As Jin advanced along with the line, he had the clear impression that the initial flash of light had triggered something.
It didn't take long for him to notice. From time to time, surprised exclamations rose from different points in the area. They weren't shouts like the first one, but rather heightened murmurs, held breaths, and comments that spread quickly among the children.
Jin turned his head whenever he could without leaving the line.
On several occasions, he caught sight of other crystals lighting up intensely. It wasn't the near-uncontrolled outburst that had caused the earlier chaos, but neither was it a dull glow. This time, the light was clear and defined—strong enough to draw attention, though not blinding.
As he moved forward, Jin kept count without realizing it.
Eight times.
Eight instances in which a crystal reacted with intensity clearly above average. And yet, none of them came even close to what had happened before. That had been on a completely different level.
"Interesting…" Jin thought.
The line moved forward again.
Jin adjusted his posture and stopped looking around. His turn was drawing closer, and now he had a much clearer idea of what it truly meant to stand out in this place.
With time, Jin's turn finally arrived.
He stepped forward until he stood before a large crystal, taller than the ones he had seen from afar. Beside it, the examiner stood with a tired expression, clearly worn down by the constant repetition of the same process. With little interest, he gestured for Jin to proceed.
"Place your palm on the crystal."
Jin nodded.
Honestly, he already had a fairly clear idea of how these kinds of tests worked. He had read enough stories not to be too surprised. With a confident smile, he extended his arm and placed his hand on the smooth, cold surface of the artifact.
The moment contact was made, he felt something.
A warm current emerged from the crystal and slid into his palm, moving smoothly up his arm. It wasn't painful or invasive, but it was clear and distinct, as if an external energy were traveling through his body with a precise purpose. Jin didn't know why, but he could sense its path, feel every point it passed through.
The current continued downward, branching into different areas, looping, doubling back on itself, as if carefully inspecting every corner. With each cycle, that thin thread grew thicker and more stable, until it became a continuous torrent flowing without interruption.
Just as the energy seemed ready to return to the crystal, something suddenly changed. At a point near where Jin sensed his dantian should be, an unknown force abruptly absorbed the flow, swallowing almost the entire current in an instant. Only an extremely fine strand remained—just enough to allow a small portion to return to the crystal.
What the hell—Jin thought.
He didn't understand what had just happened, but the lingering sensation inside him made it clear that, once again, nothing was proceeding in a completely normal way.
He had already suspected something was off.
When he withdrew his hand from the crystal, he glanced at the examiner, watching closely for any reaction. There were no jolts, no abrupt changes in expression. The man looked at the crystal, checked the result quickly, and spoke in the same flat tone as always.
"Mortal meridians."
The words fell without weight, as if they weren't worth further attention. The deacon gestured with his hand, signaling Jin to move to the area designated for the final test.
Without hesitation, Jin nodded and moved on, though his brow was furrowed.
As he walked, he replayed what he had just felt. That stream of energy hadn't been weak or chaotic. It had traveled through his body with unsettling clarity before being almost completely absorbed. And yet, the result had been the worst acceptable one.
"Mortal meridians…?" he thought.
He didn't know exactly what level of quality that represented, but judging by the examiner's reaction, it barely cleared the threshold of useless. There was no surprise, no interest—not even curiosity.
Jin let out a short, silent laugh.
An ironic smile formed on his face as an idea began to take shape in his mind.
"Don't tell me…" he thought.
He didn't finish the sentence.
He continued toward the final test, his expression already calm, as if he had accepted that once again, the world seemed determined not to do things the easy way.
Following the path, he arrived at an enormous open-air hall, with a pillar at its center and children and disciples stationed along the edges.
There was no roof. The sky was completely exposed, and sunlight poured directly into the center of the space, where a massive pillar rose. Jin instinctively slowed his pace when he saw it.
The pillar was strange.
It didn't seem to be made solely of stone, nor entirely of metal. Its surface had a dull, uneven sheen, as if both materials had fused into something else. As he drew closer, Jin noticed incomprehensible engravings running along its entire structure. They weren't recognizable words or symbols he could associate with anything he knew, yet they conveyed a clear sense of antiquity.
Everything about the object conveyed the same message.
An ancient and important artifact.
"Nothing good ever comes from touching that," Jin thought.
Ahead of him, other children stepped forward one by one toward the pillar. There were no defined lines this time. Each child was called individually, walked to the center, and placed a hand on the artifact's surface.
The reactions varied.
Some barely managed to make the pillar glow faintly before it dimmed again, leaving the examiners uninterested. Others triggered more visible responses—flames briefly flaring around the pillar, gusts of wind stirring dust from the ground, and even one case where small arcs of electricity crawled over the surface, making the air crackle.
Each time that happened, restrained murmurs rose among the disciples.
Unlike the previous test, there didn't seem to be a rigid order or direct comparisons here. Each child faced the pillar alone, without immediate reference points, as if the artifact were evaluating something deeper than a simple measurable trait.
"Definitely…" Jin thought, "…this is where things get serious."
The pillar remained motionless between tests, as though none of what occurred around it were truly worthy of disturbing it.
Jin stayed there, watching as the children passed one after another before the pillar.
He paid attention to every reaction, every subtle change in the artifact, trying to find a pattern. Some children were called after long waits; others, unexpectedly. That was why it felt strange when, without warning, a disciple called his name shortly after he arrived.
Jin's eyes widened in surprise.
"Already?" he thought.
Even so, he didn't argue. He hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, crossing the open space until he stood before the pillar. No one gave him instructions this time, but he didn't need them. After everything he had seen, what he had to do was obvious.
As he approached, his mind worked calmly. He had already formed a general idea of the situation. This artifact wasn't evaluating meridians or will. If his assumptions were correct, it was related to the spiritual root—the most important factor for a cultivator and the one that, in most stories, defined a person's true ceiling.
Standing before the pillar, Jin felt neither nerves nor excitement. If anything, there was a vague resignation mixed with curiosity. With that feeling, he raised his hand and touched the surface without hesitation.
The effect was immediate.
A jolt ran through his body, like thousands of tiny electric shocks striking at once, numbing his muscles for a fraction of a second. At the same time, a surge of searing heat spread from the point of contact, coursing through his interior as if searching for a way to break free, to advance, to manifest—only to be restrained again and again, refusing to fully emerge.
Jin clenched his teeth slightly, keeping his hand steady.
The pillar reacted.
Its surface emitted a faint glow, weak compared to the previous reactions. There were no flames, no wind, no lightning. Just a dull light that pulsed a couple of times before fading away.
Jin withdrew his hand and exhaled calmly, looking at the pillar as if confirming something he had already suspected. Outwardly, his expression was composed. Inwardly, however, an idea was settling with increasing clarity.
With a faint smile, he moved toward the area designated for those who had already been examined.
The moment he arrived, he noticed it. The atmosphere wasn't harmonious. The children weren't mingled at random; they had naturally separated into small groups, bound by glances, murmurs, and a constant sense of comparison. Tension hung in the air—a silent discomfort that needed no words to be felt.
Before he could analyze it further, a disciple stepped forward and spoke clearly.
"Jin Yuchen. Impure spiritual root."
The words carried far enough for everyone to hear.
Immediately, Jin felt eyes turn toward him. Some were curious, others openly mocking, and a few carried a poorly concealed hint of pity. Several children exchanged whispers without bothering to hide them.
Jin, however, didn't react as they expected.
He smiled.
He offered the disciple a calm smile, dipped his head slightly in thanks, and stepped aside without saying a word. He walked a few more steps and chose a secluded spot, where he sat alone, back straight and expression relaxed.
If someone had asked him at that moment how he felt, Jin would have answered honestly.
He wasn't upset.
The feeling that dominated was boredom.
"What kind of cliché plot is this…" he muttered quietly, barely moving his lips. "Starting out with the worst possible talent."
He leaned back slightly, resting his hands on the ground.
"Well," he added to himself with a crooked smile, "at least I didn't wake up with destroyed meridians or a broken engagement."
The mockery in his tone wasn't aimed at anyone in particular. Jin simply observed the place calmly, as if he had already accepted that, once again, the world seemed determined to follow a very predictable script.
Suddenly, something strange caught his attention.
He scanned the area once more and confirmed his suspicion. The children who had triggered the most dramatic reactions from the pillar weren't there.
It was as if everyone who had produced those "special effects" had been separated and taken somewhere else.
Jin hesitated.
For a moment, he considered asking someone about it, but the idea deflated almost immediately. From now on, with "impure spiritual root" hanging over him like a label, most people would likely see him as little more than filler. It wasn't worth drawing attention.
Lost in those thoughts, he lifted his gaze without realizing it.
And then he saw him.
A boy had just stepped forward toward the pillar. Black hair, long and neat, firm posture, and a presence as restrained as it was sharp. Even from a distance, Jin recognized him instantly.
It was Wei.
Jin straightened slightly, surprised. He couldn't explain why, but something about the atmosphere felt different now that Wei was there. It wasn't a clear pressure or an overwhelming sensation—just a subtle discomfort, as if the air itself had tightened slightly.
At that moment, a figure appeared above, floating in the sky over the hall.
An old man in golden robes manifested as if he had always been there, watching from an elevated position. His presence was silent, as though he weren't truly there at all.
The old man observed the pillar and the boy before it for a moment before speaking in a low, measured voice directed at the void.
"It's about to begin."
There was no response.
Below, Wei stepped forward and placed his palm against the pillar's surface. Jin fixed his gaze on him, alert to any change, with the clear sense that what was about to happen would not be ordinary.
Jin did not expect that result.
When Wei touched the pillar, nothing happened at first. For several seconds, there was absolute silence—so dense that even the constant background murmurs vanished. It was brief, but enough to make Jin frown in confusion.
Then everything broke.
A deafening roar shook the area, and at the center, the pillar released a column of light that shot straight into the sky. The ground trembled beneath everyone's feet, and several children fell to the ground in shock. Jin stepped back instinctively.
But that was only the beginning.
The air changed abruptly. It grew heavy, oppressive, as if every breath required conscious effort. Jin felt his chest compress and had to tense his body to keep his balance. He lifted his gaze instinctively, ignoring the pressure that made his legs tremble.
And then he saw it.
The sky was splitting open.
Not metaphorically. The celestial dome itself seemed to crack as multicolored light seeped through the fissures. Dense clouds began to churn violently, and bolts of deep purple lightning descended again and again, illuminating everything in unsettling flashes.
Amid that chaos, something else began to take shape.
A massive, well-defined illusory shadow slowly formed among the clouds. Its outline was unmistakable—straight, sharp, dominant.
A sword.
Jin barely managed to process it.
The pressure surged again, and this time he had to plant one foot firmly into the ground to avoid falling. His ears rang and his vision blurred at the edges. He couldn't see everything clearly, and he wasn't even sure his body could endure much more of this.
Even so, a thought surfaced with absolute clarity.
"This…" he thought with difficulty, "…this definitely falls under the category of extreme cliché."
Almost at the same time, another realization struck him.
"Ah… that explains it."
He clenched his teeth, holding himself upright as best he could.
"So the one who nearly made the crystal explode earlier… was Wei."