Early the next morning, Qingshi City awoke before dawn.
The square before the Lord's mansion was packed with people—not just residents of Qingshi City but also visitors from surrounding towns. Some rode fine horses, some arrived in ornate carriages, some had walked dozens of miles—all for one purpose: Sky Academy's selection examination.
A massive arena had been constructed in the square's center, surrounded by guards maintaining order. Before the arena stood an elevated platform occupied by several imposing figures. At the center sat Elder Zhou, unmistakable even from a distance.
Ye Chen stood in the crowd, absorbing the clamor around him.
"I hear several major families are sending their children today."
"Absolutely. The Luo family from the north, the Bai family from the south—they've all sent representatives."
"The Bai family? Of the Southern Wind Domain?"
"Yes. The child they're sending is said to be this generation's finest prodigy."
"Then what's the point? He'll surely win."
Listening to these murmurs, Ye Chen scanned the crowd.
Soon he spotted Bai Yu.
Today the boy wore an even more dashing white uniform, his short sword at his waist. He stood at the very front of the crowd, and people kept a noticeable distance—not from fear, but because his presence was so commanding.
Bai Yu saw Ye Chen too. He lifted his chin slightly, a faintly challenging smile on his lips.
Ye Chen returned a small smile.
Then Elder Zhou stood.
His voice, though not loud, carried clearly across the square: "Sky Academy's selection examination begins now."
Silence fell.
Elder Zhou surveyed the crowd. "The rules are simple. Arena combat. Drawing lots determines matches. Winners advance, losers are eliminated. The last ten remaining in the arena earn admission to Sky Academy."
"Only ten?" A stir ran through the crowd. At least several hundred children were present, and only ten would be chosen.
"Simple rules, but cruel." Elder Zhou's voice was devoid of emotion. "In this world, only the strong survive. Sky Academy has no need for the weak."
He gestured, and a guard brought forward a wooden box onto the arena.
"Drawing lots begins."
Ye Chen lined up in the middle of the queue. When his turn came to draw, few lots remained in the box. He reached in and pulled one out.
"Number thirty-seven."
He glanced at the announcement board by the arena and found his opponent.
"Number forty-two."
No name, only a number. Ye Chen did not know who his opponent was or what abilities they possessed. But he was not anxious.
The past two and a half months had taught him to find certainty in uncertainty.
Match after match proceeded.
On the arena, children fought with all their might. Some used fists and feet, some used Lingyuan, some brought weapons. Most matches ended within minutes—winners jubilant, losers descending in tears.
Ye Chen stood below, observing each match intently.
He was learning.
Learning how different attributes fought, learning opponents' habitual patterns, learning how to assess a stranger's strengths in the shortest possible time.
Finally, his turn came.
"Number thirty-seven versus number forty-two."
Ye Chen took a deep breath and climbed onto the arena.
His opponent was already waiting.
A boy a head taller than him, broad-shouldered and sturdy—clearly a power-type. The boy looked at Ye Chen's slight frame and curled his lip disdainfully.
"This is who I'm fighting?" The boy snorted. "Just give up now. Save yourself the pain."
Ye Chen did not reply, standing silently.
Below, Bai Yu crossed his arms, watching with keen interest.
On the arena, the referee raised his hand and brought it down.
"Begin!"
The boy charged like a bull, his fist whistling toward Ye Chen's face.
His speed was considerable, but in Ye Chen's Time Perception, it was like moving through water.
Ye Chen sidestepped lightly. The boy's fist brushed past his ear.
The boy blinked, surprised his punch had missed. But he recovered quickly, retracting and throwing another punch.
Ye Chen sidestepped again, evading again.
This time, the boy's expression changed.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"How does that skinny child dodge so fast?"
"I can't quite see—he seems to move just in time each time."
"Maybe it's luck?"
But Bai Yu saw clearly.
It was not luck.
Ye Chen's evasions began before the boy even threw his punches. He seemed to know where the blow would land before it was launched, always moving just enough to let it graze past without wasting effort.
"Time Perception." Bai Yu murmured, excitement flickering in his eyes.
On the arena, the boy had thrown over a dozen punches without landing a single one. His breathing grew ragged, his movements slowing.
Ye Chen knew—time.
He activated Spatial Perception, instantly finding the moment when the boy's balance was most compromised—the instant he retracted a punch, his body leaning back slightly, his front foot unsteady.
Now.
Ye Chen stepped forward sharply, his right hand raised like a blade, sweeping toward the boy's chest.
He did not use Space Cutting—such power was too dangerous in this setting, possibly causing irreversible injury. Instead, he merely tapped the boy's chest with his fingers.
But that tap carried all the precision honed over two and a half months.
The boy felt a sudden numbness in his chest, as if all strength had drained from his body. His legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees with a thud.
Silence fell over the arena.
The referee paused several seconds before announcing: "Number thirty-seven wins!"
Ye Chen withdrew his hand and descended from the arena.
As he passed Bai Yu, he heard the boy murmur:
"Not bad."
Ye Chen smiled and did not look back.
He knew—this was only the first round.
The true test was yet to come.