The very moment the first piercing streak of sword light cleaved through the clouds, the thunderous chatter filling Spirit Ascension Square vanished into absolute silence.
A sharp beam of azure light cut across the heavens with terrifying speed, resembling a celestial blade drawn by the sky itself.
Thousands of heads lifted in unison; their gazes locked onto the descending arc.
Even the three powerful clan elders ceased their quiet maneuvering, their eyes narrowing as the brilliant glow touched down directly upon the elevated stone platform at the center of the square.
As the light dissipated, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped calmly onto the stone.
He wore deep charcoal-grey robes intricately embroidered with layered mountain peaks, and a pristine steel sword floated quietly beneath his boots, humming softly as if it possessed a soul of its own.
Shen Jietian watched the display with a focused gaze, his mind silently parsing the sheer weight of the scene.
He had seen Foundation Establishment experts before from far away, but witnessing one descend from the clouds on a spiritual weapon was entirely different.
Cultivators at the Qi Refinement stage could channel their worldly Qi into fleet-footed movement techniques to sprint across plains, but they remained bound to the earth; only by shattering that mortal bottleneck and establishing a true spiritual foundation could one command the sky with an artifact.
Beside him, Fat Sun sucked in a sharp breath as the sky rippled once more.
Another streak of sword light descended, followed rapidly by a third and a fourth, until four formidable sect figures stood atop the stone platform.
The first to step forward was an old man with thin white hair, a heavily wrinkled face, and sleepy eyes that made him look more interested in taking a quiet nap than supervising thousands of mortal children.
“That is Elder Han,” Fat Sun whispered, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
“He belongs to the sect’s Formation Hall, a true master of defensive arrays.
The street rumors claim that at least half of the massive spiritual formations protecting the city walls from the mountain beast tides were personally carved by his hands.”
Shen Jietian offered a slow nod of understanding.
Array masters were incredibly scarce in the province, and their combat methods were notoriously lethal; the old man looked entirely harmless, but seven years of survival had taught Shen Jietian that the most unassuming figures in the cultivation world were often the most terrifying.
His gaze then shifted to the second arrival—a woman clad in flowing black robes with an expression as cold as winter frost.
She possessed a striking, delicate beauty that naturally attracted the eyes of the crowd, yet the icy, sharp aura radiating from her posture immediately cut down any lingering attention.
“Elder Mu,” Fat Sun murmured, his voice tightening with instinctual caution.
Shen Jietian immediately averted his eyes, focusing on the stone floor.
His survival logic was absolute: some dangerous experts wore their hostility like armor, and looking them in the eye was merely inviting a swift end.
The third elder appeared unexpectedly youthful, possessing the unblemished skin and bright features of a lad of sixteen or seventeen years.
Yet, Fat Sun shook his head with a low sigh.
“Do not be deceived by his face, kid.
That is Elder Qing.
He has already crossed his sixtieth year of life.” Shen Jietian understood the underlying principles immediately; once a cultivator successfully consolidated their spiritual foundation, their life expectancy doubled, and their physical aging slowed down to a fraction of a mortal’s timeline.
The final figure on the platform was the broad-shouldered swordsman who had arrived first, and Shen Jietian keenly noticed that the other three elders subtly deferred to his positioning.
Fat Sun leaned closer, his voice barely a breath against the wind.
“Sect Envoy Xu Jianhe.
He has firmly established himself at the late Foundation Establishment stage, and the merchant halls claim he is one of the sect’s most promising sword cultivators.”
Even the arrogant patriarchs of the Lu, Bai, and Mo clans stepped forward from their viewing pavilions, cupping their hands with profound deference.
None of them dared to maintain a casual posture before an official envoy of their sovereign sect.
Shen Jietian watched the display silently from the edge of the square.
A quiet, deep ambition flickered within his re-forged soul.
One day…
perhaps…
just perhaps, I will stand upon a high platform like that, looking down at the city.
The thought was quickly archived as Envoy Xu Jianhe stepped forward, his voice spreading across the stone plaza.
“The Dark Mountain Sect recruitment officially begins.”
The words weren’t delivered with a thundering roar, yet through the flawless manipulation of sound-transmitting Qi, every single inhabitant in the square heard the command as clearly as if it had been whispered directly into their ears.
The massive crowd instantly stirred with anticipation as a large, perfectly clear crystal sphere was placed at the center of the stage.
The testing of spirit roots had commenced.
Before the thousands of ordinary commoners could step forward, the young descendants of the great clans moved first.
Shen Jietian understood that this opening round was largely a grand public ceremony; the aristocratic families had undoubtedly tested their children’s latent talents within their private compounds long ago.
Still, the unyielding rules of the sect demanded a public verification.
The young master of the Lu Clan, Lu Ming, strode up the stone steps first.
He wore luxurious silk robes embroidered with golden cloud patterns that caught the morning light, and he offered a perfectly executed, respectful bow to the viewing dais.
“This junior greets the esteemed seniors.” This story is hosted at g.com.
He reached out and placed his palm flat against the cool surface of the crystal sphere.
Within a fraction of a second, the glass vibrated, and two vibrant colors flared brightly within the core of the artifact: a sharp, metallic gold and a dense, earthy brown.
The surrounding crowd instantly erupted into a frenzy of excited whispers.
“A lower-grade Dual Spirit Root!”
“As expected of the premier scion of the Lu Clan, he truly is a natural cultivation genius!”
The recording disciples quickly inked his name into the grand ledger, registering his status.
Lu Ming bowed deeply toward Envoy Xu Jianhe, his young face brightening with pride as the late Foundation Establishment master offered a slow, composed nod.
“Not bad.
Your elemental purity is stable.”
The fierce young girl from the Bai Clan followed his footsteps, her delicate, cute features forming a stark contrast with the massive steel great sword strapped to her small back.
When her palm touched the glass, it immediately ignited with the bright crimson of Fire and the sharp gold of Metal—another lower-grade Dual Spirit Root.
The roars of the crowd grew increasingly animated as the elders of the stage nodded their heads in visible satisfaction.
The Mo Clan twins stepped forward next, their movements perfectly synchronized as they took their turns before the sphere.
The final results appeared shortly afterward, confirming that both the brother and the sister possessed identical lower-grade Dual Spirit Roots.
Shen Jietian watched the continuous flashes of color, a cold, analytical deduction forming within his mind.
Four Dual Spirit Root geniuses manifesting from three bloodlines in a single generation.
It was no wonder these three aristocratic clans completely dominated the commerce and warehouses of Black Mist City; they didn’t merely control financial wealth, they held a complete monopoly on superior genetic talent.
The most exceptional scions always arrived alongside their patriarchs to cement the family’s glory, while the secondary branches came with the common mass.
Once the clan testing concluded, Envoy Xu Jianhe waved a lazy hand toward the recording disciples.
“Continue with the common registry.”
The true, merciless sorting of the masses finally began.
Child after child stepped up to the crystal sphere, their family’s entire destiny hanging on a single flash of light.
“Niu Sheng.” The glass remained completely dark, reflecting nothing but the gray clouds above.
“No spirit roots.
Return to the line.”
A middle-aged mortal woman in the front row immediately lowered her head, her shoulders trembling as tears filled her eyes.
The young child looked around in complete confusion, entirely unable to comprehend why his mother had suddenly fallen into such deep disappointment.
“Li Hu.” The sphere pulsed with a faint, highly chaotic blending of five dim colors.
“Five spirit roots.
Rejected.”
The boy’s father let out a heavy, ragged sigh, but he gently patted his son’s shoulder as they walked away.
Even though the sect completely refused to waste resources on such a heavily contaminated constitution, there was still some small comfort in knowing his son could at least gather basic Qi to live a healthier life as a common mortal.
“Wang Mei.
No spirit roots.
Rejected.”
“Zhang Tao.
Lower-grade Five Spirit Roots.
Rejected.”
The assembly gradually settled into a repetitive, depressing rhythm.
The vast majority of the mortal children possessed absolutely no spiritual veins whatsoever, and another large portion only displayed the heavily muddled five-element structures.
Only occasionally did a noteworthy talent appear from the common ranks to break the pattern.
Suddenly, a clear name rang out from the ledger: “Chen Xiaoyu.”
A young, poorly dressed girl placed her hand onto the glass, and the crystal sphere instantly lit up with a bright, vibrant luster, displaying three distinct, unpolluted colors.
The testing disciple looked up, a hint of genuine professional surprise entering his expression.
“Middle-grade Triple Spirit Roots.
Selected.” The girl’s mother immediately covered her mouth, a flood of emotional tears cascading down her worn cheeks.
Her daughter had successfully escaped the mud of the slums.
A short while later, another common child stepped forward.
“Liu Feng.” The sphere responded with four solid colors of decent clarity.
“Middle-grade Four Spirit Roots.
Selected.” Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
His father nearly laughed aloud with pure ecstasy, and several neighboring rogue cultivators immediately offered their frantic congratulations.
Shen Jietian watched the shifting fates from his corner, his mind calmly mapping out the structural parameters of the selection.
Through his years of observation in the tea houses, he understood the unyielding hierarchy of the Dark Mountain Sect.
Those rare children who possessed the clean Dual Spirit Roots were directly selected as elite inner sect disciples, receiving the personal tutelage of established elders; those who displayed the standard Triple Spirit Roots were brought in as outer sect disciples to form the primary martial strength of the faction; while the common children who only possessed Four Spirit Roots were registered as basic servant disciples.
Yet, even though a servant disciple occupied the absolute bottom of the sect’s hierarchy, performing menial chores for their seniors, they still received a stable monthly allowance of low-grade spirit rice and a clean, safe place to meditate.
They retained a mathematical chance to force open their meridians and advance into the outer sect through sheer hard labor, and their existential condition remained infinitely more secure than that of a lone rogue gatherer fighting wild beasts in the mountains for crumbs.
As the hours trickled past under the blazing sun, hundreds of names were systematically called out by the disciples.
The vast majority were coldly rejected, while only a small handful managed to secure a token of acceptance.
By the time midday arrived, the brutal mathematics of the path were laid bare for everyone to see: spiritual root were incredibly rare among the mortal masses, and high-purity roots were exponentially scarcer.
The grand path of immortality had never been a place of equality or fairness.
When the final weeping child stepped away from the elevated platform, the sun had climbed high overhead, casting a blinding light across the plaza.
The testing was officially over.
Separate streams of people began to flow out of the square—many families walked away with radiant smiles, while far more left with hunched shoulders and empty eyes.
Some children cried aloud in frustration, while others celebrated their luck with their kin.
The mundane life of the city simply continued its course.
Suddenly, a frantic shout cut through the ambient noise of the crowd.
“Look toward the western peaks!
The grand vessels have arrived!”
Thousands of heads simultaneously turned upward, their gazes locking onto the distant horizon far beyond the massive stone city walls.
Massive, majestic shadows were slowly emerging from the thick blankets of mountain mist, cleaving through the clouds like floating fortresses.
They were gigantic, multi-tiered spiritual flying ships, their heavy wooden hulls reinforced with glowing array lines.
The entire square exploded into a chaotic vortex of pure excitement.
“The recruitment vessels are finally here!”
“Look at the size of those hulls!
Those are the primary transport ships of the Dark Mountain Sect!”
Shen Jietian narrowed his eyes, his analytical gaze mapping out the scale of the fleet.
The flying ships were truly enormous, their grand silk banners fluttering proudly in the high-altitude winds.
Long rows of young children could be seen standing along the wooden decks, their small hands gripping the railings.
Some of the passengers looked wild with excitement, some looked completely terrified by the immense height, and others simply stared down at the sprawling layout of Black Mist City with wide, open mouths.
The massive ships slowly and methodically adjusted their arrays, beginning their descent toward the wide plains cleared outside the main gates.
Atop the stone platform, two of the Foundation Establishment elders suddenly rose directly into the sky, their azure and crimson sword lights flashing brilliantly as they flew up to escort the arriving fleet.
All around Shen Jietian, frantic discussions erupted from every single direction.
Through his understanding of regional logistics, he knew that these spiritual vessels had spent the past month traveling through the neighboring mortal kingdoms and smaller satellite cities under the absolute jurisdiction of the Dark Mountain Sect, systematically collecting every single child who had passed the initial spirit root screenings.
Black Mist City was merely their final, chronological stop for the season; once the local selections were loaded onto the decks, the entire fleet would turn back toward the primary mountain peaks of the Dark Mountain Sect, where these children would officially begin their long journey along the path of immortality.
But for an ordinary, independent spectator like himself, today’s grand spectacle had officially reached its conclusion.
Shen Jietian stood quietly amidst the shouting crowd for several long moments; his eyes fixed on the distant children standing proudly upon the floating decks.
He allowed his memories to drift back, arriving at a time when he was a naive, fifteen-year-old boy standing in this exact same dirt.
Back then, he had harbored the exact same burning desire to climb those wooden steps, entirely certain that the path of cultivation would effortlessly transform his destiny.
But the crystal sphere had remained stubborn, exposing his abysmal Lower-grade Five Spirit Roots constitution, and the sect had coldly shut the gate in his face.
A faint, exceptionally calm smile broke through the stoicism of his face as he recalled the memory.
There was no lingering trace of toxic bitterness or boiling resentment left within his heart; his dual-world awareness had long since granted him a detached, objective clarity regarding the mechanics of the cosmos.
He slowly turned his back on the grand viewing dais, adjusted the storage pouch at his waist, and began to calmly navigate his way back toward the familiar, crowded streets of the commercial district.
The grand recruitment assembly had reached its end, the immortal world continued its ruthless sorting, and so did he—one step at a time.
End of Chapter 20
I’m a reader trying to become a writer.
If you have any suggestions on how I can improve the story, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!