The Papal Palace's Judgment!

Ling Su raised his head and waited for the Pope to continue.

"For hundreds of years, the soul master world has repeated one number: four hundred and twenty-three years is the safe upper limit for a first soul ring. Has no one ever doubted it? No, some have doubted it, but no one dared to try, because the cost of failure ranged from damaging one's foundation to exploding and dying. This kid not only tried it, but succeeded."

Qian Shengyuan set down the documents and looked toward the angel relief on the ceiling, a faint curve appearing at the corner of his lips. "At the very least, it proves one thing: the path of body tempering can be taken. We simply have not valued it enough in the past."

But the next second, he lowered his gaze to the martial soul column in the documents. Those two words dimmed the glint in his eyes.

"Iron Rod."

He spoke the two words as though savoring them.

Then he let out a soft chuckle, neither too heavy nor too light. "A tool martial soul, rod-type, not weak. But an Iron Rod has no attribute, no additional effect. It is merely a pure metal rod. It hurts when it hits people and gives a stable stance, but that is all. Against a truly high-level opponent, if they trap you with a control soul skill, or if they are too fast for you even to touch, then no matter how strong you are, it is useless."

Ling Su did not respond. This was a statement, not a question.

"Innate soul power level three."

Qian Shengyuan read out the next key point, running a finger across the armrest as his tone cooled. "It took three and a half years to go from level three to level ten. Not fast, not slow—ordinary. But the issue is not the first ten years. It is the next thirty."

He closed the documents and pushed them back to the corner of the desk, his gaze returning to Ling Su. "Which path did he choose?"

"Probationary deacon," Ling Su answered.

Qian Shengyuan's fingers paused.

The hall fell silent for two breaths.

Then the Pope gave a brief snort, one that was hard to tell whether it conveyed approval or surprise.

"He refused the academy route? Full room and board, dedicated tutors, a smooth and steady path to three rings, and he did not choose it?"

"Yes. He said something verbatim, and I recorded it as such." Ling Su tilted his head slightly as he recalled it. "He said, 'I'm not afraid of taking risks. What I fear is having no choice. Flowers raised in a greenhouse are soft; only those that fight their way out of the battlefield can prick people.'"

"..."

Qian Shengyuan was silent for a moment, then shook his head. The curve at his lips became somewhat more genuine than before.

"Not bad courage." He gave those four words.

Then he leaned back in his chair and looked into the distance, seemingly reassessing this name he had originally judged as "not worth investing too much in."

After a moment, he spoke in a calm yet clear voice.

"But since he chose this path, evaluate him according to this path."

"Academy students can be judged by potential and future prospects. Probationary deacons are judged only by results."

"If he survives, that is his ability. If he does not, then he chose the wrong path."

"I do not care how much courage he has. If he fails to produce sufficiently solid results in half a year, then that courage is just empty talk."

After Qian Shengyuan finished speaking, he paused briefly, then looked back at Ling Su. "By the way, you mentioned the competition in half a year to him, right?"

"I did. He said he would participate."

"Then we will talk again in half a year."

The Pope finally gave his conclusion. His tone was decisive, leaving no room for negotiation. "Do not give him special treatment over the next half year. Let him walk on his own. Whatever conditions are required for promotion to an ordinary deacon, those are the conditions. No preferential treatment in missions, no preferential allocation of resources. If he can produce results at the grand competition that convince people, then it will prove his potential is higher than estimated. We can discuss it again then."

"If he cannot..."

Qian Shengyuan paused, his gaze returning to the closed documents. He glanced at the unfamiliar name on the cover.

"If he cannot, then it means the benefits of a five-hundred-year soul ring end here."

"Proceed according to the ordinary probationary deacon process from then on. Do not pay him any further attention."

"Spirit Hall has new seedlings emerging every day. I do not have the energy to waste too much time watching a probationary deacon with limited potential."

Ling Su lowered his head. "Understood."

"Go."

Ling Su rose to his feet, took three steps back, then turned and walked toward the hall's exit.

His boots rang crisply against the polished stone floor, his steps even and restrained.

Only after he left the hall did the heavy stone doors slowly close behind him, restoring the hall to its silence, accompanied only by candlelight and incense.

Qian Shengyuan remained seated where he was.

He sat alone for a long time, his fingers resting on the armrest, his gaze fixed on the Six-Winged Angel relief on the ceiling.

The massive relief flickered between light and shadow under the dancing candle flames, its six wings seeming as though they might come alive at any moment.

No outsider could know what he was thinking.

After a long while, he finally let out a soft breath. His voice was so low that only he could hear it.

"Innate level three, Iron Rod... too low."

"If it were innate level five, or if the martial soul possessed a fire attribute—even the lowest-grade additional attribute—I would dare to gamble. But he has neither..."

He did not finish the second half of the sentence, nor did he need to.

Because he knew clearly.

On the path of soul master cultivation, the gap that hard work could make up existed only within the first twenty levels.

After becoming a Soul Elder, one would be forcibly slowed in both cultivation and advancement.

It was a process every soul master who reached the Soul Elder realm had to undergo.

The gulf between every level could not be crossed through sweat alone.

It also depended on innate soul power, martial soul quality, talent, and certain opportunities.

Not a single one of the Title Douluo standing at the peak had reached that point through hard work alone.

Everyone worked hard.

The true barrier was talent.

Spirit Hall's ten-thousand-year foundation rested on never placing its bets on a one-in-ten-thousand chance.

Stories of low-talented people rising against the odds through fortunate encounters existed once or twice in every era. They sounded inspiring, but a look through Spirit Hall's archives would tell another story.

Out of ten thousand people with low talent, fewer than five would ultimately climb above the Soul King realm.

The remaining nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-five all fell before the thresholds of Soul Elder and Soul Ancestor, their names remembered by no one.

Qian Shengyuan would not let Spirit Hall gamble on such odds.

Resources would always be given first to those with high innate soul power and powerful martial souls. That was the fundamental reason Spirit Hall had been able to continuously produce Title Douluo for ten thousand years.

There was nothing wrong with that statement. It was simply a pity, and no more than that.

"You may withdraw first," Qian Shengyuan said.

"Yes." Ling Su left.

"What do you think of him?"

Qian Shengyuan withdrew his gaze and lightly tapped the armrest twice with his fingertips as he addressed the darkness.

An elderly voice came from the shadows at the side of the hall, unhurried and unhurried. "Somewhat interesting, but no more than that. Spirit Hall has no fewer than eight hundred or a thousand young people making a name for themselves every year. With his starting point, reaching the Soul Ancestor realm would already be Heaven feeding him."

Qian Shengyuan nodded slightly. It was much the same as what he had thought.

He did not ask further. He merely picked up the documents again, turned to the first page, and looked at Li Long's registration portrait.

The face of a boy still carrying a trace of childishness, yet his eyes were far more somber than those of his peers.

He looked for two breaths, then closed the documents and casually set them in the corner of the desk.

"Then we will talk again in half a year."

As his words fell, the hall returned to silence.

The candle flames flickered, stretching the shadow of the angel relief longer, as though it had no objection at all to this casually delivered judgment.