"The Ascension Token is an absolute privilege. It bypasses the trials, the scrutiny, and the potential for failure, granting you immediate entry. However, do not mistake status entry; it secures you a spot only as an outer disciple."
Zhang He's voice was steady, cutting through the crisp mountain air as he led the way up the winding stone path. The older man moved with the practiced ease of someone who had walked these trails for decades, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
"Here at the Transformation Blade Sect, the hierarchy is rigid, mirrored by the color of the silk upon your back," Zhang He explained, gesturing to a distant group of students. "We are divided into four distinct castes: Handyman, Outer, Inner, and True Legacy. Handymen wear the gray of dust and stone. Outer disciples, such as yourself, don the white of blank parchment. Inner disciples earn the cyan of the deep sky, and the True Legacy disciples—the chosen few—are robed in regal purple."
Luo Zhen walked silently beside the elder, absorbing the information. His gaze swept over the sprawling architecture of the sect, noting the way the color-coded uniforms created a visual map of power and deference.
"It is a system designed for clarity," Zhang He continued. "One glance at a man's chest, and you know whether to bow or whether to command. Most sects in the realm operate on similar principles of visual dominance. Furthermore..."
As they walked, Zhang He transitioned into a lecture on the geography and history of the sect. Luo Zhen listened, his expression impassive, filing away the tactical layout of his new home.
They were skirting the edge of the massive drill grounds—a flattened expanse of granite scarred by generations of combat—when a booming, baritone voice shattered the lecture.
"Elder Zhang He!"
Zhang He paused, turning his head slowly. Two young men were striding toward them, their physiques imposing enough to block out the sun. They were built like siege engines, thick-necked and tiger-backed, radiating a raw, unrefined aggression.
"Ah, the Deng brothers," Zhang He said, a flicker of recognition—and perhaps fatigue—crossing his face. "You've returned to sign up again this year?"
"We have," one of the hulking youths replied, his voice vibrating with conviction. "My brother and I live by the blade. There is no other path for us. We are determined to enter the Blade Sect in this lifetime, or die trying."
"Admirably persistent," Zhang He said, though his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Good luck to you, then."
Luo Zhen arched a brow. The dismissal was polite but cold. It was clear these two were a recurring headache for the elder.
Suddenly, the speaker's gaze shifted, landing heavily on Luo Zhen. The youth's eyes narrowed, scanning Luo Zhen's unfamiliar face and lack of uniform.
"Elder Zhang," the youth asked, suspicion leaking into his tone. "Who is this?"
"This is Luo Zhen," Zhang He replied effortlessly. "A recruit. I brought him in from the outside."
"Recruited from the outside?" The young man blinked, stunned. The concept seemed to offend his understanding of the world. "But the rules state that all prospective disciples must undergo the talent and strength assessments at the gate. How can you just bring someone in?"
"Luo Zhen possesses an Ascension Token," Zhang He said, his voice dropping to a flat, non-negotiable register. "He is exempt from the trials. He enters directly as an outer disciple."
The silence that followed was heavy, like the calm before a thunderclap. The two brothers stood frozen, processing the words. Then, the shock transmuted instantly into rage.
"Elder Zhang! That is an injustice!" the brother roared, his face flushing crimson. "We come here every single year! We have bled on these testing grounds for five years running, and the sect rejects us every time! And now? Now this nobody named Luo waltzes in without lifting a finger? On what grounds?!"
His voice was a clarion call. Across the drill grounds, training stopped. Heads turned. A crowd began to coalesce, drawn by the scent of conflict.
"Did you hear that? Someone skipped the entrance exams?" a nearby cultivator whispered, eyes wide.
"Direct entry? Without testing aptitude?"
"That's what Deng Zhou just screamed. It's scandalous."
"Unbelievable. It's a blatant backdoor deal."
The murmurs grew into a buzz of discontent. The crowd looked at Luo Zhen with varying shades of envy and disdain. These were people who had clawed their way in or were currently desperate to prove their worth. To hear that someone had bypassed the suffering they endured was a bitter pill. They looked at the Handyman disciples—those destined for years of manual labor just for a chance at a white robe—and saw the unfairness of the world made manifest.
Luo Zhen stood amidst the rising tide of hostility, his expression unchanged. He did not shrink away, nor did he offer an apology. He simply watched.
Sensing the volatility of the mob, Zhang He stepped forward, his aura flaring slightly to demand attention.
"I see your dissatisfaction," the Elder announced, his voice amplified by qi. "But your grievances are misplaced. The world is not a flat circle of equality. Luo Zhen holds the Ascension Token."
Zhang He reached into his sleeve and produced the triangular token, holding it aloft. It caught the sunlight, gleaming with an ancient, undeniable authority. "I trust you all know the legends. This token is his."
The effect was instantaneous. The righteous indignation of the crowd evaporated, replaced by a sullen, resigned silence.
The Ascension Token was the ultimate wild card of the Qingzhou region. Everyone knew the rule: possess the token, and the gates of any sect would open. It was a golden ticket, a stroke of destiny that trumped hard work.
"Show's over," someone muttered from the back. "Can't argue with the token."
"Some people are just born with the heavens smiling on them," another sighed, shaking his head. "A single token, one step to the sky. Must be nice."
The crowd began to disperse, their anger replaced by a depressing acceptance of their own lack of luck. But the Deng brothers did not move. Their feet were planted, their fists clenched white.
"So what if he has a token?" Deng Zhou spat, his eyes burning with contempt. "It doesn't change what he is. He's a charity case. A backdoor entrant."
He turned his glare fully onto Luo Zhen, sneering. "Hey. You. Luo Zhen. Do you have the spine to back up that token? Do you dare to exchange moves with us brothers?"
Zhang He's brow furrowed deep. Beside him, Luo Zhen's eyes went cold.
"Deng Zhou, Deng Xing," Zhang He snapped. "Watch your tongues. What are you trying to incite?"
"We aren't inciting anything, Elder. We just want to… compare notes with our new 'friend'," Deng Zhou said, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The token can open the door, sure. But once you're inside? Respect is a currency you have to earn with blood and steel."
Deng Zhou took a step forward, his gaze locked on Luo Zhen with predatory intent. His silent brother, Deng Xing, mirrored the movement, cracking his knuckles.
"Enough," Zhang He barked. "Luo Zhen is an outer disciple. You two have not even passed the entrance trial. You have no standing to challenge him."
"You're right, Elder," Deng Zhou conceded mockingly. "But this year is different. We have the confidence. We will pass. And in the very near future, we will be fellow disciples with Brother Luo here." He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "We look forward to the reunion."
"Focus on passing before you make threats," Zhang He said, his patience exhausted. He gestured to Luo Zhen. "Come. We're leaving."
As they walked away, Luo Zhen didn't look back, but he could feel the brothers' eyes boring into his spine.
Behind them, Deng Zhou watched the retreating figures, his face twisting into a mask of fury. "Five years of rejection," he hissed to his brother. "Five years of sweat and blood, worth less than a piece of metal in that brat's hand. If the world is this unfair, then I'll shatter it. Anyone who cheats their way to the top deserves to be broken."
As the sounds of the drill ground faded behind them, the path wound higher into the mountain's embrace.
"Elder Zhang," Luo Zhen asked, breaking the silence. "Why the vitriol? I've never met those brothers before today, yet they looked at me as if I'd murdered their kin."
Zhang He sighed, a sound of deep exasperation. "It's simple jealousy, Luo Zhen. But with them, it's compounded by history."
"Jealousy over the token?"
"Precisely," Zhang He nodded. "The Deng brothers are both at the early King Tier. On paper, they are more than qualified to be outer disciples. In fact, they are stronger than half the current recruits."
"Then why?" Luo Zhen asked. "Why reject them for five years?"
"Because the sect sees what is in their hearts," Zhang He said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. "They once walked the path of evil cultivation. They practiced heterodox arts—blood rituals, violent extraction of qi. Their temperaments are volatile, their methods cruel. They may be only at the early King Tier, but the list of lives they've ended is long and bloody."
Luo Zhen listened, intrigued. Evil cultivation was a stain that was hard to wash out.
"They claim to have reformed," Zhang He continued. "But the sect is cautious. We do not welcome wolves into the fold easily. However, Deng Zhou was not wrong about one thing—they likely will be admitted this year. The five-year rejection was a calculated test, a grindstone meant to wear down their murderous intent and arrogance."
"It doesn't seem to have worked," Luo Zhen observed dryly.
"No," Zhang He agreed. "It seems the grindstone only sharpened their envy. They see you, a stranger, breeze in with a token while they rotted at the gate, and it drives them mad. So, heed my warning: when they enter, they will come for you."
Luo Zhen smiled, a faint, chilling expression that didn't reach his eyes. "Let them come. If they look for trouble, I won't just defeat them. I'll cripple them."
Zhang He glanced at the young man, noting the absolute confidence in his tone. "Fair enough. You're at the late King Tier. Crushing them would require little more than a flick of your finger."
A quarter of an hour later, the rugged mountain path gave way to polished stone. They had reached the mid-mountain plateau, the heart of the sect's administration. Here, the architecture was grandiose, with pavilions and halls rising in tiers like a wooden forest, gold leaf glinting on the eaves.
"The Deacon Hall," Zhang He announced, leading him toward a bustling structure. "We need to register your soul signature and issue your resources."
The bureaucracy was swift. Within minutes, Luo Zhen held a bundle of items: two sets of pristine white robes, a heavy identity plaque carved from cold jade, and a pouch of spirit stones.
"The robes are enchanted," Zhang He explained as they walked out. "They signify your rank, yes, but they also repel dust and minor attacks. The plaque is your life here—it records your Contribution Points."
"Contribution Points?"
"The currency of the sect. You want a high-tier cultivation manual? Points. You want rare pills? Points. You earn them by completing missions for the sect."
Zhang He led him away from the administrative center toward a lush, green sub-range of the mountain. The slopes were dotted with hundreds of small caves, sealed with stone doors.
"This is the outer disciple district," Zhang He said, sweeping his arm across the vista. "The sect carved these abodes directly into the rock. Below us runs a medium-grade spirit vein. The ambient energy here is rich—excellent for cultivation. Pick any empty cave; it's yours."
Luo Zhen inhaled deeply. The air was sweet, heavy with ozone and raw energy. It was a paradise compared to the wilderness outside.
"I'll leave you here," Zhang He said. "If you have questions, the Elder Hall is always open. Welcome to the sect, Luo Zhen."
Luo Zhen bowed respectfully as the Elder departed, then turned to claim his new home. He found a cave situated slightly higher up the slope, ensuring a modicum of privacy. Inside, it was spartan—a hundred square meters of hollowed rock, a stone table, and a bed. It was perfect.
He closed the heavy stone door, sealing out the world.
First, the clothes. He tossed the pouch of stones onto the table and picked up the white robe. It felt cool to the touch, like running water. A small, pale yellow blade was embroidered over the heart—the sigil of the Transformation Blade Sect.
He pulled it on. It was loose at first, the sleeves hanging long, but a moment later, a soft hum of magic vibrated against his skin. The fabric shrank and shifted, tailoring itself instantly to his frame.
"Impressive," Luo Zhen muttered, adjusting the collar. "Not a combat artifact, but convenient."
It spoke to the immense wealth of the sect. To outfit thousands of low-ranking disciples in self-tailoring magical silk was a flex of resources that boggled the mind.
Next, the plaque. It was heavy, dense, and hummed with a faint internal formation. This was his key to the library, to the vaults, to power.
Contribution points, he thought, gripping the jade. The faster I earn them, the faster I ascend.
His ambition was cut short by a sound.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A polite, rhythmic knocking on the stone door.
Luo Zhen frowned. He had been here less than an hour. Reluctantly, he shelved his plans for the Mission Hall and triggered the mechanism to open the door.
Standing on his threshold was a young man with a mop of unruly yellow hair and a smile that seemed too wide for his face.
"You are?" Luo Zhen asked.
"Greetings!" the youth chirped, bowing slightly. "I'm Gu Shi. I heard a new brother moved into this sector, so I came to pay my respects and welcome you to the neighborhood."
Luo Zhen stepped aside, gesturing for the stranger to enter. "Come in."
They sat at the stone table. Gu Shi radiated a nervous, eager energy, his eyes darting around the room before settling on Luo Zhen.
"I'll be honest," Gu Shi said, leaning in. "I'm a demon cultivator. Specifically, a Lion Demon, early King Tier. I have a trace of primordial lion bloodline, though it's faint. I joined about a year ago. And you? How should I address you?"
"Luo Zhen," he replied smoothly. "And I am also of the Demon Race."
Gu Shi's eyes widened, practically glowing.
"I knew it! I could smell the aura!" Gu Shi exclaimed, slapping his knee. "It's rare, you know? The sect is mostly humans. They don't discriminate—once you hit King Tier and take human form, we're all the same on the surface—but it's lonely. Seeing another demon is… well, it's something to celebrate."
Luo Zhen nodded. "There is a kinship, certainly. We are different creatures at our core."
"Exactly!" Gu Shi grinned, then paused. He tilted his head, sniffing the air, his expression shifting from friendly to awed. "Wait. Brother Luo… your aura. It's like an ocean. I can't find the bottom of it. You're vastly stronger than I am. You're not early King Tier, are you?"
"No," Luo Zhen said simply. "I am not."
"Mid-King Tier then, at least!" Gu Shi gasped, his demeanor shifting instantly. The casual friendliness remained, but it was now underpinned by deep deference. "I had no idea Senior Brother Luo possessed such profound cultivation! I apologize for my informality!"
Luo Zhen suppressed a smirk. The rules of the cultivation world were swift and brutal. Seniority wasn't about age or tenure; it was about who could crush whom. Gu Shi had walked in calling him 'brother' and, within seconds of sensing the power gap, had seamlessly transitioned to 'Senior Brother.'
It was pragmatic. It was the law of the jungle, dressed up in polite titles.
They chatted for a while longer—mostly Gu Shi asking eager questions and Luo Zhen giving vague answers—before the lion demon excused himself.
Once alone, Luo Zhen wasted no more time. He donned his new white robe and headed out.
The destination: The Mission Hall.
The sect was a sprawling city in itself. Luo Zhen navigated through the layers of buildings until he stood before a massive, cathedral-like structure. The words 'Mission Hall' were etched in gold above the archway.
Inside, the space was cavernous. The centerpiece was a gigantic wall of polished obsidian that dominated the far end of the hall. Magic infused the stone, causing glowing characters to float across its surface, scrolling endlessly like a waterfall of light.
Hunt the Iron-Backed Bear… Retrieve the Spirit Grass from the Northern Cliff… Escort the Merchant Caravan…
Hundreds of tasks. Hundreds of opportunities.
Below the wall, a sea of disciples in white robes milled about. Some stood in clusters, debating the merits of a team mission; others stood alone, arms crossed, eyes scanning the scrolling text for a solitary hunt.
Luo Zhen stepped into the crowd, the light of the mission wall reflecting in his eyes. The politics of the Deng brothers, the jealousy of the gatekeepers—it all faded. Here, value was quantified. Here, he would begin his rise.