Entrance Test

A few days later, as expected, the Cloud Saint Sect threw open its mountain gates. By the time Sanbao arrived, a long line had already formed in front of the entrance. After asking around, he learned that the sect was only recruiting a hundred disciples this time, fewer than in previous years. No wonder everyone was in such a hurry, afraid they'd miss their chance. Sanbao wasn't in a rush. He simply joined the line and waited for the entrance test.

"Listen up, everyone! The Cloud Saint Sect only accepts disciples between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Anyone fifteen or older must have at least Spirit Entry ninth stage. Those are the basic requirements. If you don't qualify, don't waste everyone's time—head home!"

A burly man in blue robes shouted from the entrance.

His words stirred the crowd at once. Discontented voices rose one after another, though some people cheered as well.

A handsome young nobleman said breezily, "That's how it should be. Otherwise, every Tom, Dick, and Harry would come take the test and waste our time."

He was clearly a noble. The moment he finished speaking, countless eyes turned toward him, some of them hostile. By calling everyone around him Tom, Dick, and Harry, he'd managed to offend them all.

His words were harsh, but reality was cruel. Before long, quite a few people left the line dejectedly. They clearly didn't meet the requirements.

Sanbao slowly made his way forward with the line. Several hours slipped by. When only a hundred or so people remained ahead of him, he finally got a look at how the entrance examination worked.

A calm, composed old man sat in a large chair. In front of him stood a round table made of green stone. Each applicant took turns placing their left hand on the table while the old man examined them.

"Bastard! Your bones have already fused, and your meridians are fully set. You're well over eighteen, and you still thought you could sneak through? You're wasting everyone's time! Beat him down the mountain!"

At the chief examiner's furious roar, several Cloud Saint Sect experts waiting nearby sprang into action. They kicked the overage young man a few times, then tossed him out.

His wails sent the applicants into a panic. The Cloud Saint Sect was truly overbearing, they thought.

Dozens more people left the line on their own. They were young men who didn't meet the requirements and had hoped to get away with it.

"Hmm, not bad. A one-star Spirit Scholar. How old are you?" the old man asked, shaking his head as he held a fair-skinned boy's hand.

"Thirteen," the boy replied, his face lit with excitement.

"Good. Go register over there and collect your test token."

"Next."

"Spirit Entry eighth stage. How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Ah, fine. You pass, barely. Go register over there and collect your test token."

As the line crept forward, Sanbao drew closer and closer to the test. By the time only a dozen people remained ahead of him, dusk was settling in.

Just as Sanbao and the others were starting to grow anxious, the old man suddenly raised both hands and yawned. Then he mumbled, "Ah, that's enough for today. We'll continue tomorrow."

"Just my luck. I'm the very next one, and now I have to spend the night here." The first person in line nearly fainted. He could only laugh at his own bad luck.

Sanbao could only smile wryly as well. Like most of the applicants near the front, he sat down where he was and waited for the next day's test.

Fortunately, everyone had come prepared. Their packs held water and dry provisions.

Many of the applicants farther back chose to leave. The entrance test would continue for several days, and since they hadn't secured a good spot in line, they decided to go home, rest up, and return another day.

The mountain dew at night was heavy. An ordinary person soaked by it would likely fall seriously ill, but it posed no problem for the hardy Spirit Cultivators. Aside from a few pampered noblemen who couldn't bear it, most people sat in silence until dawn.

As the sun rose, the chief examiner finally arrived, keeping the applicants waiting in breathless anticipation.

The test resumed, and soon it was Sanbao's turn. The examiner gripped Sanbao's left arm with all five fingers and said, "Circulate your spirit energy with all your might."

"Yes."

Sanbao quietly circulated some of his spirit energy. The old man's fingers trembled and immediately released him. Then he felt Sanbao's hand bones and smiled. "Very good. How old are you?"

"Thirteen," Sanbao answered honestly.

"Two-star Spirit Scholar. Good, good. Go register over there and collect your test token."

The moment the old man finished speaking, the crowd erupted in astonishment.

To these common-born disciples, a two-star Spirit Scholar at thirteen was an incredible talent. After all, most ordinary Spirit Cultivators didn't reach that level until after they turned eighteen.

If they'd known Sanbao had only used seventy or eighty percent of his strength, their jaws would have hit the ground.

Sanbao gave a sheepish grin and jogged over to the registration desk not far away. Keep a low profile, keep a low profile.

With so many people taking the test, and their abilities varying widely, the outcome was naturally a source of joy for some and sorrow for many. There was no need to dwell on it.

The preliminary entrance test finally ended after seven days. According to the Cloud Saint Sect's tally, more than five hundred people had received test tokens. They would take the final retest, and those who passed would become entry-level disciples of the Cloud Saint Sect, gaining a hundredfold increase in status and standing.

Soon, the Cloud Saint Sect brought the five hundred or so applicants, including Sanbao, to a small valley. An elder named Zhao Youdao came before them and spoke loudly:

"First, congratulations on earning a test token and qualifying for this examination. Talented young people, if you pass this test, you'll become entry-level disciples of the Cloud Saint Sect. The rules are simple: you must remain inside this valley. The Second Sect Master will attack all of you at once with a special Spirit Skill called Pulse-Piercing Zither Sound. It's a powerful sound-based attack skill. Your task is to hold on and avoid being knocked down. Of course, anyone who feels they can't endure it may leave the valley to escape the attack. The last hundred applicants remaining inside will be the winners."

"What if I refuse to leave even if I'm about to die, and just lie on the ground? Does that count as passing?" one applicant asked with a grin.

"Of course not. Anyone who can't hold on, loses control from the pain, or falls to the ground will immediately be carried out of the valley by our people."

"This kind of attack on everyone at once is unfair to those of us who are younger. I'm only at Spirit Entry eighth stage, while some of the older applicants are already three-star Spirit Scholars," a boy asked timidly.

"That's right. If the attack is equally strong for everyone, how can we possibly stand up to three- or four-star Spirit Scholars?" Several boys at the Spirit Entry level chimed in.

"Don't worry. The Second Sect Master's Pulse-Piercing Zither Sound varies from person to person. The higher your cultivation, the greater the interference and the heavier the pressure you'll have to endure. The test is mainly meant to assess your potential and state of mind."

Elder Zhao explained, and the crowd finally understood.

"All right. You have fifteen minutes to prepare. The test will begin shortly. If you can't hold on, just lie down and we'll have someone take you out of the valley immediately. Otherwise, you're responsible for your own life or death. And one last reminder: do not block your ear meridians during the test. That will only deal an even greater blow to your mind and soul."

The crowd stirred. Everyone found a place to sit cross-legged, circulated their spirit energy, and waited for the Pulse-Piercing Zither Sound to begin.

Twang...

A long, gentle note suddenly rang out, catching everyone's attention. Then an aged voice drifted slowly over: "Everyone, get ready. This old man is about to play..."

On a high peak beside the valley, a white-bearded old man sat cross-legged at a zither table. His long fingers slowly swept over the strings, and a stream of sounds, as varied as the many moods of the world, spread throughout the valley.

Hong, mi, duo, lai, mi...

Sanbao felt as though the blood in his body had been stuffed into a steaming pot, boiling and trying to burst out through his skin. He secretly bit the tip of his tongue, forcing his spirit energy to course through his entire body. A refreshing sensation washed over him, and the scorching heat eased considerably.

Then the zither sounded again, bringing with it a world of ice and snow. It felt as if freezing cold had seeped into every inch of his skin. He was so cold that his whole body seemed about to freeze stiff; even his soul seemed incapable of thought.

Thud, thud. In the space of a few moments, more than a hundred people fell to the ground. The Cloud Saint Sect disciples in charge immediately dragged them out, leaving them in a sorry state.

Sanbao guarded his mind and circulated spirit energy throughout his body. Only then did the cold gradually fade. He thought to himself, So such a strange Spirit Skill exists in this world. If it were used to kill enemies on a battlefield, wouldn't one person be able to take on a thousand, even ten thousand?

Sanbao didn't know that, although the zither sound was powerful, it was only because the player's cultivation far surpassed his own. If their cultivation levels weren't so far apart, the zither sound's effect would naturally be quite limited.

"Ah..."

"I can't take it anymore! I give up!"