Lan Ge finally turned to Fa Hua and made a rather ungraceful gesture at him.
“Is your second uncle not on good terms with you?” Fa Hua asked suddenly.
“Why wouldn’t he be? We’re on good terms. He’s from my father’s direct line—his most trusted brother,” Lan Ge replied instinctively.
Fa Hua said calmly, “But when he spoke to you just now, he didn’t seem particularly saddened.”
Lan Ge stiffened, his gaze dimming. “Maybe… it’s just been too long. No one can live in sorrow forever. Or maybe he…”
Fa Hua said, “How strong is he? Can you beat him?”
Lan Ge gave a bitter smile. “I don’t know. He used to be Eighth Rank—I don’t know if he’s broken through to Ninth. You’re saying… he knows this Grand Competition is also a contest for the Lord of Thunder City, so he’s deliberately—”
“It’s possible,” Fa Hua said. “You need to face every opponent seriously. You can’t afford even the slightest carelessness. If you want to take the position, you can’t keep dwelling on the past—you need to pull yourself together. After all, this isn’t a match where the two of us can fight side by side.”
“Mm.” Lan Ge nodded, forcing his emotions down. In truth, Fa Hua’s interruption had already eased some of his grief.
At that moment, someone stepped onto the platform—it was the Chancellor of the Free Kingdom, once his father’s right-hand man.
“The Thunder City Grand Competition is held once every ten years and has always been one of our city’s great events. This year, due to the schedule being moved forward, many mid- and lower-rank cultivators are unable to participate. On behalf of Thunder City, I offer my apologies. His Majesty was originally meant to declare the opening today, but due to special circumstances, I will do so in his place. The competition will proceed as a single-elimination tournament until a final victor is determined. If there is an odd number, one contestant will receive a bye. This is a contest, not a vendetta—participants are forbidden from severely injuring or killing their opponents. Please proceed with caution.”
Hearing the familiar voice, seeing the familiar figure, Lan Ge’s vision gradually blurred.
He had been here for the previous competition as well—only as a spectator, but he still remembered clearly the moment his father had declared it open. Amid thunderous cheers, his father had stood tall and smiled, raising a hand in greeting. That had been the height of his life—just after ascending the throne, full of vigor.
And now, ten years later, both his parents were gone. Since returning to Thunder City, his heart had been in constant pain.
He knew no amount of grief would bring them back. He knew he should face everything with strength.
But understanding something didn’t make it any easier to bear.
Bitterness spread across his tongue. Lan Ge took a deep breath and suddenly said to Fa Hua beside him, “Don’t try to comfort me again. I don’t want to be misunderstood.”
Fa Hua’s lips twitched slightly as he turned his head away. He knew Lan Ge would endure.
Everyone grows up. When faced with great upheaval, one either collapses—or grows stronger.
They had chosen the latter.
In just a few short years, Fa Hua had become the Divine Envoy of Wisdom, and Lan Ge had reached Ninth Rank. Through the Peerless Pearl, they had already been pushed onto the stage of history—and had begun to leave their mark upon it.
Bei Yue Shangchen had once said that if they could reach Ninth Rank before the age of thirty, they would be qualified to join him. They were still far from thirty. Yet they had already reached that level.
Perhaps, once matters in Thunder City were settled, it would be time to find him and get some answers.
As for Bei Yue Shangchen, Fa Hua remembered only his overwhelming strength. But what lingered most in his mind… was the Grand Commander.
Even now, as the Divine Envoy of Wisdom, the one he respected most remained that man.
Just as both of them were lost in their own thoughts, the Thunder City Grand Competition officially began.
The format was simple—pure elimination. Ninety-eight contestants. The first round would take two days, and each round after that would last a single day. Winners advanced, losers were eliminated. No second chances.
Luck was often called part of strength—but in truth, the format existed simply because it had been set that way from the beginning. Such was the freedom of the Free Kingdom. And its people had long since grown accustomed to it.
What number are you? Fighting today? Fa Hua asked.
I’m early—probably somewhere in the teens. If you’re bored, go do your own thing. I’ll watch the matches, Lan Ge replied, unusually serious. This competition mattered too much—he couldn’t afford to slip.
I’m fine.
Fa Hua fell silent again, immersing himself in his own power, quietly sensing the changes within.
Since becoming the Divine Envoy of Wisdom, his understanding of his power had shifted entirely. His mind felt clearer—things that once eluded him now came easily.
The Divine Envoy of Courage had said this before: among the Twelve Codices, there was no hierarchy. Each held its own meaning.
The Codex of Wisdom was the mind of them all. And Fa Hua’s aptitude for control stemmed from that.
He was now certain that when he gained recognition from the Codex of Wisdom, the connection he shared with Lan Ge through the Peerless Pearl had allowed them to glimpse the aura of the divine. Without it, decades of cultivation might not have been enough.
More than that—the Peerless Pearl did not feel like an object at all. It felt alive. As if the ancestors themselves were guiding them, step by step, along a path without deviation. Even the Ruby Queen’s change in attitude toward them was likely connected to it.
There was still so much about the Peerless Pearl they did not understand. So much yet to uncover.
And now that he bore the Codex of Wisdom, Fa Hua found himself drawn to thought itself. Thinking brought clarity. Clarity brought progress. It was a kind of satisfaction he had never known before.
Through their shared bond, even Lan Ge benefited. His perception of the elements had sharpened, as though he stood on the verge of some breakthrough. Yet even he didn’t know what lay beyond.
On the platform, the matches had already begun. The first bout ended quickly—Sixth Rank against Eighth Rank. The difference in power left no room for suspense.
And it would not be the last.
The first round was full of such mismatches. Only after the weaker participants were eliminated would the real competition begin.
Three matches passed in much the same way. Lan Ge, who had been watching carefully, was already growing bored. There was nothing to see. Even potential threats couldn’t reveal their true strength under such conditions.
“Fourth match: Number Thirty-One versus Number Fifty-Eight. Contestants, step forward.”
The referee wasted no time. There was only one arena—efficiency mattered.
Official betting had already begun. But in the first round, wagers were light. No one knew the contestants well enough yet.
So the audience watched closely, committing each winner’s abilities and cultivation to memory.
In the Law Domain, such gambling did not exist. But here in the Blue Domain, it was state-sanctioned—and wildly popular.
Soon, the two contestants stepped onto the stage.
Number Thirty-One was a thin middle-aged man. The moment he appeared, the crowd erupted.
Clearly, he was well known—not just for his reputation, but for his strength.
Lei Mingyang.
Grand Commander of the Five Thunder Legion.
A renowned general.
A Ninth-Rank expert of royal blood.
Though slight of build, his will was unyielding. His talent had been mediocre in youth, yet through sheer perseverance he had climbed step by step—once even setting the record for the longest time cultivating in the Thunder Sea.
He was a legend in Thunder City. Proof that even ordinary talent could reach the Ninth Rank.
The Five Thunder Legion answered directly to the city lord. Every soldier was a lightning-element cultivator. Though numbering only five thousand, they were Thunder City’s most elite force—arguably among the strongest in the entire Blue Domain. They specialized in direct confrontation—overwhelming force, explosive impact.
And as their commander, Lei Mingyang’s record spoke for itself. He had played a decisive role in Lan Xiang’s rise to the throne.
Lan Xiang had once offered him the royal surname. He refused. Because, as he put it—
It was thunder that made him who he was.
And he would never abandon that name.
(T/N: Lei Mingyang’s surname “Lei” (雷) means “Thunder” in Chinese.)
A man of strength. Of conviction. Of unbreakable will.
When Lan Ge saw him step onto the stage, his expression grew serious. He hadn’t expected someone like Lei Mingyang to participate.
And it only confirmed what the Grand Elder had said.
This was no mere competition.
It was a contest for the position of Lord of Thunder City.
Otherwise—
Lei Mingyang would never have appeared here.