Free Web NovelChapter 160: Chapter 159: Seat of Honor
The entire martial arts tournament venue was quite large, cordoned off by rings of straw rope.
The outermost layer was for the freeloaders, who were blocked outside the ropes, desperately craning their necks and standing on tiptoe to get a look.
Those who had paid for tickets were allowed inside the ropes. They were given stools, but most were standing anyway.
Further in were simple thatched huts built with bamboo poles, serving as waiting and rest areas for the major martial arts halls and some competing Martial Artists. The ordinary Martial Artists with no backing, whose turn had not yet come, could only huddle together under two enormous public huts.
The so-called arenas were nothing more than white squares drawn on the ground with quicklime. The ground wasn’t even level in some spots—puddles filled the depressions, and there were even a few large, muddy pits.
Although burly men wearing armbands that read "Shenghai Martial Dao Association" were scattered throughout the venue to maintain order, they weren’t very effective. The entire place was a clamorous mess.
The only things befitting the grand name of the "Shenghai Martial Arts Association" were the gong-and-drum troupe and the lion dance team brought in for entertainment, as well as the meticulously constructed inner VIP viewing platform and the main stage, which faced the City God Temple’s entrance.
As Fu Juemin entered the venue, escorted by Big and Little Kitty and a contingent from the Qinglian Gang, he took in the scene. ’This so-called "First Shenghai Martial Dao Tournament" doesn’t look much different from a school sports day from my past life,’ he thought.
The only difference, he supposed, was that in his past life, he would have been one of the people in the stands. Today, he was about to take his seat on the main stage.
Fu Juemin’s brazen entrance drew glances from the rows of seated dignitaries on the main stage.
A round-faced, middle-aged man in a purple long-robe and an ochre-red vest quickly rose and strode toward him.
"Young Master Fu! We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival."
The man had the polished air of a worldly diplomat. He came to a stop before Fu Juemin and cupped his hands repeatedly, a wry smile on his face. "I was beginning to worry you had been held up and wouldn’t be able to make it."
"I was delayed on the way."
Fu Juemin’s tone was flat. "I hope I haven’t missed the auspicious time."
"Not at all, not at all! Things have only just begun."
The man made no mention of Fu Juemin having missed the opening speeches. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he respectfully guided him toward the main stage.
"My name is Zheng Jicang. Though I know nothing of the martial arts myself, I have been appointed by Chairman Zhao Jigang to serve as the general steward for this Martial Arts Meeting.
If you have any instructions, Young Master Fu, please don’t hesitate to give them..."
The man, Zheng Jicang, led Fu Juemin to the center of the stage. He then pointed to the figures seated in a row of Taishi Chairs and began introducing them.
The first was a gaunt, gray-haired elder in his sixties.
"This is Elder Zhou Feibai, master of the Shangyi Martial Arts Hall, Vice-Chairman of the Shenghai Martial Dao Association, and also the chief instructor and arbiter for this Martial Arts Meeting...
Elder Zhou’s mastery of the Martial Dao has reached the Tongxuan realm. He was once known as ’Unrivaled Fist and Palm’..."
"If he’s unrivaled, why isn’t he the chairman? Tell Zhao Jigang to hurry up and step down for him."
Fu Juemin said this casually, interrupting Zheng Jicang as he looked at the gray-haired elder, who hadn’t even bothered to raise his head.
The words had barely left his lips when, with a sharp CRACK, the teacup in the elder’s hand shattered. He snapped his head up, his hawk-like eyes flashing as they fixed on Fu Juemin.
Fu Juemin remained expressionless, meeting the frigid gaze. Behind him, Big and Little Kitty silently shifted to flank him.
After a few moments, the old man’s oppressive aura slowly receded. He gave a cold snort and lowered his gaze once more.
Sweat beaded on Zheng Jicang’s forehead. He hastily moved to the next person. "This is Elder Qin Suyi, the current Sect Leader of the Divine Maiden Sword...
This is Shi Jinbiao, Sect Leader of the Golden Saber Sect...
Shang Chonggang, Hall Master of Iron Bone Hall... Gao Lijing, heir to the Yanyun Twelve Legs..."
Perhaps fearing another "startling remark" from Fu Juemin, Zheng Jicang rushed through the remaining introductions, barely announcing each person’s name and title before moving on.
Even at that pace, it took over a minute to get through the row of figures from the Martial Arts world on the left side of the stage. He only stopped when an impatient expression crossed Fu Juemin’s face.
Whether it was because Fu Juemin had provoked Zhou Feibai or for some other reason, the attitude of these figures—all masters of martial arts halls or leaders of various sects—was far from friendly.
As Fu Juemin’s gaze swept across them, they either pretended not to see him or shot him cold, contemptuous sneers.
After the round of introductions, the air seemed to crackle with the silent scent of gunpowder.
Zheng Jicang quickly led Fu Juemin to the other side of the stage, where representatives from various other fields were seated.
Unlike the sharp, traditionally dressed figures from the Martial Realm on the left, the guests on this side were a more varied lot. Most wore Western suits, and their postures were far more relaxed.
They were either directors of foreign trading firms or prominent figures in the business world.
There were even figures from the criminal underworld—a Master from the Blue-clothed Gang.
These people were considerably more courteous to Fu Juemin, with one exception: a man whose identity was the editor-in-chief of the *Shenghai Daily*. His gaze was ice-cold.
Recalling that the *Shenghai Daily* belonged to Chen Huaijin, director of the *Xin Republic Daily*, and that Chen Huaijin was the father of "Young Master Wen," Chen Qingyuan, Fu Juemin simply smiled and said nothing.
"Why isn’t your Chairman Zhao Jigang’s son, Young Master Zhao Tianpeng, here?"
Fu Juemin asked casually, glancing around the stage.
Zheng Jicang replied, "Young Master Zhao is feeling unwell and could not be here today, but I am sure he will attend in the coming days..."
"Where is my seat?"
Fu Juemin asked.
"The honored seat of the Sacrificial Officer has, of course, long been prepared for you, Young Master Fu."
Zheng Jicang said with a beaming smile, pointing to a seat in the very center of the main stage.
Fu Juemin narrowed his eyes. He walked to the seat and slowly sat down.
Behind his seat, and his alone on the entire stage, stood a bluestone stele a little over a foot high. On it were carved two words: "Martial Rite."
This was the so-called... Seat of the Stele!
Fu Juemin’s position as the "Martial Sacrificial Officer" was roughly equivalent to that of an "Honorary Chairman." On paper, he held the highest status at the entire event.
His main duty was to present the award to the new "Shenghai Martial Champion," who would be selected through numerous rounds of competition, at the tournament’s conclusion.
Zheng Jicang did not leave after Fu Juemin was seated. He remained standing by his side, continuing to drone on about the tournament’s various rules and procedures.
Fu Juemin was only half-listening when he noticed the martial realm representatives to one side. Their lips were moving as they whispered to each other, occasionally flicking glances his way. He couldn’t help but activate [Yao Ling].
And so, he heard—
"That little bastard hasn’t even finished puberty, and he’s this arrogant! I wish I could just strike him dead on the spot!"
"Just bear with it. If Elder Zhou Feibai can hold back, what right do you have not to?"
"Does he really think this is some great honor? That the seat he’s warming is some magnificent throne?..."
"This time, either the Qinglian Gang will be utterly disgraced, or... that little brat Fu will die without a grave!"
Fu Juemin listened carefully to their whispers. A faint smile touched his lips as he raised a hand, cutting off Zheng Jicang. "You were just saying... what special privileges does the Martial Sacrificial Officer have again?"
Zheng Jicang blinked, then replied, "As the Martial Sacrificial Officer, Young Master Fu, you have the right to designate one person as a ’Martial Arts Meeting Seed.’ This person can skip the first three rounds of eliminations and advance directly to the finals..."
"Oh."
Fu Juemin nodded slightly. Then, narrowing his eyes, he pointed to a spot in the venue below. "In that case... I designate the competitor from the Five Victories Martial Arts Hall over there to advance directly to the finals.
And while you’re at it, tell the martial arts halls next to them to move and make some room. Let them have the space.
Oh, and one more thing."
Fu Juemin paused, then turned his head to a Westerner seated not far to his right. "Tell that Westerner to leave," he said blandly. "He stinks. I can’t stand the smell."
The smile on Zheng Jicang’s face instantly froze.
Fu Juemin’s first demand was manageable, but the second...
That Westerner was a consul from the Public Concession Engineering Bureau. While not a high-ranking official, he was still a "distinguished guest" they had gone to great trouble to invite for the sake of appearances.
Now, Fu Juemin wanted the man to scram with a single sentence. How on earth was he supposed to tell a Westerner to get lost?
"What? Is there a problem?"
Fu Juemin’s brow furrowed as he stared at Zheng Jicang. "It seems my words as ’Martial Sacrificial Officer’ don’t carry much weight around here...
Forget it. This is boring. I’m leaving!"
With that, he put on a look of utter boredom and waved his hand dismissively, preparing to rise from his seat.
Seeing this, Zheng Jicang lunged forward to steady him.
Zheng Jicang’s expression flickered through several emotions before he finally forced his lips into a smile. "I... I’ll see to it at once, Young Master Fu!"
The smile returned to Fu Juemin’s face. He seemed completely oblivious to the dozens of icy, needle-sharp glares that shot toward him from all sides as he leaned back into the honored Sacrificial Officer’s seat. "Now that’s... more like it," he said slowly.
Zheng Jicang maintained his forced smile, bowed, and backed away.
The moment he turned away, the smile vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, flickering glint in his eyes.
’Go on, keep prancing around,’ he thought.
’Let’s see... just how many more days you have left!’
