Chapter 43: Jia Yi Bing Ding

Is it snowing?

No, it’s not.

Yet before everyone’s eyes, it seemed as if snowflakes had suddenly begun to fall.

These snowflakes appeared only within the space around Li Hao, within three feet of his sword’s tip.

Each snowflake radiated piercing cold—a reflection of swordlight, just as the sword technique’s name suggests: Falling Snow.

The level is… True Form.

Before Li Hao, the burly youth’s pupils shrank rapidly; he stood frozen in place.

In his vision, countless snowflakes surged like a storm—fierce, overwhelming—but this storm was held in the palm of that boy, as if he wielded the power of heaven and earth! The biting chill did not reach him; only… one slender snowflake slowly spiraled out from the storm, drifting gently toward him, brushing past his cheek.

Slightly cool.

The burly youth instinctively reached up to touch his cheek—it stung, but no blood appeared.

His gaze locked in place, his body rigid, sword still gripped in hand like a valiant swordsman, yet his arm trembled, motionless.

Soon, as if in the blink of an eye, the illusionary snowflakes vanished.

Li Hao casually tossed his sword back onto the weapon rack; it slid smoothly into its scabbard, and with a sharp clang like shattering ice, the burly youth jolted awake, his body trembling, and everyone present snapped back to reality.

Just now, all had seemed lost in a dream.

But was it truly a dream?

The scene fell into an eerie silence.

Until Li Hao’s cheerful voice broke it: “So… do I pass now?”

The burly youth snapped back, stunned, tongue-tied: “Y-you won.”

No clash occurred—because he was no match even for a single strike; in fact, he hadn’t even mustered the courage to draw his sword. He lost utterly.

The other Tan Palace students stared at Li Hao in shock; they had thought Li Yuanzhao’s display was unmatched, yet here was someone even more astonishing.

What kind of sword art is this? First, it must be an S-rank technique—and pushed to perfection!

No wonder they thought so: Falling Snow Sword Art is only upper-rank, yet under True Form, even a perfected S-rank technique pales slightly in comparison…

“Incredibly refined sword art!”

“My god, it felt like an illusion—I actually saw snowflakes!”

“Me too! This is insane!”

“The Sword General’s Mansion sword techniques must be top-tier—could he have pushed it to perfection? How long would that take?!”

When they came to their senses, all stared at Li Hao in awe.

They had long heard of the Sword General’s Mansion’s reputation—today, they finally saw it with their own eyes.

Si Xiaolan stared at Li Hao, dumbfounded; with such exquisite sword art, there was no doubt Li Hao had earned his passage through the first two trials by his own merit.

Is this what the Sword General’s family’s peers are like? Are they truly all prodigies?!

“Big Brother Hao!”

Beside him, Li Yuanzhao was even more excited; he hadn’t expected Li Hao’s sword art to be this profound. His insight, naturally sharper than these noble youths’, recognized this as Falling Snow Sword Art—the very technique Xue’er had once used.

Yet the level Li Hao displayed clearly surpassed Xue’er’s peak—even, he felt, beyond perfection.

Li Hao smiled gently at the excited Yuanzhao but said nothing.

He felt a faint pang of nostalgia—wondering what level that little girl in the Sword Hut had reached with this technique now.

Recalling the days when he had guided her in the courtyard, a smile touched his lips, but he quickly stilled his thoughts and turned to the burly youth:

“So… what’s next?”

“Huh? Oh, oh… Just walk straight this way—there’s a master waiting for you there.”

The burly youth hurriedly replied, his eyes betraying involuntary awe.

The starting point of a marquis family truly cannot be matched by ordinary people.

Li Hao nodded and led Li Yuanzhao past the burly youth, following the narrow path up the steps, strolling with casual ease.

Behind them, the crowd watched the two figures vanish into the distance before finally coming to their senses.

Then someone suddenly realized: “Why do they even have invitation letters? Could it be… their strength makes testing unnecessary?”

At these words, the others instantly understood—and fell silent.

Earlier, they had assumed it was merely the Sword General’s Mansion’s prestige, feeling slight resentment; now, they all felt relieved.

Si Xiaolan’s face flushed slightly; she bit her lip, realizing she had misjudged them.

The Tan Palace Academy had stood for centuries—how could it possibly be a place that clings to power through deceit?

…

… Within the Tan Palace Academy’s mountains, on a vast stone tablet square.

Many young figures gathered here, all gazing at the stone tablets, meditating on the cultivation techniques inscribed upon them.

At the square’s edge, two old men sat in a corner, playing a game of go.

“Oh no!”

Suddenly, the short, stout old man, lost in thought, slammed his thigh: “I nearly forgot—I still have two invitation letters to escort!”

“You mean the Sword General’s Mansion?”

The gray-robed old man looked up, puzzled: “It shouldn’t matter—the Sword General’s kids can pass the trials easily. Even without you, they’ll show up.”

“If it were anyone else, fine—but don’t you remember? That son of Xing Wu Hou is a cultivation waste, only capable of body refinement. Ten years ago, everyone was talking about him—now he’s gone quiet.”

The short, stout old man leapt up: “If he falls to his death in the second trial, we’ll be in deep trouble!”

“This…” The gray-robed old man was startled—after all, this was Xing Wu Hou’s only son. “Then go quickly!”

The short, stout old man nodded, then whistled sharply. A wind howled, and a giant bird with a wingspan of over twenty feet shot toward them, drawing the attention of many young disciples near the stone tablets. The bird landed slowly before the old man.

“I’ll wait for you…” said the gray-robed old man.

Watching his friend depart on the bird, his go game ruined, he muttered: “Should’ve sent five invitation letters from the start—why add an extra burden?”

As he spoke, he glanced down at the board.

Suddenly, he realized something was wrong—and cursed: “You damn bastard—you ran off just because you were about to lose!”

…

The short, stout old man was Shen Yunqing—though he was anything but light. He rode his demonic bird, racing toward the second trial.

Beyond escaping his go game, he genuinely worried about the second trial’s situation—hoping Old Tang there knew the boy’s condition and would help him cross the cliff.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted downward—he spotted two figures walking together along the mountain path, dressed in brocade robes, radiating noble bearing.

The embroidery on their garments—he knew it well: the Sword General’s Mansion, House Li!

“Huh?”

Shen Yunqing, startled, ordered his mount to descend.

The bird’s cry and rushing wind swept overhead; Li Hao and Li Yuanzhao halted, looking up to see a massive demonic bird with three eyes, landing several zhang above the ground before them.

Sitting behind its neck was a short old man, peering down at them, as if confirming their identities—then he smiled, leaping off the bird’s back.

He waved his hand, sending the demonic bird away, then grinned at them: “You two must be the Sword General’s Mansion’s young masters—what branch are you from? May I ask your names?”

Seeing his courteous manner, Li Hao and Li Yuanzhao weren’t surprised; after all, their lineage was too illustrious—commoners, even nobles and elites, always treated them with warmth and respect.

“This is my brother, Li Hao. I’m Li Yuanzhao.”

Li Yuanzhao spoke with a boyish, blunt charm, yet his small eyes gleamed with sharp alertness.

Shen Yunqing instantly glanced at Li Hao—his memory surged back: years ago, the boy the Yu Emperor had named “Hao”—Li Hao.

It was him.

Shen Yunqing’s face showed no change; he nodded slightly and smiled: “Did they give you trouble? Come, I’ll lead you to the gathering point.”

He assumed they had arrived unimpeded via their invitation letters.

Li Hao and Li Yuanzhao didn’t know this old man well; on the way, they spoke little.

The three strolled leisurely; Li Hao glanced around at the mountain scenery, thinking the Tan Palace Academy’s environment was quite pleasant—if he stayed here long, at least the view would be soothing, his spirit refreshed.

Soon, they reached the end of the square.

Here, over a hundred people gathered, surrounding three stone tablets.

“What’s this?” Li Yuanzhao asked Shen Yunqing, noticing Li Yun and his sister, who had arrived earlier, standing near the tablet with the fewest people.

“Anyone who reaches here qualifies to enter the Tan Palace Academy as a formal disciple.”

Shen Yunqing stroked his beard and smiled: “But disciples vary in talent. We divide into four classes—Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding—based on talent, to prevent the weak from dragging down the strong, and the strong from bullying the weak.”

“Hence, these three stone tablets—each records a cultivation technique: lower-rank, middle-rank, upper-rank!”

“Each with different difficulty.”

“Within three days, those who grasp the upper-rank technique may enter Jia class; those who grasp the middle-rank technique may enter Yi class.”

“Those who grasp the lower-rank technique within three days are placed in Bing class; if no technique is grasped within three days, you are placed in Ding class.”

Shen Yunqing smiled: “In Ding class, if you rank among the bottom three in every semester’s exam, you must take a makeup test—fail it, and you’ll be asked to leave.”

Li Yuanzhao nodded in understanding.

Li Hao asked: “What if someone refuses to leave?”

The smiling Shen Yunqing froze—refuse to be asked to leave?