Chapter 54: Examination

Lin Jue began learning fire cultivation techniques from his second senior brother.

This is orthodox Five Elements magic.

He began practicing ingestion and learning to gather.

Each time he chopped firewood, he practiced Wood Concealment.

Drawing water was even more frequent—

Usually he drank from the well beside the Daoist temple, but if willing to walk farther, he could reach Ganquan Creek, whose water was exceptionally sweet; a sip in summer could dispel all heat.

Farther still was Jin Yu Creek, filled with assorted fish and golden fish; catching some shrimp and fish made for a fine picnic.

This was water for drinking.

Alchemy also required water.

Some was used to mix herbs, some to carry medicinal properties, some to extract the spiritual resonance within water.

Mount Yishan held many spiritual springs and streams, like the Sacred Water Spring.

There was also Nongyue Pond, whose waters absorbed lunar essence; perfect for cultivating Yin-natured elixirs, and useful even for Yang-natured ones as a blending agent. There was Danxia Creek, the opposite of Nongyue Pond. There was also the Fragrant Sand Well atop Lianhuafeng, infused with the essence of Mount Yishan, requiring humble petition to the Mountain Spirit to obtain; likewise, the Cinnabar Spring beneath Zhusha Peak, where the ancient Emperor once drew water for his alchemy.

Fish Scale Pond was said to have once housed a dragon; its waters still carried dragon qi, and even now, villagers from below the mountain came here to beg for rain during droughts.

Lin Jue had no talent for alchemy and was still learning from his second senior brother, barely able to assist even in minor tasks, so he merely ran errands for him—fetching water, doing chores.

He had nonetheless seen much of the mountain’s scenery, learned many paths, and eaten countless peaches, plums, and apricots.

The junior sister began leaving early and returning late.

This girl’s diligence matched his own.

She might even be secretly catching up to him, unwilling to be weaker, working hard where Lin Jue could not see.

Every morning after breakfast, she took a few boiled eggs and left, returning only before dinner, vanishing all day; when asked, she said she was repairing roads—and indeed, as Lin Jue had guessed, the once delicate, clean-faced junior sister was now almost unrecognizable; from then on, the junior sister he saw was always covered in dust.

Beneath the grime, she bore a peculiar, endearing simplicity.

Unconsciously, it was July, the time of falling fire.

During the hottest days of the year, Lin Jue felt some heat on the mountain, mostly while chopping wood or drawing water; at other times, especially inside the temple, the green tiles shaded him, and sitting still, he barely felt the heat unless he deliberately stood in the sun. Yet before he realized it, summer had passed, and the air had begun to cool.

It was morning.

Several wooden puppets, their faces painted with pigment and their joints stiff, brought meals: rice and a murky porridge of chopped vegetables or herbs, floating with egg strands—presumably meant to ensure daily nutrition, adding a fishy egg scent to the grassy bitterness.

The seventh senior brother, while chanting a seal to control the puppets, still had breath to speak to Lin Jue and the junior sister:

“Tiandoufeng? Of course you can climb it.”

“It looks so steep!”

“Sister, you’re mistaken! Seen from afar, it’s a ridge; seen from the side, it’s a peak—its appearance changes with distance and angle. You only see one face, and only from afar—how can you know its full shape?” said the seventh senior brother. “Tiandoufeng has a sheer, unclimbable side, but also a barely passable side—if you can find it and have the courage to climb.”

“Is there a path?”

“Stairs? Of course not—unless you’re willing to build them. But with enough courage and the right route, even mortals can reach the summit.”

“Where?”

“You want to go? I can take you today.”

“Not today—it’s the seventh day. Master Wangji will examine our ‘Summon Wind’ technique. After breakfast, we must go to Xianyuan Temple.” The junior sister said solemnly.

“No wonder you wore clean robes…”

“Exactly!”

The puppets began serving rice.

Lin Jue saw the seventh senior brother’s left hand forming a seal, his right hand hanging naturally, fingers tapping rhythmically—as if controlling the puppets’ movements.

The way of magic was profoundly deep.

The path ahead was immeasurably long.

Lin Jue could not help but ponder.

The porridge was as tasteless as ever.

It barely kept them alive.

Only the junior sister, since becoming a laborer, had vastly increased her appetite, eating three full bowls.

After breakfast, the two went to Xianyuan Temple.

Outside the temple lay a forest path, packed earth covered in fallen leaves; ahead, steep peaks and strange mountains blocked the way. The elders of Fuxiu Temple had carved paths through rock and mountain, but these trails were rough, dangerous, slippery in rain; yet now, on this latest ascent, there were already twenty-odd stone steps.

But how long were these twenty-odd steps?

For a common house or pavilion, they might reach one floor—but before this towering mountain, they were barely a footstep.

To climb this mountain, you must descend again.

Beyond this mountain lay several more.

Lin Jue glanced at the junior sister beside him.

Today, at least, she wore clean robes, washed her face and hair, faintly resembling her old self—though her skin was slightly darker.

“Brother, look!” The junior sister, oblivious to his worry, pointed proudly at the steps. “I built these! Now the path is much easier!”

“You’ve made them very even…”

“Of course! Benefits for a thousand generations!”

“Hmm…”

Lin Jue wondered how long it had taken her.

“My spiritual power is weak, my technique shallow. When I first came, I couldn’t build even one step a day. Yesterday, I nearly built two.” The junior sister said. “Master said, once I finish this path to Xianyuan Temple, my ‘Crush Stone’ technique will be considered minor mastery.”

“What about ‘Summon Wind’?”

“I learned it too—I use it to blow dust off the path.”

“Sister, be careful—cliffs are dangerous. Don’t fall while building.”

“How could I?”

Stepping onto the stone steps, both moved faster than before.

This was the fruit of cultivation.

Merely practicing spiritual arts does not grant physical strength or boundless power—unless one becomes immortal, no matter how high one’s cultivation, it’s useless. Spiritual arts do not make you omnipotent; they merely open a path toward it. Any true ability must be trained separately. Spiritual resonance pervades heaven and earth, countless uses, yet never reveals itself. But once you cultivate spiritual arts, and then actively train your body, your results improve naturally, your achievements rise higher—it depends on your choice.

Lin Jue and the junior sister ran up and down these mountains daily—undoubtedly a form of training.

Arriving at Xianyuan Temple, they were only slightly breathless.

Entering the great hall, Wangji had just lit incense; thin blue smoke had just risen, and over a dozen young Daoists already sat inside.

Some closed their eyes in meditation, some remained silent, some whispered quietly to close companions; some were anxious, some eager, some perfectly calm.

It seemed they were all waiting for Lin Jue and the junior sister.

“You’re here? You’re early today.” Wangji sat down, glancing toward the door.

At his words, those speaking fell silent, those with closed eyes opened them, glanced at the newcomers, then sat upright.

They had not only grown accustomed to waiting for them—they had grown accustomed to beginning lessons the moment they arrived.

“Greetings, Dao Master.”

The junior sister stepped forward and set down her satchel.

She took out peaches, plums, apricots, and pears, placing them before Wangji.

“These are wild fruits from Fuxiu Peak—very tasty. We saw them on the way and brought some for you.”

“You’re thoughtful.”

Wangji could not help but smile.

The two then returned to their seats.

Honoring one’s elders was only proper.

Especially since they had never paid tuition.

“Today is the seventh day of the seventh month—the day agreed upon to examine your techniques. This morning is cool, the mountain rarely sees sunlight—perfect weather. The only flaw is the slight humidity—let us summon some wind.”

Wangji spoke calmly, placing a wooden board one foot long, one foot wide, and three fingers thick before him.

“A few days ago, I visited Jiulong Temple. On leaving, I took some cheap elixirs—no great effect, but beneficial to the body.”

“Those who disturb the incense smoke, receive one pill.”

“Those who blow the three incense sticks to glow bright red, receive two pills.”

“Those who topple the board, receive three pills.”

“I have taught you ‘Summon Wind’ for a month. Let us see what progress you’ve made—and how hard you’ve worked.”

As he spoke, glances from the young Daoists subtly turned toward Lin Jue and the junior sister.

Whether Wangji had said anything like “Don’t shame this temple,” as Yunhe Daoist had, none knew—but all the young Daoists had heard Fuxiu Temple possessed the ability to “read fate and discern talent,” and thus each generation selected only the most gifted disciples. Most were teenagers, none easily admitting inferiority, especially those with pride; they had long held resentment, simmering with determination.

The junior sister’s face showed unease.

Though she had great talent in the Five Elements and was suited to natural magic, her focus these past weeks had been almost entirely on “Crush Stone”; “Summon Wind” had been only a side practice.

Disturbing the incense smoke was no problem.

Even without training, a breath or a flick of the sleeve could easily stir the smoke—this task was merely for distributing pills.

After all, they were all temple disciples.

Lighting the three incense sticks was no problem either.

Though thick and large, and though it was daytime, a strong breath close enough could still ignite them. But if one used magic to achieve this, it would count as true magical manifestation.

The board, however, was thick; even if one pressed their mouth to its top edge and blew with all force, it would not easily fall.

Using magic made it even harder.

At this moment, Wangji’s voice came again.

"Who goes first?"

The old Daoist’s gaze swept slowly over the crowd.

Some avoided his eyes, some looked hesitant, some waited in stillness, others decided to observe first, or prepare themselves, before challenging the two from Fuxiu Temple.

Lin Jue had already stood up.

"Master Dao, I’ll go."

Without delay, he bowed to Wangji Zi, then summoned his spiritual power and swept his sleeve.

"Whoosh—"

The rain bells outside jingled loudly.

A mountain wind surged in, filling the hall.

The blue smoke inside vanished instantly; the thick incense in the brazier blazed bright red, its glow clear even in daylight.

"Crash!"

The standing wooden board fell solidly to the ground.

But it was far from over.

The temple statues rattled violently in the wind, ornaments beneath the eaves swung wildly and clattered, even the trinkets on the walls were blown off; many in the hall could not open their eyes.

The disciples of Xianyuan Temple suddenly understood everything.

"Should I wait for these two to perform first, then act?"

"Should I act first, then immediately ask them to perform?"

“If I win, should I say, ‘Even Fuxiu Temple’s disciples are nothing special’? That might harm the relationship between our two families.”

"If I win, should I comfort them…"

"…"

All the thoughts he had harbored before vanished completely; every sharp retort he had rehearsed days ago, every phrase simmering at the back of his throat, he swallowed down.

He even felt relief—that this man had not waited until the very end, after everyone else had performed; as it was, it felt almost like a favor to them.