Leaving Crouching Tiger Peak felt like stepping out from behind a heavy screen into a vast, roaring world.
For six continuous months, Tai Bàoli's existence had been defined by the steady scrape of ironwood brooms across slate courtyards, the scent of ancient scrolls, and the quiet guidance of Great Elder Yi. As he crossed the long iron suspension bridge connecting his master's mountain to the central basin of the inner sect, the deep silence of the heights dissolved into an energetic swell of sound and motion.
Spread across the valley floor beneath the ten colossal peaks was a sprawling landscape of tiered white-stone plazas, spirit-herb gardens, soaring pillared pavilions, and wide flagstone thoroughfares. Cultivators in robes of crimson, azure, silver, and pitch-black moved with brisk purpose. Some rode upon floating spirit carriages pulled by horned crane-beasts, others sprinted across rooftops with weightless agility, and dozens congregated around notice boards and supply pavilions.
The spiritual density in the air was invigorating, humming with the faint vibrations of countless circulating techniques. Tai Bàoli inhaled deeply, his blood-red eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. He wore a simple, unadorned charcoal-grey robe over his towering six-foot-four frame, his long jet-black hair tied back neatly. Despite his plain attire and humble posture, his broad shoulders and dense physical presence drew occasional passing glances from other disciples.
Seeking information without drawing unnecessary attention, Tai Bàoli turned toward the Cloud Mist Tea House. Situated at the bustling intersection where four major peak thoroughfares converged, the multi-tiered pavilion was crowded with inner disciples resting between expeditions, trading rumors, and debating martial theory over steaming pots of spirit tea.
Tai Bàoli ascended the polished wooden staircase to the second terrace, found an empty table beside the carved railing overlooking the grand square, and ordered a pot of bitter green spirit tea along with a plate of spiced, dried iron-ox jerky. He placed three martial credits on the counter, poured himself a cup, and quietly tuned his sharp hearing to the surrounding tables.
At a neighboring table sat four young women engaged in animated discussion. Two wore the shimmering azure robes of Flowing Water Peak, each carrying elegant rapiers at their waists, while the other two wore the pale frost-white robes of Ice-Wind Valley Peak, adorned with delicate snowflake embroideries along their collars.
"...Senior Sister Mu's sword intent has grown even more profound," one of the azure-robed disciples remarked, setting down her cup with admiration. "During her sparring match against Senior Brother Yan Rong last week, her Flowing Ripple Stance effortlessly diffused thirty-two consecutive strikes of his Blazing Sun Saber. He couldn't force her back even half an inch before his Qi ran dry."
"Senior Sister Han from our Ice-Wind Valley has also been cultivating in the Frigid Glacier Caverns," one of the white-robed swordswomen replied with a proud smile. "Her Nine Heavens Frost Steps have reached perfection. When she moves, the arena floor freezes solid beneath her feet. If she challenges Senior Sister Mu next month, the top seat on the Tiger-Dragon Stone might finally shift."
Tai Bàoli listened closely, noting the names and reputations. Deciding it was better to inquire directly and build the connections his master urged him to seek, he turned in his seat, cupped his hands respectfully, and addressed the four women in a calm, polite tone.
"Senior sisters," Tai Bàoli said with a slight bow. "Pardon my sudden intrusion. I have spent the last half-year in deep seclusion and have only recently descended the mountain. If you have a moment to spare, could you enlighten a fellow disciple on how the inner sect rankings currently stand?"
The four disciples paused their discussion and turned toward him. Taking note of Tai Bàoli's tall, muscular build, striking crimson eyes, and exceptionally courteous demeanor, they saw neither arrogance nor hostility. The lead Flowing Water disciple, a young woman with sharp features and a pleasant, approachable demeanor, smiled and gestured toward an empty wooden stool at their table.
"A fellow disciple newly emerged from seclusion? No wonder your face is unfamiliar," she said warmly. "I am Chen Lu of Flowing Water Peak, and this is my junior sister, Meng Yao. Sitting across from us are Junior Sisters Xue and Bing from Ice-Wind Valley Peak. Please, take a seat. If you have truly been away for half a year, you have missed several noteworthy movements upon the Tiger-Dragon Stone."
Tai Bàoli brought his teacup over and took a seat. "I would appreciate your guidance, Senior Sister Chen. What is the Tiger-Dragon Stone?"
"It is the great ranking monument erected at the center of the Martial Exchange Grounds," Chen Lu explained, refilling her own cup. "It tracks the top twenty inner disciples based on public arena challenges, major mission achievements, and pavilion merit evaluations. Of course, no experienced cultivator treats the stone as absolute truth—every genuine prodigy keeps their most lethal trump cards hidden until life and death are on the line—but the top four seats have remained unbroken for over a year."
"And Senior Sister Mu Qinghe holds the first seat?" Tai Bàoli inquired.
"Indeed," Chen Lu answered with clear pride. "Senior Sister Mu represents Flowing Water Peak. Our mountain—which, like Ice-Wind Valley, is an all-female peak—prioritizes balance, deep reserves of stamina, and fluid adaptation. In combat, her sword Qi behaves like an endless river. She rarely tries to overpower an opponent with a single crushing blow; instead, she absorbs their momentum, exhausts their physical energy, and strikes decisively the moment their rhythm falters."
"Right beneath her is Yan Rong of Rising Sun Peak," Meng Yao, the second Flowing Water disciple, added warily. "That lunatic holds the second seat, and his style is the polar opposite of Senior Sister Mu. Rising Sun Peak embraces raw, aggressive momentum and scorching solar fire. Yan Rong fights like a raging wildfire—if you cannot withstand his initial thirty strikes, his Blazing Sun Saber will burn through your defenses entirely."
"And third?" Tai Bàoli asked, committing every detail to memory.
"Third belongs to Senior Sister Han Shuiyin of our Ice-Wind Valley Peak," the disciple named Xue said proudly. "Ice-Wind Valley is also an all-female mountain, and our arts focus on absolute environmental control and freezing speed. Senior Sister Han's frost arts chill an opponent's blood and slow their Qi circulation while she dances effortlessly out of range with cold movement techniques. And sitting firmly at fourth is Luo Tieshan of Grand Forge Peak."
"Luo Tieshan?" Tai Bàoli murmured, his interest drawn by the mention of body-refining strength.
"A walking fortress of iron," Chen Lu chuckled. "Grand Forge Peak merges weapon craftsmanship with brutal external body-tempering. Luo Tieshan wields a six-hundred-jin heavy war-cleaver and has hardened his skin, muscles, and bones to such density that ordinary mortal-rank weapons shatter against his body. If Yan Rong is an unstoppable blaze, Luo Tieshan is an unyielding iron mountain."
Tai Bàoli nodded slowly, piecing together the combat philosophies of the sect's leading figures: Flowing Water for fluid endurance and redirection, Rising Sun for explosive fire and relentless offense, Ice-Wind Valley for chilling control and evasive footwork, and Grand Forge for sheer physical resilience and crushing heavy weapons.
"And what of the other peaks?" Tai Bàoli asked. "When I entered the inner sect, the elders spoke of ten great mountains, yet disciples seem to speak almost exclusively of four or five."
Chen Lu smiled knowingly. "That is because among the ten peaks, only five are actively recruiting and training open batches of disciples. The four martial peaks we just discussed—Flowing Water and Ice-Wind Valley, which are both all-female peaks, alongside Rising Sun and Grand Forge—form the core combat pillars. The fifth active mountain is Array Pavilion Peak, which gathers scholars, formation masters, and strategic thinkers."
"Array Pavilion Peak..." Tai Bàoli repeated, thinking immediately of Liu Yanjiang.
"Aye," Chen Lu said. "Their disciples rarely engage in direct brawls, but no one on the Tiger-Dragon Stone dares underestimate them. Given enough preparation time, a single peak-mortal array can trap and suppress an entire squad of martial cultivators. In fact, a junior sister named Liu Yanjiang from the Yanjiang Clan has become quite famous there over the past few months. Her formation comprehension is astonishing; she has already helped sect elders reconstruct several damaged spiritual boundary arrays."
A faint, proud smile crossed Tai Bàoli's face. Liu Yanjiang had always possessed an extraordinary talent for intricate systems, and it was deeply gratifying to hear that her skills were flourishing.
"What about the remaining five peaks?" Tai Bàoli asked.
Chen Lu lowered her voice, leaning in closer across the wooden table. "The other five operate under very different circumstances. Hidden Dragon Peak is the private sanctuary of the Sect Master's direct lineage and legacy disciples; they rarely descend to mingle with regular inner disciples. Earthen Palace Peak, Moon Haven Peak, and Lightning Pavilion Peak house ancient branch lineages that haven't opened their gates to general recruitment in decades. Their peak elders only accept disciples possessing exceedingly rare, specialized spiritual constitutions compatible with their ancestral arts."
"And the tenth peak?" Tai Bàoli inquired calmly. "Crouching Tiger Peak?"
Chen Lu shook her head with a light sigh. "Crouching Tiger Peak is practically abandoned. An eccentric Great Elder named Yi resides there, but the mountain has no formal training halls, no structured curriculum, and no regular disciples. People say the paths are overgrown with weeds and heavy mist, used solely as a secluded trial ground for disciples seeking to temper their Dao hearts against the ancient abyss. It is quiet and mysterious, but no ambitious youth seeks it out."
Tai Bàoli suppressed an amused chuckle behind his teacup. If Senior Sister Chen knew that the vast courtyards and stone pathways of Crouching Tiger Peak were currently scrubbed spotless, without a single weed or speck of dust in sight, she would surely be stunned.
"Thank you for your generous guidance, Senior Sisters," Tai Bàoli said earnestly, setting down his cup and cupping his hands. "Your words have illuminated much for me."
"You are most welcome, Junior Brother," Chen Lu replied with a pleasant nod. "If you wish to see how the disciples of the active peaks fight, you should head down to the Martial Exchange Grounds. There are always challenges taking place on the open platforms."
Tai Bàoli offered his farewells, descended the terrace steps, and walked across the bustling white-stone plaza toward the perimeter of the sparring arenas.
The Martial Exchange Grounds consisted of dozens of raised square platforms carved from heavy granite, each enveloped in a shimmering translucent barrier to contain stray Qi and shockwaves. Disciples crowded around the platforms, cheering and analyzing every clash.
Tai Bàoli stopped before a platform surrounded by a large audience. Inside the barrier, a crimson-robed disciple from Rising Sun Peak was locked in combat with an azure-robed swordswoman from Flowing Water Peak. The Rising Sun cultivator swung a heavy curved saber wreathed in roaring orange flames, lunging forward with thunderous overhand chops that cracked against the protective array and sent waves of scorching heat rippling outward.
Opposite him, the Flowing Water swordswoman wielded twin hook-swords, gliding over the stone like mist over water. Whenever the flaming saber crashed downward with bone-crushing momentum, she did not meet it head-on; she tilted her crossed hooks at precise angles, catching the flat of the blade, siphoning the kinetic force into the slate, and sliding forward to threaten her opponent's throat.
*Six months ago, I would have only seen the brightness of the flames and the speed of their weapons,* Tai Bàoli analyzed silently, feeling the steady, rhythmic pulse of his own Dao Palace. *Now, the underlying structure is obvious. The Rising Sun disciple has terrifying initial burst, but his breathing is too shallow; by his twentieth strike, his center of gravity rises and leaves his lower stance vulnerable. The Flowing Water swordswoman is composed and fluid, but her physical density is too light. If she faced an opponent with overwhelming weight and immovable posture, those graceful redirections would shatter her wrists.*
Moments later, the duel ended exactly as Tai foresaw. The Rising Sun disciple overextended on a ferocious diagonal chop, his breath hitching. Seizing the flaw, the Flowing Water swordswoman smoothly redirected the blazing saber into the stone, swept her opponent off his feet, and rested the hooked tip of her blade against his throat.
The barrier lowered as the supervising elder signaled the conclusion. Tai Bàoli nodded slowly, quietly taking the tactical lesson to heart.
*I have a clear picture of the peaks and their rankings,* Tai Bàoli thought, adjusting his sleeves as he turned away from the arenas and set off down the wide eastern avenue. *Now, it's time to see how Liu Yanjiang has been doing.*