a journey into immortal cultivation

Chapter Three: The Test

Chapter Three: The Test

Wang Zhuo, too, was struck dumb by the scene before him. Only after a long moment did he come back to himself, and some of the arrogance in his heart unknowingly ebbed away.

Just then several more arcs of sword-light swept down. When each radiance faded, a disciple of the Hengyue Sect stood revealed—and, without exception, at each disciple’s side were several youths of fifteen or sixteen.

There were boys and girls alike. As they landed, every one of them stared as blankly as Wang Lin and his companions, faces a mingling of awe, confusion, and wonder.

The Hengyue disciples who had brought them scattered to one side, chatting among themselves while measuring up the youths. After a short wait, all those recommended here had arrived. A middle-aged man in black let his gaze pass over the crowd and said, in a voice without the least emotion, “Only a very few among you will be chosen as disciples of my Hengyue Sect.”

A shiver ran through the youths. Wang Lin’s heart beat unevenly. He counted—there were forty-eight to be tested.

“In cultivation, talent comes first,” the black-robed man said. “The first trial will test whether your spiritual roots are adequate. I will call your names; when I do, step forward.” He pointed at a youth at random.

The boy’s knees quivered as he edged closer. The man laid a palm atop his head and said, “Your aptitude is lacking, you will not—”

Hearing that his own aptitude was poor, Wang Hao’s heart plunged. Before the man could finish, Wang Hao whipped a jade box from his jacket, offered it up with both hands, and said with quick wits, “Venerated Immortal, my father chanced upon this in the mountains. He has tried many times but cannot open it. I brought it from home to present to you.”

The man gave a faint smile and was about to refuse, but one glance at the box made his pupils tighten. He snatched it up, examined it closely, and his face lit with pleasure. “Not bad—an aged lingzhi, three hundred years if it’s a day. Judging by this box, a cultivator sealed it within—no wonder your father couldn’t open it.” He paused, thinking a moment, then said with a hint of warmth, “I happen to be short a boy in the pill room. You seem quick on the uptake. Would you serve as my apothecary boy?”

Wang Hao blurted with joy, carried away by the sudden reversal. “I’m willing—Venerated Immortal, I’m willing!”

“You won’t be ill-used,” the man said with a nod. “As my medicine boy you may cultivate the sect’s arts like other disciples. Stand to the right.”

Thrilled, Wang Hao trotted to the right and shot Wang Zhuo a triumphant glance.

Those who failed showed only long faces; heads drooped, spirits guttered. Some had tears running freely down their cheeks.

The middle-aged man’s brows drew tight. “Any who weep—sent away at once!”

Several Hengyue disciples stepped forward, seized the sobbing youths without ceremony, and lifted off on their flying swords, vanishing in a blink.

The man pointed again—this time at Wang Lin.

Wang Lin drew a deep breath and, taut with nerves, walked to the man’s side. His mind was blank. Inwardly he prayed, unable to keep from seeing again the hope in his parents’ eyes.

I must be chosen, Wang Lin told himself.

The man set his palm upon Wang Lin’s crown and, face unreadable, uttered three words that plunged him into an ice-cave:

“Not qualified.”

Wang Lin scarcely knew how he made his way to the line on the left. His ears roared like spring thunder, and between the echoes only those three words seemed to coil and uncoil.

Before long the testing was done. Standing to the right were only three—and in the eyes of the failures, they loomed like heaven’s favored sons.

Wang Zhuo looked at Wang Lin with open contempt; the scorn in his gaze needed no veil.

“Though talent matters in cultivation,” the man said, “perseverance matters more. You whose aptitudes are ordinary may still enter as registered disciples if you possess the will. The second trial tests that will.” He paused. “Climb the stair before you. Those who reach the summit within three days pass. Those who have not by the third day fail and will be sent back to your families. If you cannot go on partway, or meet with danger, cry out that you forfeit, and someone will come to take you down.”

He turned with a faint smile toward the three on the right. “You three will come with me to meet the Sect Master—masters will be assigned. Wang Hao, not you: you will follow me to the pill room and learn the procedures.”

With that, he led the three heaven-favored youths up the mountain path and out of sight.

Wang Lin filled his lungs, set his jaw, and, without a flicker of hesitation, placed his foot upon the stone stair: the second trial—perseverance.

Setting aside the three chosen and the six who had been dismissed for weeping, thirty-nine remained.

Among these thirty-nine were some with heads hung low, some with eyes like tempered steel, some wavering and afraid. In uneven files they stepped onto the stair and began to climb—each toward a different future.