Chapter 5: Ingeniously Securing a Nomination

Xing Hua glanced at Qin Chuan and Zhao Yu. “You two, come with me.” The pair nodded quickly and followed behind. As for why Zhang Huai raised his objection, Qin Chuan hadn’t figured it out earlier, but now, seeing Zhang Huai’s pale face and his furtive glances, the two exchanged a knowing smile—a sudden clarity dawning upon them. There were but two motives.

First, if Zhang Huai truly overcame Lei Ya, that would be ideal—catching the first round of recommendations from Qingyang would secure him the best resources.

Second, should he lose, as long as he demonstrated his cultivation progress and impressive physique, once Zhao Yu departed, he would naturally secure the top spot among the registered disciples of southern Qingyang. At least, he wouldn’t be troubled by others anymore.

Qin Chuan, seeing Zhang Huai’s sharp mind, finally felt at ease. Zhang Huai was unlike the other southern disciples—even Zhu Ran—for the two had grown up in the same village, childhood friends who’d weathered hardships together and thus shared a deeper bond. Zhu Ran, though also from the south, was an acquaintance made later, their friendship born of shared ideals and mutual aid.

The three left the courtyard and soon met Wen Yuan. He looked at Qin Chuan with a click of his tongue in admiration.

“Qingyang truly is impressive—three nominations! At my Jiawen Mountain, there was only one. That person, like Lei Ya, already had a foundation before joining, which allowed them to bridge the gap between mortal and immortal in just half a year.” Wen Yuan didn’t stint on his praise. “But you—astonishingly, you’ve reached the first stage of Qi Refining in half a year using only the sect’s basic breathing technique. Such a fateful opportunity is truly enviable!”

He stroked his beard and squinted, full of admiration. “Zhao Yu is not lacking, either. Though you haven’t crossed that threshold, you’ve managed to apply the breathing technique in combat. Your mastery over your body is exquisite. I imagine the southern branch would be eager to have a disciple like you.”

Wen Yuan’s words left Qin Chuan and Zhao Yu stunned. Now, they understood the significance of this first batch of nominations.

The role of steward, in the eyes of the registered disciples, was that of a supervisor. But to the sect, it was a recommender of talent. Every action of the disciples was under the steward’s gaze.

When the sect selected candidates, this was the first round of screening. Those who had already received a legacy and stepped onto the path of Qi Refining were directly taken in, while most entered training grounds like Qingyang.

Disciples like Lei Ya, who had some foundation before joining, received special attention, for they were likely to stand out in the first batch of nominations. In truth, the first nominations seemed made for such individuals. One should not think it unfair that some had trained longer—this was but a small part of fate’s design.

Yet interestingly, this time Qingyang was an exception and had not followed the sect’s plan step by step.

“Look—there’s Jiawen’s nominee, Wang Hao.”

After a few steps, they encountered the nominee from Jiawen Mountain, evidently prearranged by Wen Yuan. The five, now together, continued down the northern path of Qingyang Mountain in silence.

Qingyang Mountain’s slopes were not sheer cliffs where one misstep meant a fatal fall, but the way was still winding and steep. Of the five, only Zhao Yu lacked cultivation, so their pace was brisk. They turned north into a mountain hollow and soon saw a valley’s entrance. The farther they walked, the sparser the vegetation, replaced by pavilions and towers.

Some of the outer disciples of the Green Mountain Sect lived here, as did a few inconspicuous merchants and shopkeepers. The houses were orderly, and a clear mountain spring trickled through the hollow, winding away into the distance.

There was none of the imagined celestial birds or overwhelming immortal aura—just mountain birds chirping, cool breezes, and a gentle swing with drowsy figures; the scene was peaceful and serene.

Xing Hua and Wen Yuan looked back and saw only Zhao Yu lagging behind, while Qin Chuan and Wang Hao showed mere traces of fatigue.

“We must cross Xiangxi Valley to reach the northern branch’s inner sect. To go to the southern branch, you’d take the opposite way.” Xing Hua waited for Zhao Yu to catch up before speaking unhurriedly.

He cupped his hands and bowed to Wen Yuan. “Qin Chuan and Wang Hao will come with me to the northern branch. Zhao Yu, I’ll trouble you with my worthy brother.” It was amusing—these two displayed humility and courtesy before the disciples, but exchanged coarse words in private.

“Rest assured, I won’t fail in my task! Wang Hao, follow Steward Xing.” Wen Yuan bowed in return. With farewells exchanged, they parted ways.

Half an hour later, the dusk clouds gathered, and the sun’s blaze had softened, casting a languor over all.

This was the northern branch’s inner sect—Mount Fuluan.

Mount Fuluan rose sharply, craggy and majestic, touching the sky. The setting sun draped it in a robe of clouds and twilight. The dark-green stone steps curved up the mountain. Curiously, though ancient pines crowded the slopes, not a single fallen leaf lay on the path. The greenery on either side flourished, mountain flowers blooming in profusion. They ascended lightly, careful not to tread too harshly on the moss beneath their feet.

Mist and clouds swirled atop the mountain, and as they approached, eaves and corners of pavilions blurred into view. A few steps more, and the full grandeur emerged.

They saw stately halls and lofty towers, white jade balustrades and vermillion pillars, flying eaves crafted of colored glaze. In the center above the main hall hung a black-gold plaque with bold characters—Fuluan Hall. At first glance, the calligraphy seemed to soar with the grace of phoenix and luan, full of strength. Stare too long, and it seemed to draw one’s spirit in, so much so that a startled viewer would instinctively circulate their energy for protection.

Celestial birds alighted, wreathed in mist and sunset glow—a scene worthy of an immortal realm.

Inside Fuluan Hall was a maiden named Li Yue. She stood like a lotus under the moon, her eyes lively, as if they could capture the spring breeze or a wild goose playing in the dusk by the Xiang River.

Her master had said guests would arrive today, so she’d waited all day in vain, chatting idly with the lazy crane outside her window. The scenery was elegant, but failed to lift her spirits.

She was an orphan, raised by the Hall Master, who never allowed her to leave the hall alone. With the Hall Master preoccupied with alchemy, loneliness was her constant companion. Suddenly, her eyes brightened. She saw three figures approaching from below. Lost in thought, she gazed at them in a daze.

When she came to herself, she found a young man looking her way. She hurriedly drew the beaded curtain to hide.

Qin Chuan looked up and caught sight of the maiden. Their eyes met briefly, and her flustered reaction was both amusing and endearing.

The mountain’s summit was unexpectedly flat, as though it had been sliced level by a sword, in stark contrast to the climb. At its center stood a high platform paved with bluestone, covering half the mountaintop, with five tiers of steps on each side.

Around the stairs sprawled seven or eight herb gardens, with patches of bare purple-black earth and scattered clusters of purple bamboo. The bamboo stood at odd angles, in harmony with the heavens, bridging earth and sky, as if dragons and tigers might gather there.

“Qin Chuan, I have a few words for you,” Xing Hua said, still awed by his first visit to Fuluan Hall, yet not forgetting his purpose.

Qin Chuan stepped forward, head bowed. Their conversation was hushed, meant for no other ears.

Moments later, Xing Hua’s expression grew solemn. “You must keep this item safe. Unless there’s other business, go inside the hall. I must take Wang Hao elsewhere.”

After bidding farewell, Qin Chuan turned and made his way into the hall.