After more than ten minutes of weaving through the busy streets, Zhao Yan arrived at the central square, where a sea of people had already gathered, their gazes fixed on the five raised platforms ahead.
On one of them stood an elderly man with a rugged beard, draped in dark blue robes. His hands rested calmly behind his back, his expression as still as water.
A small group of ten—men and women alike—stood behind him, their presence making it clear they had already chosen to pledge themselves to his sect.
Above them, a banner swayed gently in the morning breeze: Sky Water Sect.
Zhao Yan's eyes moved to the other four platforms, each still empty.
The restless crowd clearly wasn't here for the Sky Water Sect. Few even spared the old man's platform a glance.
"Brother, where are you from?"
"I don't recall seeing you around these parts." A voice rang out from the crowd.
Zhao Yan turned and saw a young man approaching with an air of elegance. He wore a green robe patterned with glowing designs, his features refined, a folding fan turning idly in his hand.
"I come from far away," Zhao Yan replied evenly, cupping his fists with humility.
"It's unlikely you would have heard of me."
"Oh?" The young man arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I am Fan Xing."
"And, you are?"
"Zhao Yan," he answered, returning the courtesy.
Fan Xing's lips curved into an easy smile. "Since you're new here, shall I tell you which sects will be arriving?"
Zhao Yan shook his head lightly. "No need. I already know."
The response caught Fan Xing off guard. For a moment, he stood speechless, unsure how to continue, before letting out a short, awkward laugh.
Zhao Yan noticed and decided to ease the silence. "Brother Fan, I've heard the Immortal Miasma Sect is coming to recruit a prodigy."
"Do you know who that is?"
Fan Xing's smile widened, his fan snapping open with a flick. "Then I shall call you Brother Zhao."
Zhao Yan inclined his head. "As you wish."
"Good," Fan Xing said warmly, his eyes glinting with interest. "Come with me."
Without hesitation, Zhao Yan fell into step behind him, and together they wove through the crowd until they stopped before another waiting platform.
Fan Xing pointed toward the front, his fan tapping lightly in the air.
"That's Baili Dengfeng—the fifteen-year-old prodigy every sect is desperate to recruit."
"If not for the recruitment quota being limited to five per city, there would be a hundred sects lining up just for him."
Zhao Yan absorbed the weight of his words, giving a slow nod.
"So, Brother Fan, you're also planning to join the Immortal Miasma Sect?"
"I wish I could…" Fan Xing's expression dimmed, a shadow of regret crossing his face as he shook his head.
"But I don't have a spirit root. They won't accept me."
Zhao Yan frowned slightly. "Even without a spirit root, you can still cultivate, can't you?"
Fan Xing nodded, but his tone carried the heaviness of acceptance.
"True, but a spirit root makes all the difference."
"It lets you absorb Qi faster, smooth your breakthroughs, protect you from Qi Deviation."
"That's why the local sects chase after people with spirit roots. A disciple with one brings power to the sect… without it, you're just another burden."
Zhao Yan leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Do you know what grade of spirit root Baili Dengfeng has?"
Fan Xing blinked, clearly surprised. "You really don't know?"
Zhao Yan shook his head, and Fan Xing let out a faint sigh.
"He possesses a supreme-grade spirit root."
He paused, as though the very words stung. "Most people don't even have a spirit root at all… yet he was born with the supreme grade."
"That's four levels higher than me—who has nothing." His voice carried a quiet envy, though he tried to mask it.
He continued, explaining patiently, "Those without spirit roots can still cultivate, but their absorption of Qi is painfully slow."
"A low-grade spirit root increases that speed by tenfold compared to someone like me."
"An intermediate-grade is five times faster than low-grade. High-grade surpasses that still, ten times faster than intermediate."
"But supreme-grade…" His gaze drifted back toward Baili Dengfeng, awe mingled with frustration in his eyes.
"Supreme-grade absorbs Qi twenty times faster than high-grade. It's… monstrous."
He gave a bitter smile. "They say there are roots beyond supreme, but whether they exist or not—no one truly knows."
Zhao Yan listened quietly until Fan Xing finished, then asked, "So, which sect does Brother Fan intend to join?"
Fan Xing let out a long sigh. "Of course, everyone dreams of entering the Heavenly Sword Sect. But only those with true talent for the sword can make it."
"Unless you already hold intermediate mastery of sword techniques, there's no way to pass the Sword's Will aptitude test." His voice carried a trace of resignation.
"For me, the only option is the Frozen Heart Sect. It may not rival the Heavenly Sword Sect, but it's still counted among the ten great sects."
"At least its aptitude test is merciful compared to the sword's will."
Zhao Yan gave a faint nod, but before he could reply, he noticed Fan Xing's downcast expression had shifted. His eyes shone with awe, a smile tugging at his lips as he gazed upward.
The warmth of the sun still lingered, yet Zhao Yan suddenly felt a chill seep across his skin.
A vast shadow rolled over the central square as if the heavens themselves had dimmed. Instinctively, he raised his head to see the source—
—and what he saw left him frozen.
High above the sky, a colossal sword of ice shimmered into existence, blotting out the sun and casting the square in a pale, glacial glow.
For a moment, it felt as though the heavens themselves had been cleaved in two. Upon its back, a lone figure stood—a silhouette against the brilliance of frozen steel.
Slowly, the blade began to shrink, collapsing in on itself until it became no more than a normal-sized sword.
The figure rode its edge with effortless grace, descending through the chilled air before landing upon one of the empty platforms.
The man had piercing blue eyes, his white robes flowing like drifting snow.
With a mere wave of his hand, an ornate table of ice formed before him, and he seated himself upon it, closing his eyes in silent meditation.
In the next instant, a banner unfurled with a sharp snap: Frozen Heart Sect.
Before the man floated a great crystalline sphere, pulsing faintly in the cold air.
Beside it stood a board etched with neat letters: Aptitude Test Fee – 1 Gold.
Another board rested at the edge of the platform: Admission Fee – 20 Gold.
Zhao Yan's lips twitched as he turned toward Fan Xing.
"Brother Fan," he muttered dryly, "looks like twenty gold here buys — buys your way straight inside."