The morning sun had climbed higher, casting pale light over the ancient stone gates of the Sigu Sect. The outer disciples' candidates had gathered in a long line, each trying to mask their anxiety with forced composure. The crowd stretched like a river of human potential: some nervously clutching their weapons, some adjusting robes far too clean for the journey, others muttering incantations or practicing breathing exercises.
Jian Wushen stepped forward, Immortal Spear slung casually across his back, the faint golden hum of its presence almost invisible to the untrained eye. Unlike the nervous throngs, he walked with purpose, each step measured yet unconsciously perfect, the balance of a predator who had inherited the memory of a godlike warrior.
He didn't rush. He didn't panic. He didn't flinch. He scanned the line, noting the uneven footwork of several boys, the nervous shaking of girls trying to hide their fear, the subtle arrogance of one or two who believed they were already superior. His lips curved into a small, amused smile.
"Not bad for an ordinary-looking boy," said a voice from the far end of the line. Jian turned slightly, his eyes meeting those of a tall, arrogant youth with a long sword strapped to his back. "Though you don't look like you could handle even a minor guardian, do you?"
The boy's smirk widened, but Jian Wushen's own gaze was cold, sharp, and unnerving. He tilted his head, examining the youth like a scholar inspecting an incomplete puzzle.
"I may not look impressive," Jian said calmly, his voice clear, confident, carrying no hesitation, "but looks can be deceiving. Shall we test that theory?"
The arrogant youth's smirk faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, muttering something about a "lucky little orphan." Jian Wushen, however, didn't rise to the petty insult. He simply shifted his weight, pivoted his feet with the subtle elegance inherited from Wukong, and moved forward a single step—enough to draw attention without threatening anyone physically.
Some of the other candidates whispered, sensing a latent aura around him, a quiet force that seemed to bend the space around his presence. Though his robes were ragged, his posture ordinary, there was something undeniably dangerous about him.
The sect elders overseeing the line cleared their throats. "Outer disciple examination will begin shortly," one of them announced. "Candidates will face tests of awareness, agility, and basic qi control. Show us your strength, your mind, and your spirit. Only those who pass will be allowed to enter the Sigu Sect as apprentices."
A ripple of excitement and tension moved through the line. Jian's eyes scanned each participant, noting every twitch, every misalignment in stance, every micro-expression betraying fear or overconfidence. He smiled faintly, thinking to himself, This is going to be entertaining.
Suddenly, the tall youth who had provoked him earlier took a step closer. "You're going to regret walking in here thinking you're special," he sneered, drawing his long sword in a flash. "I've already bested three boys like you before breakfast. You'll be number four."
Jian Wushen's eyes flickered—not with fear, but with amusement and calculation. He didn't reach for his Immortal Spear yet; instead, he let his presence expand subtly, the faint hum of inherited qi brushing against the senses of those around him.
"You really should speak less when you intend to fight," Jian replied calmly, his voice low but carrying weight and certainty. "Empty boasts tend to get crushed first."
The youth's jaw tightened. "We'll see," he spat, lunging forward with a wild swing. Jian's first step back was deliberate, a precise pivot, a brush of air that threw off the momentum of the attack. His body moved like water over rocks, and with one fluid motion, the Immortal Spear materialized in his hands. The golden aura shimmered faintly, invisible to all but the trained eye.
He thrust forward—not to kill, not yet, but to teach a lesson. The spear struck the youth's shoulder lightly, enough to send him sprawling backward onto the cobblestones. There was a collective gasp from the crowd; none had expected such control from someone who looked so ordinary.
Jian Wushen straightened, spear tip resting lightly on the ground. "Control," he said, almost conversationally. "Even in battle, even in danger, control is everything. Power without it is meaningless."
Some students muttered among themselves, whispering about the boy who had fallen from the sky, while others gave him cautious nods. Even the sect elders observed silently, noting the ease with which he moved, the balance, the precision of footwork, and the subtle use of qi.
The first test of agility began soon after. Candidates were led to a series of platforms suspended over a shallow pit. Some platforms moved, some wobbled, some emitted bursts of elemental qi—fire, wind, water—that tested reflexes, awareness, and composure.
Jian Wushen moved calmly to the starting platform. His eyes flickered slightly, a subconscious alignment of qi, muscle memory, and inherited instinct. The footwork he had been practicing atop the mountains now became an art of battle, every step light, deliberate, and balanced. He shifted his weight, leaped effortlessly, and navigated the platforms without hesitation, even as lesser candidates stumbled and cursed.
The Immortal Spear is not just a weapon, he reminded himself. It is an extension of thought, of movement, of perception itself.
He swung the spear lightly to adjust balance once, using it like a walking stick, and the tip brushed the air to maintain equilibrium. Others paused to watch, and some whispered in awe. His ordinary appearance, the slight smirk, and the calm, commanding presence combined to make him a figure they could neither ignore nor underestimate.
By the end of the agility stage, it was clear Jian Wushen had passed with near-perfect composure. The murmurs among the crowd had shifted from mockery to cautious respect.
Next came the awareness test, where candidates were blindfolded and tasked to detect subtle qi signatures and identify hidden objects or potential threats. Jian closed his eyes, relaxed, and focused on the flow of energy around him. The air currents, the faint tremor of nearby stones, the subtle breaths of the other students—all registered in his mind with clarity.
When his hands moved to select the correct items, each motion was deliberate yet effortless, almost as if guided by an unseen hand. By the time the test ended, he had located every object and anticipated every minor hazard, far surpassing the others' performance.
Finally came the qi control stage, designed to test raw potential and how well candidates could manipulate their inner energy. Jian exhaled slowly, feeling the residual presence of Wukong's memory in every fiber of his being. He extended his qi outward lightly, then retracted it, focusing it into precise bursts. Rocks floated, leaves twirled midair, and a faint aura of golden light shimmered around his spear—controlled, subtle, yet undeniable.
As the final test concluded, the sect elders exchanged glances. Whispers spread through the gathered students. Jian Wushen, the seemingly ordinary orphan, had passed every stage with unmatched poise, cunning, and control.
The arrogant youth from earlier struggled to his feet, muttering curses, but Jian approached calmly, spear tip resting on the ground. "You should practice control before arrogance," he said lightly, almost kindly, yet the cold undertone of dominance was unmistakable.
Some students stepped back instinctively. Others couldn't hide their curiosity. Jian Wushen smiled faintly, ordinary in appearance but extraordinary in presence.
This was only the beginning.
The path of a disciple in the Sigu Sect was arduous. But Jian Wushen had already proven one undeniable truth: calmness, cunning, and mastery of inherited power could make even the weakest-looking boy a force that could not be ignored.
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