Chapter 10: The Momentum of Rising

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To compete with a family of cultivators!

The disciples of the Fang Clan were frightened, and even Fang Hanyu instinctively gripped the scabbard of his sword.

Zhou Xue said no more, leading the way onto the street and following the flow of people, with Fang Wang and the others close behind.

All along the way, Fang Wang was attuned to the surrounding auras. Not everyone could conceal their presence as Zhou Xue did; he sensed many fluctuations of spiritual power.

Many had already cultivated spiritual energy, even among ordinary mortals like the Fang Clan's juniors, so they did not appear out of place.

It seemed that so-called families of cultivation varied in strength; perhaps even the presence of a single cultivator in the ancestry was enough to earn the name.

With such thoughts, Fang Wang soon noticed a figure whose spiritual power was especially abundant, nearly matching his own.

The man wore a bamboo hat, a black robe, carried a book chest on his back, and a gourd at his waist—an odd appearance, drawing many curious glances.

Taiyuan Town had a main street, and at its end lay a great lake, encircled by high mountains and the township itself. The lake’s surface stretched more than a hundred yards in diameter, its waters a deep blue-green, sparkling beneath the sunlight.

By the lakeshore stood a row of men and women in uniform robes, each with an upright bearing and handsome or beautiful features, appearing like immortal scions—likely disciples of the Taiyuan Sect. Their robes were primarily white, with black cuffs, shoulders, waistbands, and boots, embroidered with intricate patterns.

Zhou Xue halted, and Fang Wang and the others gathered around her. Looking about, Fang Wang estimated there were at least five hundred people present, with more arriving by the moment.

This left Fang Wang marveling; living in Nanqiu City, he hadn’t known the cultivation world existed. Now, far from the mundane world, he saw so many pursuing the immortal path.

Nanqiu City was one of the richest in Great Qi, teeming with martial experts. Fang Wang had befriended many, yet never heard mention of the immortal way, a testament to the vast gulf between mortals and cultivators.

Zhou Xue remained silent, while the others whispered among themselves. Fang Hanyu looked about, feigning composure, but Fang Wang noticed the youth’s tight grip on his sword hilt—clearly nervous.

After waiting half an hour, the crowd by the lake had swelled past a thousand, and some among them were utterly inscrutable to Fang Wang.

Dong—

The bell tolled again, and all fell silent by the lakeshore.

Fang Wang looked closely and saw a male disciple striking the bell, which was only palm-sized and made of bronze, yet a light tap with an iron rod sent a sound that seemed to shake mountains and forests.

Another man stepped forward, appearing to be in his early thirties, with a refined and scholarly air.

“I am Guan Linfeng, disciple of the fifth branch of Taiyuan Sect, and today I preside over the entrance examination. There are two stages. First, the Spiritual Induction: each of you will come to me, place your hand on the spirit stone I hold, and any who cause it to shine may proceed to the next trial.”

“The second stage is behind me. Leap across this lake, scale that mountain, and follow the guidance of the white cranes in the sky. The path is arduous; if you wish to give up, shout ‘I forfeit’ and you will be rescued. The farther you go, the better your result. Remember, do not stray from the direction of the white cranes—if you die, it is your own fault.”

Though Guan Linfeng’s tone carried no arrogance, his words imposed an intangible pressure.

Fang Wang lifted his gaze. Sure enough, atop the mountain ahead, a white crane circled. Further on, more cranes traced a straight line across the sky.

The vast lake before them filled the Fang Clan juniors with dread. Aside from Zhou Xue, Fang Wang, and Fang Hanyu, the rest, though trained in martial arts, possessed only paltry skills—how could they leap the lake, let alone scale a mountain at least a hundred and fifty yards tall?

Zhou Xue offered reassurance: “As long as you can make the spirit stone shine, you’ve passed the first stage. The second is for those with a foundation in cultivation to compete.”

At this, everyone breathed easier.

Fang Hanyu turned to Fang Wang, asking, “Can your sword-riding art carry you over that mountain?”

Fang Wang raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Why, do you want me to take you with me?”

Fang Hanyu rolled his eyes and snapped, “Of course not! I was just asking. I don’t need your help, nor should you help anyone else. Carrying someone while flying by sword would consume much more spiritual power. You must do your utmost to win honor for the Fang Clan.”

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His words served as a reminder to the other Fang Clan juniors as well.

Fang Wang shook his head with a smile, saying no more.

Meanwhile, people had begun lining up before Guan Linfeng. Zhou Xue led the group to queue up as well.

“Passed!”

Guan Linfeng’s voice rang out from ahead. Fang Wang saw a man leap up, draw a flying sword from his waist pouch, which quickly grew in size beneath his feet and bore him skyward.

This display drew gasps and inspired even greater yearning for the Taiyuan Sect.

A Fang Clan youth named Fang Mo sighed, “If you master sword-riding, wouldn’t you achieve the highest score?”

Zhou Xue cast him a sidelong glance. “It’s not that simple. How do you know how far the journey is, or if there are monsters or spirits in the sky to hinder you?”

Fang Mo scratched his head and laughed awkwardly.

The first stage moved swiftly, about one person every ten breaths. Fang Wang and his group were not far back in line, and waited patiently.

By Zhou Xue’s arrangement, Fang Wang would go first, and she would take the rear to look after the rest—a thoughtfulness that made Fang Wang question whether she was truly a demonic cultivator.

Could a demonic cultivator become an Immortal Lord?

Was she merely trying to frighten him?

These thoughts occupied Fang Wang’s mind. He found Zhou Xue more and more inscrutable since her rebirth; late at night, he often heard her leaving, purpose unknown.

He had considered currying favor with Zhou Xue to gain more cultivation methods, but soon abandoned the idea—whether or not Zhou Xue would respond to such tactics, he refused to stoop so low.

Besides, he could not walk entirely in Zhou Xue’s footsteps. If she was reborn, it meant she had failed in her past life; he needed to forge a stronger path for himself.

Time passed quickly as Fang Wang mused.

Soon, it was his turn. He had noticed earlier that the spirit stone glowed with varying intensity for each person; more than half failed to make it shine at all.

Having already cultivated spiritual power, he had no worries; he was merely curious how brightly his touch would make it shine, suspecting that greater aptitude would yield a brighter light.

He stepped before Guan Linfeng and pressed his right hand to the spirit stone.

A coolness spread into his palm, followed by a suction that drew his spiritual power. He did not resist; as the power flowed into the stone, it burst into radiance.

“Passed,” Guan Linfeng announced, expression unchanged.

Fang Wang was slightly disappointed—the glow was clearly brighter than the others’, yet seemed not to signify talent, perhaps only cultivation level.

He thought no more of it. After saluting Guan Linfeng, he moved to the lakeshore, leapt forward, and ran atop the water’s surface.

This drew no notice from the Taiyuan disciples; others had done the same, as not everyone knew the sword-riding art.

Guan Linfeng summoned another disciple to take his place, then turned to watch Fang Wang, whose figure glided over the lake like a wild goose, then scaled the mountain wall with ease.

Fang Wang’s feat stirred Fang Hanyu and the rest to pride. With Fang Wang’s presence, the Fang Clan would not be shamed. Even if their name was unknown here, they still felt a flicker of pride within.

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“Remarkable,” murmured Guan Linfeng, watching Fang Wang reach the summit, his eyes full of admiration.

“This group is truly exceptional. Perhaps we will see the rise of a branch’s chief disciple. Who will win that top-grade artifact and stir the world, I wonder?”

Meanwhile, Fang Wang stood atop the mountain, the breeze stirring his white robe and sending the twin locks at his temples streaming behind him, revealing a handsome face.

Staring out at the magnificent plain before him, Fang Wang was awestruck; beyond his expectation, the mountains opened onto a vast expanse—two ranges stretching to the ends of the earth, with a wide plain between them, as if cleaved by a sword-wielding immortal.

He did not tarry long to admire it. Leaping down, the wind roared in his ears as he plunged. Nearing the ground, he drew his treasured sword, twisted midair, and stabbed the blade into the mountainside. Stone shards flew as his descent slowed.

Well worth the high price he had paid for such a sturdy blade!

Less than five yards from the ground, almost at a stop, he planted his foot on the wall, wrenched the sword free, flipped in the air, and landed steadily on the grass.

Sheathing his sword, he sprinted in the direction the white cranes indicated.

Though his perfected sword-riding art could carry him with this blade, it would consume far too much energy—it was no spell-forged sword, unable to channel spiritual power, only be enveloped and driven by it. He would save that for later.

He sensed there might be battle at the end of this path.

If it were only a test of distance, it would be a mere contest of spiritual reserves; the Taiyuan Sect would not be so perfunctory.

He raced across the plain, using spiritual power to perform his Shadowstep technique, which consumed far less than sword-riding and made him faster than any galloping horse. From a distance, his feet seemed barely to touch the ground, scattering blades of grass in his wake.

Before long.

Fang Wang spotted two figures ahead, battling near the left-hand mountain wall. Both moved with astonishing agility—one wielded a curved blade, striking like thunder; the other, an iron fan, conjuring gales of fire that set the grass ablaze within a ten-yard radius.

Fang Wang only glanced as he passed, not stopping.

As expected, the true purpose of this lengthy trial was more than met the eye.

A piercing sound swept overhead. Fang Wang looked up to see a yellow-robed woman, face veiled and wearing a bamboo hat, bearing three sword scabbards on her back—a true heroine’s attire. Most striking of all, she did not ride a flying sword, but rather a crimson gourd.

How enviable—

Fang Wang was filled with admiration; that was surely a magical artifact, and her cultivation must be high—likely at the eighth or ninth level of the Qi Nurturing Realm.

He only spared her a few glances before resuming his swift journey, in no rush to overtake her.

In the sky above.

Gu Li stood atop her precious gourd, gazing into the distance, her eyes dreamy and unfocused—though veiled, her brows and eyes conjured endless imaginings.

Suddenly, as if sensing something, she turned to see a man, likewise in black and wearing a bamboo hat, riding his sword at great speed, swiftly passing her by.

“Ninth level of Qi Nurturing, it seems Father was right—Taiyuan Sect is on the rise. But I won’t lose to my peers!”

Gu Li gave a cold snort and began to accelerate.