The Legend of the Condor Heroes · Chat

The wind at the summit of Mount Hua cut its way up all the way from the foot of the mountain. First, it sliced through the sea of clouds, then through the pine forests, and finally, like a blunt knife, it repeatedly scraped the three-foot-square stone platform at the cliff's edge. Wang Chongyang arrived the earliest. He sat cross-legged in the very center of the stone platform, his back to the bottomless abyss. His Taoist robe flapped loudly in the wind, like a flag on the verge of being torn to shreds. He did not look back, listening only to the sound of rolling pebbles behind him—someone was coming up, their footsteps so light they didn't sound human, like a leaf falling upon another leaf. Huang Yaoshi was the second. Dressed in green robes and wearing a matching square cap, he held a jade flute horizontally in his hand. He stood atop a crooked pine tree at the cliff's edge, his toes resting on a branch that could snap at any moment, yet his figure remained completely motionless. He stared at Wang Chongyang's back, narrowing his eyes slightly, saying nothing. After a moment, a thunderous laugh suddenly echoed from the mountain path. Hong Qigong strode onto the stone platform, carrying a green bamboo staff. His patched robe had seventeen or eighteen patches, and his collar was open, revealing a bronze-tanned chest. He glanced at Wang Chongyang, then at Huang Yaoshi, and jabbed his bamboo staff into the ground: "Just the three of us? Where are the other two?" Before his voice could fade, a cloud of dust suddenly rose on the eastern side of the stone platform. Ouyang Feng's white robes were barely discernible in the dust. Behind him followed four Western Regions men carrying a sedan chair, which landed in absolute silence. Ouyang Feng looked at no one. From the moment he stepped onto the stone platform, his gaze was locked dead onto the long box wrapped in yellow silk before Wang Chongyang's knees. Inside that box was the Nine Yin Manual. Everyone present knew it. No one spoke. The last to arrive was Duan Zhixing. He wore the bright yellow robes of an emperor but brought only one attendant, his hands empty of any weapon. His steps were somewhat hesitant as he walked onto the stone platform. His gaze swept over the other four, finally landing on Huang Yaoshi's face, and he smiled slightly: "This poor monk is late." He referred to himself as "this poor monk"—though he had not yet entered monastic life, his heart already had. The wind suddenly grew stronger. The five of them occupied their respective sides, and the three-zhang-square space on the stone platform suddenly felt as vast as the entire world. Amid the howling wind, Wang Chongyang finally spoke. His voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the mountain wind: "You have all come from afar for this box of manuals." He reached out and patted the yellow silk-wrapped long box, his gaze slowly scanning each face, "But I have a proposal—there is only one box of manuals, and only one title of Number One in the World. Let us not snatch it, but compete instead. Whoever is left standing at the end wins the manuals, and the title as well." The wind blew these words into everyone's ears. Huang Yaoshi spun his jade flute, Hong Qigong's smile faded slightly, Ouyang Feng's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and Duan Zhixing slowly pressed his palms together. Four pairs of eyes simultaneously turned to Wang Chongyang—at that moment, the sea of clouds atop Mount Hua suddenly split open, and sunlight shone down on the five faces, illuminating five completely different expressions. No one spoke another word. They took a step forward at the same time. As that step landed, the first Mount Hua Sword Meet began. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the direction of the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>