"Alright, everyone!" the host shouted, his voice echoing across the coliseum. "Let's pick up where we left off. Who's coming up next?"
With that, the second round of the recruitment trials resumed.
Fierce clashes broke out once again on the dueling platforms. One by one, participants faced off against the same number token holders as them. Though many fought with valor, few possessed the strength or technique to impress. Several bold contenders demanded the right to become outer disciples directly—but most were swiftly and thoroughly defeated.
Only two participants managed to overcome the advanced second-round challenges, their performances exceptional enough to bypass the usual selection process. The rest, despite their efforts, were left battered and bloodied.
After several grueling matches, twenty participants emerged victorious and qualified for the next round.
As the defeated slowly limped off the stage, aided by Springwater Sect disciples, the host clapped his hands, drawing attention.
"These twenty have endured many hardships and proved their potential. As such, the sect has decided to reward your perseverance. From this moment forward, you all shall be accepted as outer disciples of the Springwater Sect!"
A wave of relief swept through the twenty survivors. Some collapsed to their knees, tears streaming down their faces. For many, this moment marked the culmination of years of struggle.
However, the host raised his hand again, his voice turning sharp.
"But don't celebrate just yet."
The air tensed instantly.
"You've all been accepted—but your monthly resource allocation will depend on the third and final round. This next challenge will be the most difficult of all."
He paused, eyes gleaming mischievously.
"Are you ready?"
The participants exchanged competitive glances. No words were needed. Their determination burned in their eyes.
Moments later, several disciples appeared, carrying twenty ancient scrolls in their hands. The scrolls pulsed with faint light, their surface inscribed with unfamiliar yet exquisite patterns.
"This final test," the host said, "will examine your comprehension skills. Each of you will be given a unique technique. You'll have one hour to study it. After that, you must perform what you've learned for evaluation."
"There will be no winner in this round—only the measure of your talent. Your future monthly resources will be allocated accordingly. Oh, and don't worry—regardless of whether you succeed in learning the technique now or not, the scroll will remain yours."
A few sighed in relief, while others clenched their fists, nerves prickling.
"Let the final round... begin!"
Each participant received a scroll and immediately sat down cross-legged, channeling their spiritual sense to decipher the esoteric techniques within. Time passed in a blur.
As the hour drew to a close, tension gripped the arena. Some participants' faces twisted in frustration as they struggled to grasp the core of their technique. Others broke into cold sweat, realizing how lacking their comprehension truly was.
Among them was a bald teenager, his head marked with glowing runes. His brows remained furrowed throughout, seemingly grasping concepts far beyond his peers. Yet, when the time came to demonstrate, he only performed the bare minimum—raising eyebrows. Was he cautious, or simply bluffing?
In the end, all twenty participants had officially become outer disciples of the Springwater Sect.
Outside the protective barrier, watching from designated areas, families and elders erupted into celebration. Some even began currying favor with sect members, whispering proposals for marriage alliances, eager to tie themselves to the rising stars.
Meanwhile, those whose kin had failed clenched their jaws. Bitterness turned into rage.
"They changed the rules at the last minute!" someone hissed.
"Lady Qinru tricked them! They weren't ready for such risks!"
Even so, none dared speak too loudly. They had all seen how Lady Qinru flicked her fingers and annihilated that lunatic cultivator earlier. Her wrath was no joke.
So they spread their lies in secret, whispering instead of shouting.
But those with sharp minds understood the truth.
The protective barrier around the arena wasn't just to guard the disciples. It was to keep the troublemakers out. If not for that, the competition might have been delayed—or even cancelled.
As the selected disciples gathered and prepared to follow Springwater Sect elders into the sect's inner compound, two figures approached the host, who was also a senior disciple named Han Li.
The figures were none other than Jiang Mu and Chu Ying.
Jiang Mu stepped forward and offered a polite bow—neither overly humble nor arrogant. Just the perfect degree of respect between equals. Chu Ying mirrored him, her posture graceful, yet restrained. She no longer held the authority of a sect master, but she still carried herself with poise.
"Fellow Daoist," Jiang Mu said calmly, "if you don't mind, we wish to request an audience with the esteemed Lady Qinru. It's a matter of great urgency—for both us and her."
Han Li opened his mouth to reply, but the moment he laid eyes on Jiang Mu, he was stunned. His expression shifted subtly—first surprise, then admiration, and then... something else.
Love at first sight? His playful demeanor faded into seriousness, and he coughed lightly, straightening his back.
"I see. May I ask what this matter concerns? Lady Qinru... she's not someone easily disturbed, as you've seen for yourself. If possible, let me act as your intermediary first."
Chu Ying hesitated briefly, then took out a wooden hairpin—delicate, old, and unremarkable at first glance. She held it out respectfully.
"I want to return this... to Lady Qinru."
Han Li blinked.
A wooden hairpin?
His first instinct was to dismiss the matter outright. How could such a simple object warrant disturbing someone like Lady Qinru? He was already preparing to reject the request—politely, of course, to avoid offending them unnecessarily—when something unexpected happened.
Lady Qinru, who had been silently observing from her elevated seat, suddenly stood. Her gaze locked onto the wooden hairpin, and her pupils trembled.
"Ruilan!" she called sharply. "Tell Han Li to bring them to me. Now."
Feng Ruilan, who stood beside her, nodded immediately and descended from the platform.
At the same moment, Chu Ying stepped forward again, her voice urgent.
"Please! It's very important. I beg you—just a moment with her!"
Just as Han Li hesitated, torn between duty and doubt, Feng Ruilan arrived at his side.
"Senior Li," she said clearly, eyes calm but firm, "Lady Qinru has requested their presence. Personally."
Han Li's expression stiffened.
He looked down at the simple wooden hairpin again, then up at the composed faces of Jiang Mu and Chu Ying.
For the first time, he realized—
This matter was far from simple.