Outer Sect Grand Competition (3)

The sky had yet to break dawn. Stars glittered across the ink-blue canopy like jewels set into black satin, giving off a mysterious, chilly radiance.

The winding mountain path stretched gradually along the slope. Several Profound Heaven Sect disciples walked together, their footsteps especially distinct in the silent morning.

"I'm really looking forward to today's competition. I've been preparing for ages," one of them said in a low voice, unable to hide his excitement.

"Oh, give it a rest. You? Don't get knocked flat the moment you step up there," another disciple mocked mercilessly, a teasing smile curling his lips.

"Who says so?! This competition gives bonus points for talent! I heard disciples with special talents, as well as the top three from the written examination, can enter the inner sect without even fighting!" the first disciple retorted indignantly, his voice rising without his noticing.

"So? You think you've got what it takes now?" the teasing disciple continued with a laugh.

"What if I do?" The disciple craned his neck, putting on a must-win air despite his guilty conscience, making the others burst into laughter.

The group continued noisily up the mountain path. The breeze carried a hint of chill as it slipped past them and swept over the ancient pavilions and towers, as though waking this slumbering sacred land of immortals.

As time passed, the horizon paled with the color of a fish's belly, and dawn gently dyed the sky orange-red. Golden sunlight pierced the clouds and spilled over the vast plaza of the Profound Heaven Sect.

By then, the plaza was already packed with outer sect disciples in uniform robes, standing ramrod straight. Sunlight rimmed their faces in gold, and longing and aspiration shone in every pair of eyes. As they whispered among themselves, their anticipation for the competition was plain to see.

The registration area buzzed with voices, packed solid three layers deep and three layers beyond that. Bobbing heads resembled rolling wheat fields as disciples flooded in like a tide.

Everyone hoped to register quickly, make their mark in this long-awaited competition, and win the precious chance to advance into the inner sect.

After all, everyone knew that inner sect disciples were the foundation of a sect and the focus of its cultivation. The outer sect competition was held every year; if one failed this year, there would still be another chance next year.

Yet with opportunity right before their eyes, a single year's difference between the inner and outer sects could create a gap as vast as heaven and earth.

Inner sect disciples received more cultivation manuals, higher-grade pills, and personal guidance from elders. Their cultivation advanced a thousand miles in a day.

The outer sect, by contrast, lacked resources, while conflicts between noble clan disciples and poor-born disciples never ceased. The path of cultivation was difficult and rugged. Day after day, year after year, the disparity only grew wider—how terrifying was that?

With such an enormous gap laid bare before them, how could anyone not be envious and tempted? Who would willingly abandon this chance to change their fate and continue struggling bitterly in the outer sect?

The inner sect disciples responsible for registration and review stood in orderly rows to one side. Tall and focused, they maintained order with the practiced efficiency of trained hands, ensuring that the registration and review process proceeded smoothly and efficiently.

The procedures for this registration phase had been designed to be simple and clear.

Given the large number of outer sect disciples, the sect had specially established multiple registration points on each peak to ensure that the process went without a hitch.

At every registration point, the inner sect disciples held a magical artifact for testing cultivation. The artifact was ancient and elegant in design, faint spiritual light flowing around it. A registrant only needed to place a hand lightly atop it, and it would accurately sense and clearly display that person's cultivation realm.

Most disciples confident in their own strength headed straight for the registration points without hesitation. Their steps were steady and powerful, as if every step landed upon the road to success, while confident smiles filled their faces.

The group recommendation process was even simpler and more convenient.

Disciples only needed to go to a registration point and collect a specially made form. Though the form looked perfectly ordinary, it was actually made from special paper, tough as steel and difficult to damage by ordinary means.

More miraculously, it could keenly detect the spiritual power fluctuations of the signer, cutting off proxy signatures and forged names at the root and powerfully ensuring that the recommendation process was fair, impartial, genuine, and reliable.

The disciples merely had to fill in the recommendee's name on the form, then have multiple people sign in recommendation. The process was then complete.

As for those disciples whose cultivation had not yet reached the Qi Refining Stage but who considered themselves masters of exceptional skills, they stood on the other side of the registration lines. Unease and anticipation mingled in their expressions.

Their unease stemmed from the fear that their strength would not be recognized, while their anticipation came from their powerful desire to change their futures. To give these disciples a fair chance to demonstrate their abilities, the sect had specially established a dedicated testing point at Spirit Sword Peak.

When registering, every applicant had to write down their special skill in detail. The disciples handling registration would group together applicants with the same type of talent based on those skills. Thus, dozens of people at a time waited together to head for the testing point.

Their hearts were filled with a tangled mixture of expectation and tension. Like devout pilgrims awaiting fate's final judgment, they stood solemnly and anxiously in place, waiting for the moment they would be taken to the testing point. There, their special talents would be subjected one by one to exceptionally stringent verification.

They had to know that this was their only chance in this competition.

On this stage, cruel yet filled with opportunity, only by pouring out every ounce of effort, displaying their own advantages without reservation and to the fullest, standing out among the many people with similar talents, and surpassing everyone around them could they hope to win the precious qualification to compete alongside those of higher cultivation.

Halfway up Spirit Tempering Peak, seemingly cut off from the grand spectacle, Zhou Wen stood quietly on the blue stone steps before his small cottage, his long fingers unconsciously rubbing a crease at his cuff.

Morning dew had dampened the hem of his robe, but he was utterly unaware. He only stared at that crease—it deviated from the other lines by a full three degrees.

The clothes had been newly made. Outer sect disciples' robes presumably would not be entrusted to skilled senior brothers and sisters. Noble clan disciples relied on the spare money in their pockets and personally sought out senior brothers and sisters for custom orders. Poor-born disciples like them, naturally, could only leave theirs to inexperienced disciples, which was why such mistakes occurred.

He had stared at that crease for a full quarter of an hour. Only after he wrapped spiritual power around spiritual threads and shifted it until it was finally completely parallel with the other lines did Zhou Wen's tense shoulders relax slightly.

"Zhou Wen! Why are you still standing here in a daze?" Li Ming, who lived in the same courtyard, rushed up the mountain path, panting. He grabbed Zhou Wen's arm. "If we don't go register now, who knows when it'll be our turn! Hurry up!"

Zhou Wen instinctively stepped back half a pace, slipped his sleeve from Li Ming's grip, then swiftly smoothed out the wrinkled fabric.

"I... I'm not taking part," he said softly, his gaze falling upon a crooked weed growing from the cracks between the stone steps.

"What?" Li Ming's voice suddenly rose, startling birds from the nearby treetops.

"What nonsense are you talking about?! Among this year's poor-born disciples on Spirit Tempering Peak, your cultivation is the highest! Your Warp-Weft Severing Art is both offensive and defensive, and even Instructor Yan praised the precision of your spell control. You're guaranteed to enter the inner sect!"

At the word "precision," Zhou Wen's fingers suddenly twitched convulsively, as if struck by lightning.

His thoughts were instantly dragged back to the mission a month ago. In his mind, he clearly saw how the spell he had been so proud of had accidentally injured Zhang Hu, carving a wound deep enough to expose bone into his leg.

The image of blood spraying out like a fountain haunted his dreams even now. Each time he remembered it, his heart filled with fear and self-reproach.

Had he not changed the direction of his attack in time, allowing it merely to graze Zhang Hu, it would not have been as simple as an injured leg.

"I'm not strong enough." Zhou Wen repeated the words mechanically, as though saying them could convince himself. "If I take part in the competition, I'll only drag everyone down."

Li Ming naturally knew what concerned him. He stamped his foot anxiously. "Nonsense! That time, Zhang Hu clearly barged into the range of your spell on his own—"

"Li Ming!" A sharp voice cut him off.

Zhang Hu appeared around the bend in the mountain path, leaning on an ebony cane and limping along. A striking patch of scarlet slowly spread over the snow-white bandages wrapped around his right leg, painfully conspicuous.

"Smearing filth on me while I'm not here? Zhou Wen is a useless piece of trash who can't even control his own spell. He got me hurt and made me miss this competition, yet somehow it's my fault?" Zhang Hu sneered in a strange, mocking tone. His gaze flicked over Zhou Wen, and a derisive smile appeared.

Zhou Wen's breathing immediately quickened, as though someone had gripped his throat. He lowered his head instinctively and stepped forward without realizing it, wanting to support Zhang Hu.

"Zhang Hu! The mission report made it perfectly clear. You disobeyed orders and charged into Zhou Wen's casting area on your own!" Li Ming argued with reason, his face flushed red with anger.

Zhang Hu let out a cold laugh, his face full of disdain. He violently shoved away Zhou Wen, who had come to support him, then deliberately slammed his cane heavily against the ground, producing a piercing sound as if venting his dissatisfaction.

"The report?" He spat viciously. "You poor-born mongrels haven't had enough of banding together to bully us noble clan disciples? Now you're even trying to blame my leg injury on me? Pah! You only know how to rely on your numbers and fabricate lies. And now you're shameless enough to turn black into white. Just as expected, you're a pack of uncultured things!"

"You!" Li Ming trembled with rage, unable to say anything for a moment.

Seeing this, Zhang Hu went even further. He approached Zhou Wen and deliberately waved that "injured leg" back and forth before him, still shouting relentlessly, "Look! This is your 'precise control'! Not only are your morals rotten, your ability is this pathetic too. Someone like you still dreams of joining the competition? If you really stepped into the arena, you'd probably get your fellow disciples killed!"

Zhou Wen's face instantly turned white as paper, while a layer of fine sweat beaded densely across his forehead.

"I... I'm not taking part." Zhou Wen forced the words from his dry throat as if they had drained every bit of strength from him. Then, like a startled rabbit, he turned in a panic and tried to flee.

"Stop." The voice was crisp and cold, like shattered jade falling upon ice, abruptly coming from the treetops above.

Zhou Wen looked up instinctively. A tall figure in green stood steadily amid the emerald leaves, his robes fluttering like outspread crane wings. As he spoke, he lightly tapped the branch with his toes and descended gracefully like a streak of green light.

Only when he landed did Zhou Wen see his face clearly. A bone-deep chill concealed those picturesque features entirely, and a cold iron longsword hung at his waist, giving off a faint chill—Second Senior Brother Shen Yuxi!

But why would Second Senior Brother, a personal disciple and sword cultivator, appear on Spirit Tempering Peak?

At the side, Zhang Hu's face turned white as paper. The cane clutched in his hand fell to the ground with a clang. As though abruptly coming to his senses, he hurriedly bent to pick it up. In the process, he deliberately twisted his right leg into an extremely unnatural position, pain appearing on his face as he squeezed out, "Second Senior Brother..."

Shen Yuxi did not even spare him a glance. His sharp eyes, like cold stars, locked directly onto Zhou Wen. His tone was calm, but it carried unquestionable authority. "Withdrawing from the competition?"

"My skills are lacking..." Zhou Wen only felt his throat tighten, as though an invisible hand had seized it.

He did not understand why this personal disciple, normally so lofty and distant, had suddenly appeared here and even concerned himself with Zhou Wen giving up the competition. He was so nervous that he did not dare meet Shen Yuxi's eyes, only lowering his head and answering hesitantly.

"Skills lacking?" Shen Yuxi suddenly stepped closer. Zhou Wen immediately smelled the faint pearwood fragrance coming from him. Yet at this moment, that scent made him even more nervous, like invisible pressure.

"I only injured a fellow disciple not long ago. I'm afraid..." Zhou Wen continued, forcing himself onward.

Seeing this, Zhang Hu's eyes gleamed cunningly, and he hurriedly seized the chance to accuse him. "Second Senior Brother, during his last mission—"

"Shut up." Shen Yuxi shot Zhang Hu a cold glance, his gaze like ice that would never thaw, as if it could freeze a person solid in an instant. Before his voice had faded, Shen Yuxi raised two fingers in a sword sign. The longsword at his waist rang as it slid three inches from its sheath. In an instant, cold light surged forth. The sword gleam was like a white rainbow piercing the sun, carrying fierce momentum as it struck straight for Zhang Hu's so-called "injured leg"!

"Senior Brother, don't!" Zhou Wen cried out.

In that flash of lightning, Zhang Hu let out a strange shriek. Just as the sword was about to reach him, the leg he had been pretending was injured slammed against the ground. His bandage-wrapped right leg burst with astonishing force, and he sprang three feet to the side like a startled wild rabbit before landing in a miserable heap.

With that movement, the bandages scattered across the ground, revealing a lower leg as smooth and unblemished as new—where was there even the slightest trace of injury?

The sword stopped abruptly just one inch above the ground, hanging steady. Its blade trembled faintly and let out a low hum, as though still unsatisfied after that fierce strike. Shen Yuxi remained calm and said lightly, "Not bad movement technique."

"I... I..."

Only then did Zhang Hu realize he had been tricked, and his face immediately turned pale. He straightened up, the "injured leg" naturally supporting all his weight. His mouth opened and closed, but he stammered without managing a complete sentence.

Shen Yuxi merely glanced at him. That single look made Zhang Hu's legs go weak, and he dropped to his knees with a thud, trembling like a sieve.

He raised his head in terror, his voice shaking. "Second Senior Brother, spare me! It... it was Senior Brother Zhao who gave me three Qi-Gathering Pills and told me to find a way to stop Zhou Wen from joining the competition! He said that if Zhou Wen entered the inner sect, his cousin's spot would..."

Zhou Wen felt as though he had been struck by lightning. Senior Brother Zhao? The alchemy room steward who always smiled kindly and seemed so amiable? For the sake of a single inner sect slot, he had actually resorted to such vicious means to frame him?

There truly were limits on inner sect slots. There were too many monks and too little porridge, and competition was fierce. It was not strange for someone to secretly trip others up for a slot, but if one truly had the strength, why resort to such filthy methods?

Shen Yuxi sheathed his sword. "Go receive your punishment at the Discipline Hall."

Zhang Hu had been caught red-handed. Unless he wanted to be expelled from the Profound Heaven Sect, he could only obediently go to the Discipline Hall and answer for his crime.

The Discipline Hall was located at Spirit Artifact Peak. In a manner of speaking, it was also part of Spirit Artifact Peak. Those on duty there were not ferocious demons or evil ghosts, but a group of seemingly ordinary artifact peak disciples.

Spirit Artifact Peak disciples had their own preferences. Some loved making magical robes, some loved forging swords, and naturally, some preferred specializing in torture instruments. Such disciples joined the Discipline Hall.

A magical robe only needed to be worn to test its quality; a good sword only needed to cross a few blows with someone to reveal its edge. But if torture instruments were not tested on someone's body, how could their effects be known? Thus, Discipline Hall disciples practically prayed for someone to commit an offense.

Through their painstaking research and constant experimentation, the Discipline Hall had become almost synonymous with nightmares in the hearts of all disciples. No one knew, nor wanted to know, what kind of punishment awaited them.

Under such intimidation, disciples who had committed mistakes could usually only confess frankly in order to suffer less. There was no fear that they would not tell the truth.

At Shen Yuxi's words, Zhang Hu fled in terror, rolling and scrambling away. In his panic, he did not even remember to take the cane he had used for his disguise.

In an instant, the previously noisy mountain path fell silent, leaving only deathly stillness. Zhou Wen stared blankly at the crooked cane lying on the ground, his heart filled with countless mixed emotions.

"Why?" he asked softly. His voice seemed to scatter in the wind. It was unclear whether he was asking Shen Yuxi or questioning the revealed mastermind, Senior Brother Zhao.

Shen Yuxi paused and turned to look at him. His gaze was calm and deep as he said slowly, "Spells can be controlled. Human hearts cannot."

Zhou Wen gave a bitter smile, unable to put the bitterness in his heart into words. Then he asked, "Second Senior Brother, weren't you afraid he wouldn't be able to dodge?" He meant Shen Yuxi's fierce sword strike just now. If Zhang Hu truly had failed to evade it, that strike would have killed or maimed him.

"If anything happened, I would accept the punishment myself." Shen Yuxi answered concisely, then turned and left. His green robes rolled in the wind like surging clouds, his steps steady and resolute. In the blink of an eye, he was already ten zhang away, gradually vanishing from Zhou Wen's sight, leaving Zhou Wen standing there in a daze, turning Shen Yuxi's words over in his mind.

"Whew!" Only after Shen Yuxi's figure had disappeared completely from view did Li Ming finally let out a long breath of relief.

His face was flushed with excitement as he grabbed Zhou Wen's sleeve, his voice trembling slightly. "That scared me to death! I never expected Second Senior Brother to appear so suddenly and stand up for us. Before, I could only ever catch a distant glimpse of him. This is the first time I've ever been so close to Second Senior Brother!"

"Yeah..." Zhou Wen was still immersed in what had just happened, replying only in an absent murmur.

Li Ming continued eagerly, "I heard Second Senior Brother is also from a noble clan, one of the Eight Houses, even. But he doesn't have any of those rotten habits those noble clan disciples have. He isn't annoying at all.

Just look! That bearing! That's what someone from a great noble clan should be like! Then look at Zhang Hu and his crowd—they're practically demons and monsters, ghosts and goblins. They can't even compare." As Li Ming spoke, he shook his head with utter disdain.

After saying that, Li Ming turned back to persuading him. "Zhou Wen, you really should register for the competition. I heard the inner sect and our outer sect are as different as heaven and earth. There's no distinction between noble clans and poor-born families there; everything depends on personal strength. If you're lucky enough to enter under the tutelage of some elder, then you'll truly have weathered the bitter days and seen the light."

Zhou Wen's gaze gradually became firm. The hesitation and confusion from before had already vanished.

At this point, Li Ming seemed to remember something important. He moved slightly closer to his friend Zhou Wen, who was still looking in the direction Second Senior Brother had left. Raising a hand to partially cover his lips, he deliberately lowered his voice and said mysteriously, "I found out something. During the first month of morning lessons after new disciples enter the inner sect, personal disciples take turns teaching. If we could..."

"Let's go. Time to register." Hearing Li Ming's words, Zhou Wen seemed to make up his mind. He turned to Li Ming and said, "If I miss this chance, I'll have to wait another year."

The mountain wind swept past, carrying the clamor of voices from the distant plaza. Zhou Wen knew that a hard battle awaited him there.

Nine Domains Encyclopedia:

○ The Conflict Between Noble Clans and Poor-Born Families

The several elders in charge of the Profound Heaven Sect basically handled only the management of the inner sect. Apart from necessary study periods, the outer sect was largely left to fend for itself.

Poor-born disciples and noble clan disciples frequently clashed. The elders did not support internal fighting, but they encouraged competition. So long as conflicts were not brought into the open, the sect would not intervene.

Once disciples entered the inner sect, cooperation between them would increase sharply, while competition would become more transparent. Resources would be directed toward outstanding disciples regardless of whether they came from poor families or noble clans. Elders and senior brothers would also be more willing to extend favor to enterprising disciples. Anyone with even a little sense would know to build good relations with outstanding disciples instead of forming cliques to exclude them.

○ Discipline Hall

Located at the foot of the back mountain of Spirit Artifact Peak, right beside the dungeon.

It was divided into the Judgment Hall and the Discipline Hall.

The Judgment Hall was composed of outstanding inner sect disciples and was responsible for trials and arrests. Its requirements for a disciple's character, temperament, cultivation, and other qualities were extremely high. The benefits were excellent, but the work was hated by all. Yet no matter how much people disliked them, they still had to treat them respectfully.

The Discipline Hall consisted of ordinary Spirit Artifact Peak disciples rotating shifts, from both the inner and outer sects. Its primary task was to make reasonable use of disciples who had committed errors to test newly forged torture instruments.

Usually, the more serious the offense, the more likely one was to be used for testing torture instruments made by outer sect disciples. (Outer sect disciples were inexperienced, so safety was even less guaranteed.)

Its evil reputation spread far and wide. Compared with the Judgment Hall, everyone feared the Discipline Hall more.