Chapter 135: The Final Trial

The square wasn't just filled with new students; many senior students had come to watch and join the excitement.

As soon as Pan Yun appeared on the testing platform, the senior students in the square immediately noticed her.

"Who is that? Such speed—only two watch-sticks have passed since No. 1 entered. How did she come out already?"

"That's Pan Yun, if I recall correctly, she was No. 5."

"She's Pan Yun? The disciple of the Mountain God of Mount Sanqing?"

"Yes, she's exactly as rumored…"

Aside from the examiners on the high platform, no one knew what Pan Yun and Zhang Weiyi were saying, but the tension between them was visibly rising.

Everyone in the square crowded beneath the high platform, craning their necks to watch the two, their eyes alight with excitement: "Zhang Weiyi's spellcraft is no weakling's, and his swordplay is exceptional—can Pan Yun even survive three of his strikes?"

"Unlikely. I heard Pan Yun offended Zhang Weiliang and his two brothers the moment she moved into Fengqi Courtyard. Though Zhang Weiyi isn't close to them, they share the Zhang surname—he might be settling their score."

"Pfft, offended? More like beaten. Look at how badly Zhang Weiliang and his brothers were laid out—do you think Pan Yun is weak?"

"No matter how strong she is, she can't outmatch Zhang Weiyi, can she?"

"Hard to say."

The words "hard to say" had barely left their lips when Zhang Weiyi drew his sword and struck first.

Eyes widened on both platform and ground. Lou Tong frowned: "Why did he take the initiative?"

The crowd below buzzed: "When did Zhang Weiyi become so impatient? Why did he strike first?"

Of course, it was Pan Yun's mocking expression that provoked him. Zhang Weiyi didn't know her martial style or cultivation base—he'd planned to wait for her to move first, then counter.

But her constant use of "Courtyard Head," paired with that sneering face, ignited his fury.

Besides, that night she'd only impressed him with one quick spell to harden the swamp. The rest—turning soil into marsh—could've been prepped in advance or achieved with talismans.

And the array talismans around their three rooms? All external aids.

Zhang Weiyi suspected they'd been prepared for her by her elders at Mount Sanqing.

Mount Sanqing had always been poor yet rich; as a key disciple of Long Hushan, Zhang Weiyi knew this well.

Mount Sanqing appeared destitute, constantly short on funds, stingy toward fellow sects—but their disciples' cultivation resources were always top-tier, even surpassing those of Long Hushan's direct disciples.

Why could Wang Cong, who neglected cultivation and obsessed over commerce, graduate from Long Hushan's academy in just three years?

Because since age seven, he'd soaked in medicinal baths; his root quality and cultivation resources had always been superior—even without much effort, he'd outpaced many.

So he didn't underestimate Pan Yun, largely because she came from Mount Sanqing—she had powerful backing.

He didn't think she was truly formidable herself; after all, she'd only entered the Dao less than a year ago, and she was so young.

His body moved like the wind, his sword flashing like lightning as he lunged at Pan Yun—he intended to strike her down in one blow.

Swordplay was worth twenty points—he'd make sure that even if she'd scored full marks in the first three trials, she'd barely scrape through to the next with sixty.

Pan Yun lifted her gaze, standing still as a mountain. His blade arrived in an instant—only then did she raise her scabbard, precisely and with utter calm, and strike with a clear *clang*, sending Zhang Weiyi flying.

Several senior Daoists on the platform rose to their feet. Xue Taixu laughed heartily: "This child is impressive. Had the Mountain God not claimed her first, I'd have taken her as my disciple."

Zhang Ziwang sat up straight, fixing his gaze on Pan Yun and Zhang Weiyi.

The crowd below stared, eyes wide with disbelief: "Zhang Weiyi was thrown back…?"

"Her cultivation base is high—her inner power is profound."

"Not inner power—spiritual power. She didn't start with internal martial arts; she cultivated spiritual energy directly."

"Someone actually cultivates spiritual energy directly, like Senior Brother?"

Many realized this, their gazes sharpening as they watched Pan Yun on the platform.

Zhang Weiyi landed after two midair rolls, his heart sinking, but he didn't pause—he moved swiftly, reappearing in an instant, launching a relentless, storm-like barrage of sword strikes at Pan Yun. She remained standing, drawing her sword to block every single attack.

The platform rang with continuous *clangs*.

Pan Yun's sword danced around her, deflecting every strike; Zhang Weiyi's swordplay was fierce, yet not a single thread of her robe was touched.

Zhang Weiyi's eyes hardened—he feinted upward to distract Pan Yun, then leapt into the air and stabbed down swiftly. Pan Yun, unmoving as a mountain until now, spun aside.

Seeing this, Zhang Weiyi shifted midair, changing his vertical thrust into a horizontal slash, like a whirlwind rushing toward Pan Yun.

Pan Yun moved just as fast—after dodging, she launched her first offensive, passing him in a blur.

A strand of Pan Yun's hair drifted gently down. She caught it in her hand, turned her head, and smiled at Zhang Weiyi: "Courtyard Head, who won this round—me or you?"

Zhang Weiyi hadn't doubted—until he heard her ask. His heart tightened, and only then did he feel a faint sting on his neck.

He touched his neck, found a thin cut. When he lifted his fingers, a streak of blood stained them.

Cold dread crawled up his spine—he was shaken.

He suppressed his fear and said to Pan Yun: "You won, younger sister."

He bowed: "I am truly outmatched."

Pan Yun returned the bow: "Senior Brother, you're too kind." She unfurled the strand of hair in her hand: "You're no slouch either—this round is a draw."

Zhang Ziwang on the platform spoke: "This match is won by Pan Yun!"

Zhang Weiyi immediately turned toward the high platform and replied respectfully: "Yes."

Pan Yun no longer refused; she bowed in acceptance.

A young man in Daoist robes stepped onto the platform: "Younger sister, follow me—you still have one final trial."

Pan Yun followed the robed youth away. The senior students below finally began to murmur: "How did Pan Yun win? I clearly saw Senior Brother Zhang cut off her hair—if he hadn't held back, her head would've been severed!"

"I saw Senior Brother Zhang touch his neck—could it be…?"

Zhang Weiyi descended from the platform. Xue Hua stepped up, now to defend the Lei in Zhang Weiyi's place.

In past trials, the sword and spell contest had always been defended by a fourth- or fifth-year student from start to finish—no mid-trial substitutions.

Seeing Xue Hua appear, the crowd understood: "Senior Brother Zhang is injured. Pan Yun is truly formidable…"

"No wonder she could take on three at once and beat Zhang Weiliang and his brothers so badly."

!. Read

Pan Yun was led onto the high platform.

Five people sat upon it.

Zhang Ziwang, the second elder of the Zhang family and head of Daguang Courtyard, sat in the center—his square face radiating righteousness.

To his left sat Xue Taixu, head of Mingyuan Courtyard, older than Zhang Ziwang, his face ruddy but his beard and eyebrows pure white, radiating warmth.

To his right sat Wang Gongze, head of Zhenqing Courtyard, stern-faced and utterly forbidding.

Further right sat a Kun Dao—Pan Yun had learned of her: Lou Tong, head of Taisu Courtyard.

At the far left sat Lin Jingle, head of the Criminal Law Hall. Like Wang Gongze, he was expressionless, stern, and equally unapproachable.

Zhang Zifang sat alone on the side, pen in hand. He lifted his eyes as Pan Yun approached and asked: "Name. Number."

"Pan Yun. No. 5."

Zhang Zifang noted it down and gestured for her to proceed.

Pan Yun smiled at Zhang Zifang.

A normal smile—but Zhang Zifang gripped his pen tighter, convinced she was mocking him.

That glance seemed to say: *You're nothing special—you're stuck doing menial tasks like recording names and numbers.

Zhang Zifang's thoughts churned. He lowered his eyes and began silently reciting scriptures. He must be mad—how could he be so easily affected by Pan Yun?

Pan Yun stepped before the five, clasped her hands in greeting.

Zhang Ziwang nodded slightly: "You chose the spellcraft exam. Aside from the four trials you've completed, you have one final oral test: face-reading and divination. Each trial is worth twenty points—you've already scored eighty, the highest among all students. So this one, you may choose to take—or decline."

Pan Yun naturally chose to take it.

Zhang Ziwang signaled a junior Daoist to bring up a man: "Determine his identity, age, marital palace, and offspring palace."

Pan Yun: "May I use any method?"

Zhang Ziwang paused, then said: "As long as you convince him, any method is permitted."

Meaning: no coercion or violence—only divination.

Pan Yun turned to study the man brought forward.

Middle-aged, plain clothing, average build, average face—someone you'd pass on the street without a second glance, with no memorable features at all.

Was every candidate given such a hard question—or was hers uniquely difficult?

Pan Yun scanned the area where the man had come from and saw many others standing below—differently dressed, clearly not Daoists.

Well, it seemed the questions truly varied—hers was special.

Pan Yun asked: "Good man, what would you like divined?"

The man blinked, glancing at Zhang Ziwang. Hadn't they said to divine his identity, age, marriage, and children?

Pan Yun raised her eyes: "Say what you wish. I can divine not only those four things, but also wealth, official fortune, and more."

The man immediately said: "Young Daoist, first divine those four. If you're accurate, I'll ask for more."

Pan Yun smiled faintly: "Let me see your hands."

She spoke slowly: "The lines on a person's palm represent different things. So face-reading isn't just about observing aura and facial features—it can also be done through palmistry."

The man immediately rolled up his sleeves and extended both hands before her.

Pan Yun gripped his hands, pressing open the lines in his palms. She felt calluses near his tiger's mouth, smiled slightly, studied his palm lines, then said: "You're a bodyguard, about thirty-five. You have a son in school—you wish to fund his imperial examination. But lately you've been troubled: your wife passed away, and you've saved money to remarry, yet you also want to use it for your son's exam. You're torn—should you spend it on a new wife or your son's future?"

The man's eyes lit up. He nodded vigorously: "Yes, yes! Young Daoist, you're astonishingly accurate. Should I fund my son or remarry?"

(End of Chapter)