Back at the Main Courtyard of the Han Family, the sun hung high above the tiled roofs. Its light poured down on the wide stone courtyard, where hundreds of people stood in long lines.
The Han Family elders, disciples, and servants were all gathered together.
The air was filled with nervous whispers, heavy with tension and hope.
At the front, on a raised platform, stood a man in dark blue robes with silver embroidery — a representative from the Sword Shandian Sect. Beside him rested a shining blade driven into the ground, humming faintly with spiritual energy.
The test was simple.
Touch the sword.
If it glows, you have talent.
If it doesn't, you're just another commoner.
"Next!" the man shouted, his tone sharp like a whip.
A young boy stepped forward. His hands trembled as he placed them on the sword's hilt. Nothing happened. The sword stayed dull and lifeless.
"Failure!" the man barked.
The boy's shoulders slumped. The elders shook their heads. The boy stepped away, his face pale.
"Next!"
Another came, then another. Each one stepped forward with trembling hope. Each one left with despair.
"Failure!"
"Failure!"
"Failure!"
The word echoed again and again, like hammer strikes against the hearts of those waiting. Even the servants watching from the side began to whisper that the Han Family's glory might finally be fading.
Wei Ji stood a few steps back, watching it all quietly. He didn't step forward or speak. His gaze was calm, but deep in his eyes flickered something cold and old — the look of someone who had seen too many rises and falls.
He spotted a familiar face among those waiting.
Han Cui, the head of the family, stood straight and proud near the front, his expression unreadable. Beside him were two boys — Han Zhanjian, the youngest, barely sixteen, and another boy Wei Ji didn't recognize right away. The middle child, perhaps? Wei Ji tilted his head slightly. So that's him.
The line grew shorter. The sword master's voice grew harsher.
"Failure!"
"Failure!"
"Failure!"
Even Han Cui's face darkened as the family's younger generation failed one after another. The servants began murmuring among themselves.
"Maybe the Han bloodline is weakening."
"Not a single glow yet."
"If this continues, even the young masters might fail…"
Wei Ji's expression didn't change. But when the unknown middle child finally stepped forward, something inside him stirred.
The boy looked about seventeen, neither tall nor short, dressed neatly but not lavishly. His eyes were calm, not as nervous as the others. He reached out, gripping the sword handle firmly. For a moment, nothing happened. Then—
Bzzzt!
A spark of light burst from the blade. The sword began to glow with a soft white radiance that quickly grew brighter, brighter still, until it bathed the courtyard in light.
The boy stepped back in shock.
The representative from the Sword Shandian Sect widened his eyes.
"This… this glow…!"
The man pressed his palm over the sword, sending his spiritual sense into it. A moment later, his voice boomed across the courtyard.
"High talent! His sword affinity is excellent! Exceptional spirit roots! He might even have the potential to become an inner disciple of the Sword Shandian Sect!"
Gasps rippled through the Han Family.
"What!?"
"An inner disciple!?"
"That's one step away from becoming a Sword Immortal!"
Han Cui's stoic face finally cracked with emotion. He let out a deep, trembling breath, his hands slightly shaking as he stared at his middle son.
Even the servants, who had stayed silent for fear of being scolded, began to cheer softly.
The courtyard was filled with murmurs and excitement. Some elders were already whispering about the family's revival. Others spoke about sending gifts to the sect. Even the distant guards looked proud.
Wei Ji stayed where he was, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a faint smile.
"So his name is Han Zukong," Wei Ji murmured to himself. "The middle child between me and Zhanjian."
To him, he's not important. Worth a fart.
The Sword Shandian Sect's representative clapped his hands together and raised his voice.
"This young man has a rare sword spirit. If he continues to cultivate, he might even touch the path of the Sword Immortal someday!"
Cheers filled the courtyard. Even those who failed moments ago smiled in awe, as if basking in Zukong's light. The Han Family had found its new star.
Wei Ji was getting impatient.
But just as the laughter and celebration filled the air, Wei Ji felt something strange. A ripple of energy brushed past his senses — faint but familiar. His eyes sharpened. That aura… it was Celestial Demon Energy.
He turned his head sharply. At the edge of the crowd, someone was walking toward them. It was Lu Shaohua.
Wei Ji's chest tightened. Why is she here? He had told her to stay in the kitchen, to cook for him, not to show her face during the ceremony. More importantly, she was supposed to stay calm — any strong emotion could awaken the celestial demonic heart within her.
But there she was, walking nervously, her hands gripping the hem of her dress. And from her heart… that faint, swirling trace of Celestial Demon Energy was leaking out.
Wei Ji's expression turned cold. He stepped forward and reached her side in a flash.
"Why are you here?" he whispered.
Lu Shaohua looked up at him, startled. "I… I was kicked out of the kitchen."
Wei Ji frowned. "What about the token I gave you? You should've shown it. No one would dare to touch you."
"I did," she said softly, biting her lip. "But they thought it was stolen. They said I was a thief."
Wei Ji's jaw tightened. His eyes turned sharp as blades.
He closed his eyes and spread a faint wave of spiritual energy outward, unseen to anyone around. It moved like wind, brushing through the courtyard. He followed the lingering scent of the token's energy… and found three traces of it.
Three people wearing kitchen uniforms, standing near the servants' area, were whispering and snickering quietly.
Wei Ji opened his eyes. They flashed with a faint, cold light.
"I see," he muttered.
Lu Shaohua tugged at his sleeve nervously. "Young Master… it's fine. I'll just go back later—"
Wei Ji raised a hand gently. "No. You won't need to."
He turned his gaze back toward the platform, where the head chef — a burly man with gray streaks in his hair — was now being called forward.
Apparently, even servants could test if they wished. The chef laughed, full of confidence, striding toward the glowing sword.
The crowd was still chatting excitedly about Han Zukong's talent. The sect representative smiled, ready to continue. The head chef bowed, ready to touch the blade.
But before his hand could reach it, a sharp voice rang out across the courtyard.
"Wait!"
Every head turned.
Wei Ji stood there, his robe fluttering in the soft wind, his gaze locked onto the chef. His tone wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise like thunder.
The courtyard fell silent. Even the birds perched on the nearby walls stopped chirping.
The Sword Shandian Sect's representative frowned. "Who dares interrupt the test?"
Wei Ji's eyes didn't leave the chef. His calm expression was gone — replaced by something cold, focused, and dangerous.
"Before he touches that sword," Wei Ji said quietly, "I want to ask him a question."
The tension in the air grew heavy. Han Cui looked confused. Lu Shaohua stood behind Wei Ji, trembling slightly, unsure what was happening.
But Wei Ji didn't waver. His spiritual pressure, faint but undeniable, spread across the courtyard like the breath before a storm.
And in that still moment, everyone — even the arrogant sect representative — could feel it.
Something was about to happen.