[Hundred Bones Resonance jolts awake and sees you still standing right before it, very much alive — and is overjoyed beyond all measure.]
[Only now does it realize: all of this was nothing but a grand dream.]
[Hundred Bones Resonance feels a pang of regret, but also relief. Regret, because it never truly became that undefeated existence unto which no one under heaven could stand equal. Relief, because it no longer has to walk alone.]
[If the pinnacle of the immortal path is drenched in loneliness and regret — then what's the point?!]
Gu Chengming:
[Hundred Bones Resonance Affinity +10]
[Hundred Bones Resonance Current Affinity: 75 / Fond]
Seeing that notification, Gu Chengming had a hard time keeping a straight face.
So the illusion just now had been an affinity dungeon?
[Still reeling from the illusion, Hundred Bones Resonance is awash with a thousand emotions — and delighted to have you back, safe and sound.]
[However.]
[It thinks to itself: why does Gu Chengming look like such a vacant, dazed little fool?]
[Could he possibly be starstruck by its performance in the illusion?]
[Hundred Bones Resonance privately preens, thinking: surely that showing just now was enough to max out Gu Chengming's affinity meter entirely.]
"?"
Seems to me the vacant, dazed little fool is someone else entirely.
After that silent jab, Gu Chengming reined in his thoughts and dragged his attention away from the system interface and back to reality.
He glanced around, then let his gaze settle on Zhao Wuji, standing not far ahead.
After all, the disciple evaluation was still ongoing, with elders and fellow disciples watching from all sides. He wasn't sure whether Elder Zhao had noticed anything unusual.
The last thing he needed was for the man to figure out that he'd never actually entered the illusion in the first place — that would be awkward.
Uncertain how to play it, Gu Chengming decided to test the waters first.
He clasped his hands in a respectful bow, tone courteous yet unhurried:
"This disciple — can I take it I've passed?"
At those words, Zhao Wuji's expression flickered almost imperceptibly.
Passed?
By all reason, the illusion conjured by the Spirit-Drawing Formula should take at least several hundred breaths to dissipate on its own. And if a cultivator's Dao-heart wasn't firm enough — if they got tangled up in inner demons — it could easily stretch to half a shichen or more.
Yet this Gu Chengming had wrenched himself free in a mere few dozen breaths.
On that point alone, the steadfastness of his Dao-heart was genuinely far beyond that of ordinary people.
But Zhao Wuji found he had little room for the irritation of being shown up. Something else had crowded out every other thought.
That killing intent — the wave of it that had come surging through from the other end of the Spirit-Drawing Formula. What on earth had that been?
Zhao Wuji was certain he hadn't imagined it.
The illusion constructed by the Spirit-Drawing Formula — its content and intensity were intimately tied to the deepest recesses of the subject's heart.
In other words, that killing intent had not arisen from nowhere.
It was something rooted in the heart of this young man called Gu Chengming.
He studied the unassuming youth before him.
First realm, fifth layer. Cultivation negligible. Expression calm. Neither servile nor arrogant.
How could someone who looked like this be harbouring killing intent of that magnitude?
Countless thoughts wheeled through Zhao Wuji's mind.
Could he be carrying some blood-soaked vendetta? Had he been biding his time all along, swallowing every grievance, waiting for the day he could cut down his enemy with his own hands?
Or was there some other unspeakable circumstance — an enemy so overwhelmingly powerful that he'd had no choice but to sheathe his fangs and lie low in this small Huiyuan Gate, waiting for his moment?
Either possibility left Zhao Wuji with a quietly unsettled feeling crawling up his spine.
…Would using his Spirit-Drawing Formula make this disciple called Gu Chengming hold a grudge against him?
"Ahem…"
Zhao Wuji cleared his throat, deliberately keeping his voice measured and slow:
"Naturally, you have passed."
He paused, then forced out what he personally considered a warm and amiable smile — and, remarkably, managed to inject a note of genuine praise into his tone:
"To break free of this old man's Spirit-Drawing Formula in a mere few dozen breaths, returning to your true self without wound or hindrance… Gu Chengming, the steadfastness of your Dao-heart is the most extraordinary this old man has witnessed in his entire life."
Gu Chengming blinked, offered a bow of thanks, and stepped back to his original position.
The other disciples around him were still submerged in their illusions, with no sign of surfacing anytime soon.
He was the only one standing clear-eyed among them all — conspicuously out of place.
Naturally, the elders on the high platform in the distance had noticed as well, and a subtle shift rippled through the atmosphere.
Ren Wencai, however, was a man of profound composure; not a flicker of it showed on his face.
He even affected the look of a man who'd just had a great weight lifted from his shoulders, exhaling a long breath with a smile:
"Ha! It seems this disciple of mine has a reasonably firm Dao-heart after all. I was worried earlier that he was too young, that his temperament might lack stability — but it seems that was me being overly cautious."
The words were humble enough, but the other elders present knew perfectly well what had just transpired.
Watching Ren Wencai's insufferably smug face, each of them cursed inwardly: that crafty old fox — what a performer!
A result like this was nothing short of a crushing dominance in the Dao-heart evaluation. You mean to tell us you, Ren Wencai, won't be gloating about this for the next two weeks?
The elders seethed in their hearts, but kept their faces composed.
"Senior Brother Ren is too modest."
A round-faced elder clasped his hands in greeting, voice dripping with sour cordiality: "To have taught a disciple like this — it truly reflects Senior Brother Ren's exceptional guidance."
"Indeed, indeed," another elder chimed in:
"This Gu Chengming may have unremarkable cultivation, but his Dao-heart is genuinely impressive. Raise him well, and who knows what he might become in the years ahead."
The words "unremarkable cultivation" were bitten off with particular weight — a clear reminder to Ren Wencai: don't get ahead of yourself; this disciple of yours is no great talent.
Ren Wencai let out an amiable chuckle and said nothing.
His gaze drifted quietly to Zhao Wuji, hoping to catch a trace of wounded pride on the face of this old rival.
He was disappointed.
Zhao Wuji's expression bore none of the expected humiliation or embarrassed flush — instead, it was simply… strange.
Ren Wencai felt a flicker of puzzlement.
What's gotten into Old Zhao? Surely he hasn't been thrown this badly off-balance by that little trick just now?
What he didn't know was that at this very moment, Zhao Wuji was locked in a fierce internal debate.
He wanted to bring up what he'd sensed — but each time the words reached his lips, he swallowed them back down.
What was he supposed to say? That while casting the Spirit-Drawing Formula, the killing intent transmitted from the other end had given him a fright?
And besides, if others decided he was making a mountain out of a molehill — or worse, deliberately trying to smear Ren Wencai's disciple — he'd end up looking like a fool no matter how he played it.
Better to leave it alone. Less trouble that way.
He'd look into Gu Chengming's background later.
Zhao Wuji ultimately chose silence. He clasped his hands and offered his congratulations:
"Congratulations are in order, Elder Ren. It seems Huiyuan Gate is soon to have yet another rising star in its ranks."
Ren Wencai raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.
Something was off. Very, very off.
He filed away this oddity quietly, deciding to think it over more carefully later.
On the platform above, the other elders were having similar thoughts.
The official results of the Dao-heart evaluation hadn't been announced yet, but from the fact that Gu Chengming had been the first to break free of the illusion, it was as good as certain that he would take first place.
However…
Several elders exchanged glances, their unspoken understanding shared in a single look.
A firm Dao-heart did not mean exceptional talent.
The fluctuation of first realm, fifth layer emanating from this disciple called Gu Chengming spoke plainly enough about the state of his cultivation aptitude.
First realm, fifth layer — perhaps forgivable for a disciple who'd only just joined. But Gu Chengming had been enrolled for several years already.
Every elder present was sharp enough to read between the lines: the spiritual energy in his body, though pure, circulated sluggishly — plainly limited by his innate aptitude, such that every step forward cost him ten or a hundred times the effort of an ordinary person.
Someone like that — no matter how firm his Dao-heart — had a ceiling, and it was low.
And honestly, if this kid had a rock-solid Dao-heart and brilliant talent, would that old fox Ren Wencai really have waited until now to start nurturing him?
He'd have been clutching the boy to his chest like a priceless treasure long ago.
The fact that he was only now paying attention could only mean one thing: beyond his Dao-heart, this young man truly had nothing else to show.
Thinking it through, the elders felt their hearts settle a little.
...
Time passed in a slow drift.
About half a quarter-shichen later, the other disciples on the Sword-Questioning Stone began opening their eyes one by one.
Some were pale, clearly shaken by what they'd faced inside the illusion; some were dazed, as though they hadn't fully surfaced from that vivid dream; and a small number had red-rimmed eyes, having apparently witnessed something deeply moving within.
Gu Chengming, for his part, was staring at Hundred Bones Resonance's affinity score with a contemplative look.
Seventy-five points — at this rate, it wouldn't be long before the status climbed from Fond all the way to Adoration.
A small flicker of anticipation rose in Gu Chengming's chest.
He wondered what new skill Hundred Bones Resonance would unlock once its affinity maxed out.
Before he could dwell on it further, one of the elders on the high platform had already risen to his feet.
It was a white-haired elder, apparently Elder Zhou, who was said to be responsible for recording the results of this evaluation.
He held a jade slip in both hands and fed a thread of spiritual energy into it.
In the next moment, a luminous screen projected out from the jade slip, hovering in the air above the Sword-Questioning Stone. Dense rows of names began arranging themselves in some prescribed order across it.
The comprehensive rankings for the Dao-heart evaluation.
The disciples craned their necks, each searching for their own name. Some broke into smiles; some sagged with disappointment; others were expressionless — clearly having anticipated their results all along.
When everyone's eyes reached the name at the very top, the whole space went silent for a single heartbeat.
[Gu Chengming]
[Dao-Heart Rating: Grade A, Superior]
[Assessment: Shattered the illusion in a matter of dozens of breaths; passed through the Spirit-Drawing Formula without injury or faltering. Dao-heart of exceptional firmness — dispelled delusion, returned to truth. Rating: Grade A, Superior.]
That assessment remark was particularly striking, for it meant not only that he had been the first to escape the illusion, but that his performance within it had been judged utterly flawless.
It was worth noting that even among inner disciples, very few had ever received an evaluation like this.
In an instant, countless gazes converged on Gu Chengming.
There was surprise, confusion, envy — and the unmistakable edge of barely-concealed jealousy.
After all, some people here did know Gu Chengming, and knew his history. More than a few found themselves struggling to make sense of things.
This world. You just couldn't read it anymore.
Jiang Lu stared at the golden name hanging at the top of the board, jaw falling open, taking a good long moment before he managed to close it again.
"Senior Brother Gu… your Dao-heart is truly something to admire."
The murmuring below the platform hadn't yet subsided when, up on the high platform, another elder — clad in violet robes, a long sword resting across his back — descended with a light, unhurried step.
"Quiet."
The voice wasn't loud, but it rang out like the clear note of a drawn blade, and the noise of the entire field was instantly pressed flat.
"Next up — the sword path examination."
Once that elder had departed, leaving the disciples to rest for a short while, the whispered conversations among them began to creep back.
Seizing his chance, Jiang Lu leaned over to Gu Chengming and explained:
"The one who just left is Elder Gongsun of Sword-Washing Peak. The technique used for the next examination is called the Mirror-Sword Formula."
"Mirror-Sword Formula?" Gu Chengming asked, curious.
Seeing Gu Chengming's interest, Jiang Lu launched into an explanation:
"Right. According to what I've heard, this technique was acquired — ahem, shall we say 'borrowed' — by our sect's legendary Fate-Reversing Tribulation-Severing Sovereign from Yunyue Sect, back in his earlier years."
He paused, then added:
"Senior Brother probably knows that Yunyue Sect is also a great sword-cultivator sect, but its origins lie in the Rite Sect — masters of the Dao of Musical Rites. Their approach emphasises using music to guide the sword; their sword-qi flows like a rainbow across the sky. The original version of the Mirror-Sword Formula is called the Ten-Thousand Forms Harmonious Resonance Domain, and was designed to evaluate disciples' aptitude in the Dao of Rites."
"Our Sovereign thought the method was excellent — after all, music has its rises and falls, and sword intent likewise has its strong and weak, its clear and murky. The two paths lead to the same destination. So he borrowed it, made a few adjustments, and it became the Mirror-Sword Formula it is today — a technique that reflects the true form of one's sword intent."
Hearing a familiar name, Gu Chengming found it hard to keep his expression composed.
That Fate-Reversing Tribulation-Severing Sovereign again?
If he recalled correctly, Flowing Light, Sword Shadows had apparently also been pilfered by this same Fate-Reversing Tribulation-Severing Sovereign from Yunyue Sect's Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art.
How many times can you shear the same sheep?
Even as Gu Chengming was grumbling to himself, Elder Gongsun had already taken his position at the centre of the grounds, hands forming a seal.
Rise!
With a low utterance, an invisible wave of force swept across the entire training grounds in an instant.
Something appeared to fill the air — an unseen medium, like the string of a qin, amplifying every sound several times over: the wind, the breath, even the beating of hearts. Sword intent suffused everything.
This was the Mirror-Sword Formula.
The sword domain — a clear mirror. It reflects every shape that dwells within the heart.
Elder Gongsun closed his eyes and gathered his focus, hovering in mid-air as his divine sense spread wide.
"Hmmm——"
Above the head of one disciple, a faint white light kindled first — flickering like a candle flame, feeble, yet carrying within it a quiet thread of resilience.
Elder Gongsun perceived it through his senses and gave a small nod.
Sword bearing like a pine — foundation stable. Average.
Then, in quick succession, more and more lights began to ignite across the training grounds.
Ten thousand sword intents descended like a river of stars, each point of light representing a single disciple.
Their luminosity, their speed of flow, their clarity or murkiness — under the Mirror-Sword Formula, nothing could hide.
But just then, something unexpected happened.
As the resonance of the Mirror-Sword Formula swept across his body and delved into his meridians and qi-sea, a line of text suddenly appeared before Gu Chengming's eyes.
[Flowing Cloud Moon-Following feels ill.]
The words seemed to carry actual grievance — soaked through with a dull, world-weary resentment.
[Disgusting. Why is this sound being used to probe me?]
Gu Chengming's heart clenched. This is bad.
[So many sword cultivators… so many self-important sword intents…]
[I want to die.]
Then the tone shifted abruptly — the world-weariness curdled into hostility.
[The world would be a better place without sword cultivators in it.]
Outside.
Elder Gongsun, still standing with eyes closed, attuned to the sword intent across the entire field — furrowed his brow.
He had sensed a profoundly discordant presence.
"This is…"
Elder Gongsun snapped his eyes open.
Above Gu Chengming's head, there was no sword-shape or light — not as there was for the others.
Instead, there was a churning, roiling mass of… mist. Red as blood.
It wasn't large, but it was so dense it looked as though it might drip.
The sword intents of the surrounding disciples — those that had been blooming and competing just moments before — seemed to encounter a natural predator the instant this "blood-sun" emerged, and went dim one by one, some of them scattering apart entirely.
"This sword bearing…"
It was strange, this sword intent that seemed to target sword cultivators specifically.
But whatever else you said about it — its intensity was unquestionably apex-tier.
Compared to the other pinprick lights around it, that blood-red sword intent blazed like a sun hanging full in the sky.
Elder Gongsun certainly remembered Gu Chengming — the young man had just taken first place in the Dao-heart evaluation by an overwhelming margin. At the time, Elder Gongsun had inwardly cursed Ren Wencai's good fortune for taking in a disciple with such a formidable Dao-heart, then consoled himself with the thought that the kid was only first realm, fifth layer — probably just a thickheaded block of wood with no real talent to speak of.
But now, this slap was landing squarely across his own face.
Where was the lack of talent?
Sword bearing like this — like a great sun crossing the sky, domineering and absolute — this was clearly the touch of someone already brushing against the threshold of Condensing Intent!
It was worth keeping in mind that the vast majority of the disciples present hadn't even begun to properly grasp their sword bearing yet, let alone consolidated a sword intent embryo as tangible and manifest as this.
This person was a sword path prodigy!
And yet… Elder Gongsun's shock gradually gave way to puzzlement.
This sword intent was too… extreme.
Ordinary sword intents came in all kinds — raging fire scorching the plains, or water murmuring over stones; fierce and unyielding, or yielding and fluid.
But Gu Chengming's sword intent gave him the sensation of… someone who loathed the sword.
Who loathed every sword cultivator in the world.
"Strange. Far too strange."
Elder Gongsun's brow furrowed deep, all manner of conjecture rising in his mind.
Could this young man be carrying some blood-soaked grudge?
It wasn't without precedent in Wenjian Sect's history.
Some disciples had lost their entire families — killed, or driven to ruin by certain powerful clans — and had carried the seed of hatred in their hearts ever since.
They took up the sword not to seek the Dao, not to pursue immortality — purely for revenge.
This kind of disciple, because the obsession ran so deep, often had an uncommonly firm Dao-heart, and their cultivation advanced at a staggering pace.
But that road was too bitter, and too treacherous.
More often than not, it ended with karma of slaughter piling up around them — no good death at the end, and a life that invited sighs of regret from those who witnessed it.
Looking at the calm, still surface of Gu Chengming's face, Elder Gongsun felt an unexpected surge of pity.
— A hard-fated child, it seemed. What immense grievance must he carry to have bred a hatred this fierce?
Elder Gongsun set his wandering thoughts aside and stopped speculating. He resolved inwardly that he would absolutely look into Gu Chengming's background files afterward — if there truly was some injustice buried there, perhaps the sect could offer some guidance, and spare this promising seedling from walking into the fire.
As the red light slowly contracted and faded, the sword path examination drew to a close.
This round produced no specific ranking board.
After all, the sword path admits ten thousand approaches — each its own truth.
Some excel in attack; some in defence; some move with light, flowing ease; others carry the weight of an unsharpened blade.
There was no absolute hierarchy, and it was far harder to reduce to a quantifiable score the way the Dao-heart had been.
But even so, based on the intensity of the light the Mirror-Sword Formula had reflected, everyone present had formed their own internal ranking.
Gu Chengming's assessment was, without contest — Grade A, Superior.
Though this time, he wasn't the sole standout. Beyond him, several other disciples from different gates had likewise displayed genuine sword path aptitude, and each of them received the same top-tier rating.
Meanwhile, up on the high platform.
The atmosphere had grown distinctly strange.
Several elders found they could no longer sit still.
If the first round — the Dao-heart evaluation — could still be dismissed as a single strong suit, then this round, the sword path examination, left absolutely no room for self-consolation.
Dao-heart unyielding. Sword bearing exceptional.
This was simply a born sword cultivator in every sense of the term!
The gazes the elders turned on Ren Wencai were thick with shock and a complicated tangle of envy and resentment.
One red-faced elder slammed his teacup down on the table with a sharp crack and said sourly:
"Elder Ren, this is a bit much, don't you think? There's hiding your cards, and then there's this. A sword talent like this — and you let him languish for three years? Had you sent him to the inner sect for proper cultivation earlier, he'd likely be in the second realm by now."
The other elders piled on in quick agreement.
Come on — did you really expect the rest of us to just let you pull this off without a word?
Ren Wencai unhurriedly blew on the tea leaves floating at the top of his cup, sighed, and said:
"My fellow junior brothers and sisters, please, be at ease. Young Chengming, you see, has an introverted nature — he doesn't care for fanfare. I kept him back a few years purely to temper his character. As for the matter of transferring to another peak…"
He gave a warm little laugh. "Well, that depends on the child's own wishes, doesn't it? Though I suspect Chengming is the sort of dutiful young man who values his teacher and respects the proper order of things — I doubt he'd be so quick to change allegiances."
The other elders looked at Ren Wencai's shameless face and ground their teeth in impotent fury.
Just then, Elder Gongsun — who had been responsible for casting the Mirror-Sword Formula — returned to the high platform.
The other elders immediately swarmed him, eager to hear from the man himself exactly what Gu Chengming's sword intent had amounted to.
"Senior Brother Gongsun, that young man's sword intent just now — what was it really like?"
"Yes — looked impressive on the surface, but how solid was the foundation underneath?"
In the face of everyone's questions, however, Elder Gongsun behaved rather oddly.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it and swallowed the words back down.
And so, under the baffled stares of the assembled elders on the platform, Elder Gongsun spent a long moment visibly struggling — before finally letting out a slow, drawn-out sigh, clasping his hands toward Ren Wencai, and saying in a tone that could only be described as mournful:
"Elder Ren — that disciple of yours is truly… one of a kind."
Every elder present exchanged glances.
Not this again.
Old Zhao had that exact same look on his face earlier. Now Old Gongsun was doing it too.
Just what in the world had Gu Chengming done inside these examinations?
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