Yin Yang Mask

Su Bai raised his teacup and took a light sip. Little expression could be seen on his face beneath the veil hat; he merely nodded slightly.

"After a few jobs with you, I built up some savings. Later, I was lucky enough to take first place in the Inner Sect Grand Competition and received a Foundation Establishment Pill."

His tone was even. "My luck was good. I succeeded on the first attempt."

Jiang Han's grip tightened around his teacup, a jumble of feelings stirring within him.

Envy and a trace of barely perceptible bitterness ultimately dissolved into a complicated sigh.

He had long known that Su Bai's talent surpassed his, but he had never expected the gap to grow so wide. In just three years, they were already as far apart as immortal and mortal.

"You sect disciples really do have it good..."

Jiang Han shook his head, his tone self-mocking. "You can stay safely within your sect and still have a way to obtain a Foundation Establishment Pill."

"I remember you have three spirit roots, right? With a Foundation Establishment Pill, your chances of success weren't low."

He paused, his voice sinking. "Unlike me. With my four spirit roots, Foundation Establishment was a faint hope to begin with, and even ways to find a Foundation Establishment Pill are pitifully scarce..."

"In the Immortal Palace, only Foundation Establishment counts as truly crossing the first threshold. But for those of us with mixed spirit roots, that threshold is so terribly high."

A barely perceptible weariness threaded his words.

The Immortal Palace's path nourished battle with killing and advanced cultivation through battle. Although progress was rapid early on, the resources and slaughter required grew exponentially as one advanced.

Sometimes, he wondered whether he, too, would one day become one of those rumored