Li Yao followed Deacon Yang through the labyrinthine palace complex. The scenery was repetitive, a series of near-identical structures where only minor architectural details differentiated one from another. To Li Yao, this was not confusion, but an observation of intentional design—a security or organizational measure that hampered casual navigation. In the corridors, disciples bowed to Deacon Yang, who acknowledged them with impersonal nods, his earlier amiability reserved solely for a high-value prospect like Li Yao.
They finally halted before a specific hall. It was constructed of dark, precious materials, its walls etched with profound Daoist patterns that radiated a palpable, restrained energy. Li Yao registered the power not with fear, but as a quantifiable security feature.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the Heavenly Book vibrated minutely. The hall's ambient essence was exponentially denser than the outside world. The Book's absorption rate spiked, pulling energy into Li Yao's body at a dramatically accelerated pace.
This was not a surprise, but a predictable system response to a higher-quality input. The bottleneck had always been environmental energy density, not his or the Book's capacity. The sudden increase was a logical outcome.
Deacon Yang noted the change, his earlier assumption confirmed and then revised upward. He had mistaken a supply-side limitation for a talent ceiling. A flicker of recalculation passed through his mind—perhaps his investment strategy required a more aggressive posture.
Before this thought could solidify, a figure materialized in the hall. An old man with snow-white hair, whose youthful face contrasted with an aura of immense age. His eyes were preternaturally bright.
Deacon Yang bowed immediately. "Greetings, Elder Zhang."
Li Yao followed suit with a precise, respectful bow. "Greetings, Elder Zhang."
A gentle force lifted him. The old man's piercing gaze swept over him, not with warmth, but with the intensity of an appraiser examining a rare mineral. "Excellent. No special physique, but your foundational talent is first-rate. More intriguing, you possess a natural affinity that resonates with heaven and earth. Essence spontaneously gathers to temper your body, even without cultivation. A self-forging foundation."
The praise was data. It confirmed the external perception of his "talent" and provided a useful narrative: 'natural affinity.' It was a cover story for the Heavenly Book's passive function, and he accepted it without internal comment.
"Which subordinate force do you hail from?" Elder Zhang asked.
"Hengyang Cave Heaven, Elder," Li Yao replied, his tone factual.
"A hidden jewel. While you cannot compare to the Holy Son, you are a rare find. Diligence should see you to the Great Power realm." The assessment was delivered dispassionately, a forecast of probable yield. "First, the identity verification. Afterwards, I will take you for a tier assessment."
An ancient mirror manifested, its surface a tapestry of intricate Dao patterns. Elder Zhang's hands moved in seals, channeling a torrent of pure, holy Yao Guang divine power into it. The hall blazed with light as a beam from the mirror engulfed Li Yao.
Li Yao remained still, analyzing the process. The artifact was a scanner, searching for residual energy signatures of foreign cultivation methods or hostile spiritual marks. It was a standard security clearance.
The light lingered, found nothing anomalous, and faded. Elder Zhang stowed the mirror, a trace of satisfaction showing. "A talent such as this would be a poor choice for a spy. The cost would be prohibitive." The remark was an economic one, concerning asset valuation.
"Since you are cleared, I will take you to determine your resource tier," Elder Zhang stated, his tone final.
Li Yao perceived the unspoken context. The quick claim. The Yao Guang Holy Land, like any vast organization, had internal factions vying for resources and influence. A new, high-potential asset represented a future return on investment. Elder Zhang, by virtue of being the administering officer today, was asserting the first claim.
Deacon Yang, standing to the side, shifted slightly. He had his own affiliations and had hoped to guide Li Yao into a particular faction. This was a conflict over asset allocation, and Li Yao was the asset.
"Your duty is done. You may leave," Elder Zhang said to Deacon Yang, his voice leaving no room for discussion. The power disparity between an elder and a deacon rendered any objection moot.
Li Yao observed the exchange silently. He understood the dynamics perfectly: a lower-level manager (Deacon Yang) was being muscled out by upper management (Elder Zhang) in a turf war over a promising new employee (himself). He offered no opinion, made no gesture. In his current position, any attempt to influence this struggle would be irrational and risk incurring immediate cost with no guaranteed benefit. His role was to be passive, to be assessed and allocated.
The principle was clear: strength was the fundamental currency. Deacon Yang, at the Four Extremes Realm, had no leverage against a Dragon Transformation Realm elder. Yang's compliance was not a weakness, but a tactical retreat. He would likely escalate the matter to a higher-ranking member of his own faction—a move Li Yao deduced but did not care about. The outcome of this internal dispute was, for now, outside his sphere of influence.
His sole objective remained unchanged: to proceed to the next step, obtain the cultivation scripture, and begin his work. The political maneuvering around him was background noise, a system to be understood and later navigated, not a drama to participate in.