According to records backed by the Central Domain’s elites, human dantians didn’t have enough space to go over 3,600 Spiritual Drops. But throughout Dongli—no—even in Yanzhou history, no one had ever gotten close to 3,000 drops.
Of course, this only applied to humans. Holy Beast Descendants, Elemental Spirits, Demons, Divine Spirits and so on, all had higher limits or unique cultivation systems that made this cap irrelevant. Should a human being go past the 3,600 cap, the masses’ first reflex would be to investigate their race—not praise the achievement.
We can therefore understand why the White Immortal sect’s formations weren’t meant to count over the 3,600 drops mark. They could, but doing so would cause more harm than good…for all the parties involved. The Dong-Zi clans ancestors understood these facts and—believing that while slim, there was always a chance for a Zi clan’s descendant to break the numbers—gave clear instructions on what to display in one such case: “Malfunction.”
That said, most people weren’t retards. With a sample-size of 520, only Xinzi and Xia Hu produced the malfunction. Could the formation not process the X at the start of their names, or did they reach thresholds it refused to display? The clever ones saw through the gimmick, and Guang Fanghu broke into a cold sweat.
‘Damn! Damn! Damn! We’ve outsmarted ourselves and snitched on our men!’ Guang Fanghu lost his composure, cursing to no end. In other circumstances, they could suppress the news and hide the results. But now that they had thousands of spectators bearing witness to said result, rumors would spread like wildfire. They couldn’t slay the thousands of spectators braving the mountain’s billowing winds to assist at the event they’d been promoting with gusto. Words would spread and investigations follow all the same.
Interestingly, not so long ago, Lord Hanxing and Lady Ziyue had been warned of Xinzi’s true lineage by Abbot Qingxin. That being the case, they should have been fully aware of Xinzi’s potential cap and, even if they couldn’t predict what he’d show up with, taken preemptive measures to avoid this result. They didn’t. An oversight, or was there more to this mistake than met the eye? We will not find out now.
As confusion, excitement and panic set the White Immortal sect ablaze, Lord Hanxing tapped his temple and the “Malfunction” words shifted to “36,000 Points.”
“Daoist and Lianist brothers, my sincere apologies. This old man’s formation had some flaws and couldn’t process these two anomalies’ dantians. I have fixed the issue and will closely supervise the event from here on.” Lord Hanxing’s voice reverberated across the mountain—silencing the commotion. Yet, the words had mixed results.
On the one hand, many did pin these numbers on the formation malfunctioning for peak values. After all, no Yanzhou sect ever had to process over 3,000 Spiritual Drops until today. The two freaks pushing their cultivation base to the human cap could explain why the formation faced its first bug in centuries. Lord Hanxing’s age plus his notoriously lax methods might also be a factor. That said, a few still found it all too convenient—refusing to let the White Immortal sect finesse them. There was plenty to gain and nothing to lose from reporting the news and letting the experts judge for themselves.
For once, a frown flashed by Zi Yao’s face and, from the corner of her eyes, she glanced at Hanxing—who didn’t bother to conceal the smile on his ashen lips.
“Four above 1,000 drops, including two above 3,000. Heavens…once they build their foundation, won’t their cultivation bases become earthshaking?”
“The White Immortal sect can look forward to limitless future prospects. I wouldn’t be surprised if elders of the Hegemon’s court came to discuss court appointments, and marriage offers. Perhaps even the imperial court won’t sit idle.” Soon enough, the momentum produced by these staggering numbers overwhelmed all suspicions, and the public went wild—reveling in speculations.
With his loathed yet trusted uncle to handle the logistics in his stead, Guang Fanghu relaxed and returned to his seat. Realization that Xinzi was likely the disciple butcher dawned upon him, but his daughter’s growth eclipsed those thoughts and he spun towards his wife.
‘A’Yao, Ling’er encountered a life-changing opportunity and went from a colorful swan to a fully fledged phoenix! Why don’t you look more impressed? Humph! Do you still think you’re better? Do you still think you can look down on her? I’m telling you in advance, you better have the congratulation gifts ready, my daughter is taking the win home!’ Boundless pride teemed in every one of Guang Fanghu’s words.
Though outstanding in her own right, his daughter had always been suppressed by Chun Xu’s shine. For too long he had to watch her compete and fail in all cultivation-related categories, with no hope of keeping up with the Void Spiritual Root. To help Dong Ling secure the win, Guang Fanghu even planned to have Chun Xu face similar ambushes as Xia Hu soon would, but had to relent due to Zi Yao’s watching eyes. Now at last his daughter could compete heartedly.
‘Facing her glowing skin and splendid aura, you didn’t realize that her cultivation had improved by leaps and bounds?’
‘Huh? She looks different? My daughter has been glowing since birth, with an aura matched by none under the heavens. What’s the difference now?’
‘Hopeless parents, hopeless children. This is why she will never amount to anything. Too spoiled, reckless, and with no sense of cruelty—you can blame yourself for that. If I were like you and coddled her like an ancient vase, would we still have a daughter or a brain-dead invertebrate?’ Zi Yao didn’t mince her words, but before Guang Fanghu could dive into a frenzied rant, his wife went off.
‘This is not the time to be falling into your indulgent father persona. The cultivation world has its codes; our disciples’ fortuitous encounters are not things that we should probe. But once they involve entities that we cannot afford to meddle with, for the White Immortal sect’s sake, we must ensure that these disciples fade from public scrutiny. Xinzi, Xia Hu, Dong Ling and Chun Xu. In one form or another, all four experienced outlandish opportunities. I refuse to believe that, at least one didn’t consort with forbidden forces. Assuming that you do not want to investigate, how do we prevent the Hegemon and his nobles from doing the same? What should have been a perfect opportunity to amass clout and dispose of veiled threats turned into a pit of lethal threats, and you’re still rambling about your daughter’s improvements? When…will you take your seat seriously?’
An universal symbol of power and authority, the “seat” was that one thing whose value all four continents agreed on. From the average family’s dinner arrangements to the Central Domain’s divine throne, seats mirrored position, status and prestige. For these reasons, there was no more official form of address than referring to a person’s seat. By mentioning Guang Fanghu’s seat, Zi Yao evoked her disappointment—forcing her husband to question himself.
“Begin!” Hanxing’s voice thundered, and the Yin-Yang contest began.
On the yang platform, deep crevasses opened underneath the male disciples, dragging them through swirls of orange teleportation portals. On the yin side, a colossal pressure dropped on the female disciples, forcing many to sit in meditation and cooperate to resist both the biting cold and weight crashing on their shoulders.
…
Most disciples struggled to adapt to the abrupt changes. Others stayed composed, scanning their surroundings for the tiniest info. Xinzi belonged to the latter group. Like his male peers, our monk sank into a portal that hurled him into unknown territory. The yang platform’s burning hell broke into a maze-like structure, with disciples split by dark steaming rocks and erupting volcanoes that shifted as if animated by a will of their own.
Spreading his Spiritual Sense, Xinzi took note of six disciples who landed in the same area as he did. The six were around 20, with substantial background but no practical experience. While more ruthless disciples already saw their peers as walking numbers, these six subconsciously held onto one another—hoping to make it through the day. One spotted Xinzi, his eyes sparkled with hope, and he reached out.
“Abbot Xin—”
Flaming stones rolled across the air, crashing at random spots. Unfortunately for the six disciples, they stood precisely in one of these random spots. The stones rolled at a speed that most peak-stage Qi Refiners would have a hard time avoiding. Add to that the fear factor, and these six ninth-layer Qi Refinement brats stood no chance.
One boulder-size stone barrelled into them, crushing them into a puddle of charred meat and burning blood.