Chapter 135

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 ke had passed since No. 1 entered. How did she come out already?"

"That's Pan Yun, if I remember right, she's 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 strikes from him?"

"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 same surname—maybe he'll avenge them."

"Hah, offended? More like beaten. Look at how pitiful Zhang Weiliang and the others look—do you really think Pan Yun is incompetent?"

"No matter how strong she is, she can't be stronger than Zhang Weiyi, right?"

"Hard to say."

No sooner had "hard to say" left his lips than Zhang Weiyi drew his sword and struck first.

Everyone on and off the platform widened their eyes. Lou Tong frowned: "Why did he take the initiative?"

Those below the platform murmured among themselves: "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 arts style or spellcraft level—he'd planned to wait for her to strike first, then counter.

But her constant use of "Courtyard Head," coupled with that sneering face, stoked his anger.

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

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

Zhang Weiyi had guessed they were prepared for her by Mount Sanqing's elders.

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

Mount Sanqing appeared poor, 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-line 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 top-grade—even without much effort, he'd outpaced many others.

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

He didn't think she was particularly strong 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 accounted for twenty points—he wanted her to barely scrape through to the next stage with sixty points, even if she'd scored full marks in the first three trials.

Pan Yun lifted her gaze, standing motionless as a mountain. His blade arrived in an instant—only then did she raise her scabbard, striking with perfect precision and unshakable calm: *Dang! *—sending Zhang Weiyi flying.

Several elderly masters on the platform stood up at once. 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.

Those in the square stared, eyes wide with disbelief: "Zhang Weiyi was knocked flying…"

"Her cultivation is so high—her internal power runs deep."

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

"Someone actually cultivates qi directly, like Senior Brother…"

Many realized this, their gazes on Pan Yun sharpening with awe.

Zhang Weiyi, knocked into the air, rolled twice before landing steadily. His heart sank, but he didn't pause—he moved swiftly, reappearing in an instant, launching a relentless barrage of sword strikes like a storm upon Pan Yun. She remained standing, her sword drawn, blocking every single attack.

*Dang-dang-dang! * The sound rang continuously on the platform.

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, drawing her attention, then leapt into the air and plunged down with a swift thrust. Pan Yun, motionless as a mountain until now, spun aside…

Seeing this, Zhang Weiyi shifted mid-air—changing his vertical thrust into a horizontal slash, striking like a tornado straight at Pan Yun.

Pan Yun moved just as fast; after dodging, she launched her first offensive—she passed him in a blur…

A single strand of Pan Yun's hair drifted 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 suspected anything—but hearing her ask, his heart jolted. Only then did he feel a faint sting on his neck.

He reached up, touched his neck, and found a thin cut. When he pulled his hand away, a streak of blood stained his fingers.

Cold dread crept down his spine—he was shaken with relief.

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 tie."

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 a Daoist robe stepped onto the platform: "Young sister, follow me—you still have one final trial."

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

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

Zhang Weiyi also stepped down. Xue Hua stepped onto the platform—he would now defend the ring in Zhang Weiyi's place.

In past trials, the sword and spell contest always had a fourth- or fifth-year student defend from start to finish—no substitutions were made.

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

"No wonder she could take on three at once and beat Zhang Weiliang and the others into that state."

!. Read

Pan Yun was led up to the high platform.

Five people sat on the high platform.

Zhang Ziwang, the second elder of the Zhang family and abbot of Daguan Court, sat in the center; his square face radiated righteousness, unmistakably the image of a good man.

To his left sat Xue Taixu, abbot of Mingyuan Court, who appeared much older than Zhang Ziwang, his face ruddy but his beard and eyebrows pure white, exuding warmth.

To his right sat Wang Gongze, abbot of Zhenqing Court, his expression stern and utterly forbidding.

Further to the right was a female Daoist Priest—Pan Yun had already learned of her: Lou Tong, abbot of Taisu Court.

At the far left sat Lin Jingle, abbot of the Criminal Law Hall; like Wang Gongze, he was expressionless, stern, and equally forbidding.

Zhu Zifang sat alone on the other side, pen in hand; when he saw Pan Yun ascend, he lifted his eyelids and asked, "Name, badge number."

"Pan Yun, Number Five."

Zhu Zifang recorded it and gestured for her to proceed.

Pan Yun smiled at Zhu Zifang.

It was a normal smile, yet Zhu Zifang clenched his pen tightly, certain she was mocking him.

That glance seemed to say: You're no better than this—still stuck doing menial tasks like recording names and numbers.

Zhu Zifang's thoughts churned; he lowered his eyes and began silently reciting scriptures, convinced 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 and said, "You chose the Art Examination. Besides the four tests in the arena, you have one additional interview: divination and physiognomy. Each test is worth twenty points; you've already accumulated eighty, the highest among all students. Thus, you may choose to take this final test—or decline."

Pan Yun naturally chose to take it.

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

Pan Yun: "Can I use any method?"

After a pause, Zhang Ziwang said, "As long as you convince him, any method is acceptable."

Meaning: no coercion or violence—only calculation.

Pan Yun turned and studied the man brought forward.

A middle-aged man, plain clothing, average build, average face—someone you'd pass on the street without noticing, with no memorable features at all.

Were all candidates given such difficult questions—or was hers uniquely hard?

Pan Yun's gaze swept over where the man had come from and saw many others standing below, dressed in varied garb—clearly not Daoist Priests.

Well, it seemed the questions truly differed; hers was indeed special.

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

The middle-aged man blinked, glancing at Zhang Ziwang—wasn't he supposed to reveal his identity, age, marriage, and children?

Pan Yun raised her eyes and said, "Just say what you wish—I can divine not only the four required items, but also fortune in wealth, official luck, 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 said slowly, "The lines on a person's palm represent different things. Thus, physiognomy isn't only about observing aura and facial features—it can also be done through palm reading."

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; at Hukou, she felt calluses. She smiled slightly, studied his palm lines closely, and said, "You're a bodyguard, around thirty-five, with a son in school whom you wish to support for the imperial examinations. Recently, you've been troubled: your wife passed away, and you've saved money to remarry—but you also want to use it for your son's exams. You're torn: marry again, or fund your son's studies?"

The man's eyes lit up; he nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes! Young Daoist, you're incredibly accurate—should I fund my son's studies or find a new wife?"

(End of Chapter)