Yujing a look that told him to figure it out himself.

"I surrender, I surrender!" the man who fell on the stage roared, crawling backward on all fours, before being lifted up and pierced through the heart.

He stared blankly at the fist that had pierced his chest, vomiting blood continuously, his eyes filled with disbelief.

He stared blankly at his sect, his fear magnified infinitely, and then reached out his hand towards the sect, hoping to be rescued.

Fan Zhiyi knew exactly what it was: the desire to live.

But the victors didn't give him that chance at all, and without hesitation pulled their hands away, throwing the still-living person aside.

Blood stained Qin Qianchi's entire arm, dripping from his fingertips, but his eyes were full of mockery and excitement: "Next!"

The person who landed as lightly as a willow catkin made a heavy thud and stared wide-eyed.

Fan Zhiyi followed his gaze and saw that his sect and even all the audience below did not react at all, as if what had died was nothing more than a blade of grass, a lump of mud, or something insignificant.

They seem to have gotten used to it, as if they were born without feelings.

This was the first time someone had died right in front of Fan Zhiyi.

Previously, just seeing Xue Xiuniang's tragic death in a hallucination was enough to drive Fan Zhiyi mad. But now, Fan Zhiyi felt a chill pierce through his entire body from behind.

So he looked anxiously at Bing Nandong, afraid that if he saw such a cold expression on Bing Nandong's face, it would make Fan Zhiyi start to wonder if he was the only one in this world who had a problem.

The boy's brows were furrowed, his eyes filled with disbelief. He stood frozen in place, then looked at Fan Zhiyi, reached around from behind and covered Fan Zhiyi's eyes tightly.

Bing Nandong's voice was a little hoarse: "Don't be afraid, I'll go take a look."

Fan Zhiyi realized that he seemed to be trembling. How ridiculous! He was so much older than Bing Nandong, yet he still needed a young boy to comfort him. He had simply lived in vain.

However, Fan Zhiyi was only too shocked. He soon recovered and calmed down, patting Bing Nandong's hand and saying, "I'm fine."

In a world like the cultivation realm, where the strong are revered, there will only be more strife and death. To survive, Fan Zhiyi must adapt.

In the silence, Fan Zhiyi saw a disciple go up on stage to check the breath of the person who had fallen to the ground, and then announce like a machine: "Dead. Next, Lin Taiyin."

"Bing Nandong, what exactly happened? How could a competition result in the death of a disciple?" Zhuang Yujing's chest heaved abnormally, clearly suppressing his anger, and he pressed on aggressively.

Bing Nandong opened his mouth, but then pursed his lips and looked at the stage.

The man who entered was dressed in purple and had an unseemly manner. Fan Zhiyi recognized him at a glance; he had not only seen him at Zuixiang Pavilion yesterday, but Zhuang Yujing had also followed him into the venue this morning.

Is all of this just a coincidence?

As the match began, Zhuang Yujing watched as the man in purple barely dodged a blow and staggered to his feet. The force of the punch grazed his face, causing it to swell and turn red immediately. He muttered, "No, no!" Zhuang Yujing was almost about to rush forward, thinking, "He'll be beaten to death too!"