After everyone was seated, Song Shijun said, “It’s almost time. There’s still no sign of Taichu Observatory. What does Sect Leader Qi think?”
Qi Yunke was visibly troubled, but fortunately, Venerable Fakong stepped in to ease the situation. “As this old monk passed Fengyun Peak earlier, I saw Master Qiu and his group just starting to ascend the mountain. Since Taichu Observatory brought many people this time, it seems they’ll be delayed for a moment.”
Song Shijun grumbled, “He always has to arrive at the last possible moment.”
Yang Heying was even more indignant than if he’d been cuckolded. “Coming to attend the ancestors’ memorial ceremony, why bring so many people? Showing off at a time like this!” In truth, he too wanted to bring many disciples to make a grand appearance.
Qi Yunke pretended to look elsewhere. Since his marriage and succession as sect leader, he’d found that feigning deafness was truly the greatest skill in the world.
At this moment, Zeng Dalou came to report, “Master, it’s time to strike the ceremonial gong.”
Qi Yunke glanced once more at the empty seat reserved for the Taichu Observatory leader and said, “We can’t delay the time for striking the gong. Let’s proceed, and Brother Qiu can make up for it when he arrives.”
Song Shijun immediately became as happy as a 200-pound child, praising Qi Yunke for his decisiveness.
Zeng Dalou instructed disciples to open the sixteen main hall doors wide. Outside, on the spacious stone platform, stood a vermilion gong frame about twenty zhang high, from which hung an enormous dark iron gong half a chi thick, suspended by extremely thick iron chains.
The mountain-top winds were fierce, and the gong frame was exceptionally tall. Nearby flags, only five or six zhang high, were nearly torn apart by the wind. Yet the massive dark iron gong barely moved in the howling gale, a testament to its immense weight.
Led by the five leaders of the Northern Chen sects, everyone stood on the open stone platform outside the hall, holding their breath in anticipation.
Cai Zhao asked curiously, “What are they going to do?”
Fan Xingjia, who had unknowingly drifted over, explained, “This gong was left by our ancestors. It’s said to be forged from deep-sea dark iron from ten thousand li away. During major ceremonies or the birthdays of the Three Pure Ones, it’s struck to inform deities in all directions.”
“I suppose only the Qingque Sect has this?” Cai Zhao thought, realizing Luoying Valley probably didn’t have such a thing.
“Naturally,” Fan Xingjia replied. “Thankfully, we’re not holding the ceremony at Guangtian Gate, or we’d have to move this massive gong there.”
“And once it’s there, Guangtian Gate probably wouldn’t want to return it,” Chang Ning added coolly. Seeing Cai Zhao’s glance, he quickly added, “Sect Leader Song seems to have a superficial relationship with Luoying Valley,” implying that Song Shijun shouldn’t be considered one of her elders.
Cai Zhao: -_-
Fan Xingjia suppressed a laugh—he knew staying with these two would be more interesting.
Qi Yunke stepped forward. Without any apparent effort, he simply took a deep breath and struck out with his palm toward the distant gong. Moments later, a deep, powerful resonance filled the air above the crowd. The dark iron gong seemed to have been struck by an invisible hammer, vibrating continuously with an awe-inspiring presence. Years of accumulated dust showered down from it.
The crowd cheered in unison, praising Qi Yunke’s profound skill. Yin Sulian beamed with joy, her face radiant.
The second turn should have been Song Shijun’s, but he suddenly became modest, insisting that Zhou Zhizhen strike the gong instead. Zhou Zhizhen, not wishing to argue, smiled and then similarly struck out with his palm towards the gong. The plaza immediately resonated with the second gong strike. Though equally impressive, the cheers for him were slightly more subdued, but Zhou Zhizhen didn’t seem to mind.
Seeing this, Cai Zhao couldn’t help but ask, “If someone doesn’t have enough power to make the gong sound during each ceremony, what happens?”
Chang Ning lowered his voice, “Don’t be naive. Do you think striking this gong is just to inform the deities? It’s to intimidate other martial arts sects. Those without this level of skill shouldn’t envy the status of the Northern Chen Six Sects.”
Fan Xingjia nodded in agreement.
Finally, it was Song Shijun’s turn. He stepped forward with a profound expression, assumed a stance with equal gravitas, and then, seemingly casually but actually with great care, channeled his energy and struck out. The crowd heard the gong resonate for the third time.
Suddenly, someone cried out, “Look at the gong!”
Everyone strained their eyes to see. In the center of the dark iron gong, a palm print about half an inch deep had appeared.
The scene exploded like salt thrown into hot oil. The crowd erupted in cheers, discussing Song Shijun’s immeasurable skill:
“That’s dark iron, impenetrable by weapons, and yet look what Sect Leader Song has done!”
“No wonder Guangtian Gate has been growing stronger in recent years, even pushing Qingque Sect back a step!”
“I heard that if Sect Leader Song hadn’t needed to inherit the leadership of Guangtian Gate, Old Sect Leader Yin originally wanted this son-in-law to lead Qingque Sect!”
Faced with such discussions, Qi Yunke could only smile helplessly, while Yin Sulian turned pale with anger.
Cai Zhao muttered, “I think Uncle Qi and Uncle Zhou could probably leave a palm print too.”
Fan Xingjia also grumbled indignantly, “Exactly! No wonder he deliberately let Master Zhou go first. He was afraid Master Zhou might leave a palm print too! Master is just too modest to compete over such things!”
Chang Ning added, “I bet if Sect Leader Qi slapped Song Shijun’s face, it would make an even more impressive sound.”
“??” Both Fan and Cai turned to look at him simultaneously.
Song Shijun, buoyed by the praise, floated like an immortal while maintaining a humble demeanor as he gestured for everyone to quiet down.
Next was Yang Heying. Wanting to demonstrate Siqimen’s might without displeasing Song Shijun, he pondered briefly before deciding on a course of action. He assumed a stance, channeled his energy, and forcefully punched upwards. After a loud clang, everyone looked up to see a shallow fist print next to Song Shijun’s palm print. The crowd cheered again, though not as enthusiastically as before, but still more than for Qi and Zhou.
With equal power, a fist concentrates force more than a palm, clearly showing Song Shijun’s superior skill. This way, Yang Heying received applause without overshadowing the Guangtian Gate.
Amidst the cheers, both Fan Xingjia and Cai Zhao let out a “tch” sound.
Chang Ning suddenly said, “This Yang Heying’s power seems quite lacking.”
Confused, Cai Zhao asked why. Chang Ning explained, “Look at the first print. The middle and ring finger marks are deepest, while the index and little finger marks are much shallower. Although fingers have different lengths, when using internal energy to strike the gong, the force should be uniform. Look at Sect Leader Song’s palm print—it’s even all over, without depth variations. This shows Yang Heying’s power is insufficient; he had to concentrate all his strength in one spot, unlike the first three sect leaders who made it look effortless.”
Fan and Cai looked closely and saw it was indeed so. Noticing that Venerable Fakong remained motionless, Master Jingyuan observed coldly from the side, and both Qi Yunke and Zhou Zhizhen wore gentle smiles tinged with mockery, they realized Chang Ning’s words were true.
The last to strike the gong was Cai Chunqiu. Cai Zhao clenched her fists nervously.
Cai Chunqiu’s expression remained unchanged. Without waiting for the surroundings to quiet down, he casually struck out with his palm. The gong rang out unremarkably but with one difference—the previous palm and fist prints had all disappeared as if smoothed over like a mud wall.
The dark iron gong might have once been as smooth as a mirror, but after being struck for two hundred years, it had become uneven. Now, after Cai Chunqiu’s strike, it looked like a roughly smoothed mud wall.
The surrounding crowd suddenly fell silent, looking at each other in bewilderment, no one daring to speak. This was partly due to shock and partly for fear of displeasing Guangtian Gate and Siqimen if they cheered too loudly.
Master Jingyuan’s usually stern and cold face softened slightly.
Venerable Fakong chanted a Buddhist phrase and smiled, “Young Master Cai has made great progress over the years.” He had known the Cai siblings since Cai Chunqiu was twelve, hence the habit of calling him “young master.”
Nearby, Master Juexing laughed, “Luoying Valley’s leader is nearly forty now, Master. How can you still call him ‘young master’?” Although he had become a monk, his brother-in-law was still his brother-in-law.