Qian Daoliu stared fixedly at Qian Renxue's forehead, watching the golden mark slowly take shape.
How many years had it been?
From him to Qian Xunji, from his grandfather to his grandfather's grandfather, every generation of the Qian Clan had waited for this moment.
He had waited. He had waited for a golden mark to appear on Qian Renxue's forehead.
Not red. Not black. Gold.
It had to be gold. It was the mark of the Angel Nine Trials, a pinnacle no member of the Qian Clan had ever reached in ten thousand years, an acknowledgment only the most exceptional geniuses could possibly receive.
Qian Daoliu had waited far too long.
He had waited until his hair turned white, until his son died, until his granddaughter had grown from a little girl with pigtails into the person she was now.
And now, the chance had come.
The outline of the golden mark gradually took form. It was a small upright golden sword, its tip pointed upward and its hilt below, sacred radiance flowing across its entire surface.
It was not large, only the size of a thumbnail, but the instant it appeared, the air throughout the entire Worship Hall froze.
The Angel God Statue released a deep hum. Every feather on its six wings trembled faintly, as though bringing an end to a wait that had spanned thousands of years.
Qian Daoliu stared unblinkingly at the small golden sword gradually forming on Qian Renxue's forehead, his gaze never shifting for even an instant.
He was afraid he had seen wrong, afraid it was only false joy, afraid the mark would suddenly disperse halfway through forming, just like every failed attempt over the past thousand years. But it did not.
The mark settled firmly onto Qian Renxue's forehead, every stroke seeming