The sun burned bright above the Han Family's main courtyard, its light spilling across polished tiles and marble pillars. The air was alive with murmurs, confusion, and tension.
Hundreds of disciples stood in line, robes fluttering lightly in the wind. Servants huddled nearby, whispering nervously to one another as they watched the scene unfold.
Wei Ji and Attendant Wu stepped out from the west corridor. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly across the open courtyard.
Wei Ji's expression was calm, but his eyes quietly scanned every detail—the lines of people, the glowing crystal ball placed atop the ceremonial stand, the elders watching closely.
Attendant Wu bowed slightly beside him and explained, "Young Master, this is the Han Family's disciple testing ceremony. Every person places their hand on the crystal ball. If they have talent, the ball shines. If not, it stays dull."
Wei Ji glanced at the orb. It was dim, lifeless, like a dying moon. "How many have tried?" he asked.
"Almost everyone," Attendant Wu replied. "But none have succeeded. The ball didn't even flicker. Not a single one of the disciples awakened even a trace of spiritual energy." He sighed. "Yesterday, the Four Element Sect came. But their sole representative left without testing anyone. It was a pity… truly a pity."
A small group of disciples nearby murmured.
"Do you think they'll ever come again?" one whispered.
"Not for another decade," another said bitterly. "The last time an immortal took someone from our family was thirty years ago."
Attendant Wu nodded. "Indeed. The immortals rarely descend to the mortal realm. When they do, it's like a festival for every kingdom. If someone from our Han Family is chosen, the Forest Dragon Kingdom will reward us heavily. Gold, lands, titles… even a small immortal-grade resource."
Wei Ji tilted his head slightly, uninterested. "And yet," he said quietly, "none of them are chosen."
Attendant Wu smiled awkwardly. "The heavens are stingy, Young Master. But we mortals must keep hoping. It's an honor even to stand before one of them."
Wei Ji's expression remained flat. "Why don't you try, then?"
The old attendant chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Me? Hah, I'm too old, Young Master. Even if I had a trace of talent, the cost to train me would be too high. The sects prefer the young. The old like me are just baggage."
Wei Ji's brow furrowed slightly. "In the Middle Realm, even the old fight for the heavens. Age means little if you can grasp the Dao. But…" He looked around, sensing the thinness of the spiritual energy. "Here, it's different. The world is weak. Even the heavens here seem asleep."
As he watched another disciple fail the test, the dull glow of the crystal orb reflected faintly in his eyes. He shook his head and began walking toward Han Cui. The old family head stood at the front, speaking with several elders.
"Old man," Wei Ji said plainly as he approached. "Give me the Han Family token."
Han Cui turned, startled. "What did you say?"
The elders nearby exchanged looks, shocked. Murmurs spread quickly.
"Isn't that the family token?" one whispered. "Why would he ask for that?"
But Wei Ji didn't explain. His eyes narrowed, calm yet commanding. A faint ripple of power stirred behind him, unseen by all. With a flick of his finger, a green vine shot up silently from the ground. It slithered like a snake, invisible under the folds of Han Cui's robe, and then—snatch! The vine withdrew, the golden family token glinting in the air before landing softly in Wei Ji's palm.
Han Cui blinked, stunned. "You—!"
But before he could speak, Wei Ji had already turned and started walking away.
At that moment, a voice called out from above. "Wait!"
Everyone looked up. Descending from the air on a floating lotus-shaped spiritual platform was a group of cultivators wearing crimson robes embroidered with sand-colored runes. The leader, a tall man with sharp eyes and an arrogant smirk, stepped forward. "Han Family," he announced, "we are from the Red Sand Sect. We've come to recruit disciples… But unfortunately, none are talented enough for us to take with us."
The elders bowed hurriedly. "Immortal Masters! We, the Han Family, apologize for wasting your time."
The leader of the Red Sand Sect swept his gaze across the courtyard before landing on Wei Ji. "Who is that?" he asked suddenly. "The one who just demanded the family token?"
Han Cui forced a smile. "He is my son, Han Ji. He was only joking, Senior. Please forgive his disrespect."
The cultivator raised an eyebrow. "Joking? Hm. He doesn't look like he's joking." His eyes narrowed. "There's something about him… that air, that composure. Are you sure he's just an ordinary mortal?"
The surrounding disciples began whispering.
"Why is the immortal staring at Young Master Han Ji?"
"He's not even cultivating, is he?"
The Red Sand Sect leader stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "Bring him here," he ordered. "I want to see if he has talent. His form is promising. Perhaps he was born with a hidden root."
Wei Ji said nothing. He only looked at him, quiet, calm, but there was a faint glint in his eyes.
Attendant Wu hurried forward and bowed deeply. "Senior, my young master is unwell today. He isn't fit for testing. Please, forgive us for declining your kind offer."
The Red Sand Sect leader's face darkened. "Declining?" His tone sharpened. "A servant dares to speak before an immortal?"
Before anyone could react, he raised his hand. A small box appeared in his palm. The lid opened, and fine red sand poured out, swirling in the air like a living storm. "Kneel," he said coldly. "Perhaps I'll let you keep your tongue."
The sand twisted like serpents, hissing as they shot toward Attendant Wu.
But then—BOOM!
A shockwave exploded between them. The sand shattered midair, scattering like dust in a gust of wind. The disciples screamed and backed away. Smoke and dirt filled the courtyard.
When it cleared, everyone froze. Wei Ji stood calmly between the Red Sand Sect cultivator and his servant. His eyes were cold, his face unreadable.
"What just happened?" someone whispered.
"Did he… block it?" another said in disbelief.
The Red Sand Sect leader looked at Wei Ji, his expression turning wary. "You…" he began, "you're not—"
Wei Ji ignored him and turned to Attendant Wu, who was trembling. "Does your sect tolerate demonic cultivators?" he asked quietly.
Attendant Wu stared, pale. "W-what… what do you mean, Young Master?"
Wei Ji's gaze was steady. "Answer me."
The attendant stammered, "N-no… they do not. The major sects despise demonic arts. Anyone caught using them is hunted. The Red Sand Sect, the Five Element Sect, all of them—they purge anyone who practices such things."
Wei Ji nodded slowly. "I see."
The Red Sand Sect leader frowned. "What nonsense are you—"
Before he could finish, Wei Ji raised his hand. His fingers moved swiftly through the air, forming a small seal. The ground trembled.
The cultivator gasped as a green vine burst from the ground beneath his feet. It wrapped around his legs, twisting tighter and tighter. He tried to break free, but the vine pulsed with a strange energy—one that ignored his spiritual pressure completely.
"What—what is this?!" he shouted, horror flashing in his eyes.
Gasps filled the courtyard.
"The immortal is trapped!"
"How—how could a mortal—?"
Wei Ji said nothing. He simply watched as the vine tightened, his expression calm and detached, as if he were merely adjusting the balance of nature itself.
The Red Sand Sect disciples behind their leader stumbled back, their faces pale. The elders of the Han Family stood frozen, unable to comprehend what they were seeing. Even Han Cui's hands trembled.
The courtyard fell silent.
And in that silence, everyone looked at Wei Ji as if they saw a ghost.