Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Spirit Induction
Silence held the grounds so tightly Zhao Chun could hear the small sounds of breathing around her.
The platform was too far for her to make out faces. She could only see a figure in white standing at its center.
Then, without warning, the figure sharpened—as if distance itself had been folded away.
A middle-aged man appeared clear in Zhao Chun’s sight, slightly thin, with prominent cheekbones and keen eyes. He wore a pure white Daoist robe and held a jade-handled whisk. Zhao Chun could even see the fine golden thread at his collar, embroidered in tiny crane patterns.
A technique, she thought. Another kind of power.
The man curved his mouth into a faint, almost patronizing smile. “Now that you’re all seated, we won’t waste time. We will begin at once.”
At his words, attendants filed in, carrying objects in their hands.
They moved without speaking, footsteps swift and precise between the tables. Wherever they passed, they set down a small metal brazier. It wasn’t ordinary bronze—its sheen was brighter, its color purer. The body was hollow-carved and etched with intricate patterns that made Zhao Chun’s eyes ache if she stared too long.
“Close your eyes,” the Immortal Master instructed. “Sink your breath to your dantian. Let your arms hang naturally at your sides.”
Zhao Chun obeyed without hesitation.
A strange fragrance gradually curled into her nose. It was nothing like common incense—an unfamiliar scent, clear and secluded, wrapping around her until it felt as if the air itself had changed.
Her mind cleared.
Her awareness seemed to drift through heavy black clouds and spill into a vast sea.
It was a sea and not a sea. Waves of gold and red surged toward her, carrying pain so dense it felt almost solid—and hatred.
Heat bloomed from her dantian. It spread through her bones, her flesh, her skin, as if she were burning from the inside out.
“Wake up!”
Zhao Chun’s eyes flew open.
There was no fire. No gold-red sea. She was still seated at the table.
But a thin coil of white smoke wound around her body, rising from her like mist. The brazier before her sent up a straight pillar of smoke—and the smoke around her looked as if it had been drawn from the same source.
Zhao Chun glanced left and right.
No one else looked like this.
“Please come with me.”
A gray-clothed attendant stared at her in open surprise, then hurried forward to guide her away.
Zhao Chun rose at once. Her eyes swept over the crowd, and she spotted another boy at another table with the same white smoke twined around him.
She understood.
I’m chosen.
Relief loosened something in her chest. She followed the attendant without resistance.
Around her, most people still didn’t understand what had happened. A few sharper ones realized that if Zhao Chun was leaving, then everyone left behind had likely failed. Disappointment flickered across faces. Anger and envy lurked close behind it.
Pang Zhen looked delighted when he saw Zhao Chun being led away.
Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian finally understood too. Their little faces pinched tight, envy souring in their eyes.
Zhao Chun didn’t spare them a thought. She was too busy cursing whoever had decided this was the fastest way to move children.
Children couldn’t move quickly enough, and those on the platform clearly didn’t want to wait. Martial adepts simply swept in, one arm around each chosen child, and leapt.
It was miserable. The grip around Zhao Chun’s waist felt like iron, strong enough to snap her in half. With her feet off the ground, time stretched strangely. Her head spun. Her stomach lurched. When she was finally set down again, her knees nearly gave.
Standing on solid ground had never felt so good.
She found herself on a circular platform built of redwood. A staircase of white jade led up from there to the main high platform.
Only a little over 100 children stood with her—chosen out of tens of thousands.
Zhao Chun clicked her tongue softly. Luck really did have to be called luck.
On the platform above, the Immortal Master announced, “The first selection is complete. Those chosen, step forward. As for the rest…”
His sleeve swept outward.
“Begin the banquet.”
Beautiful maids in fine silk flowed through the seats, placing dish after dish until the tables that had been bare moments ago were full. The food was rich and fragrant, but the most striking thing was not a dish at all.
It was a small cup of clear water set before each person.
Colorless. Scentless. So transparent that the bottom of the cup was visible at a glance.
“This is Mind-Clearing Dew,” the Immortal Master said. “It clears the mind, steadies the soul, and fortifies the heart.
“Everyone, drink.”
People hesitated, then swallowed.
Pang Zhen was among them. He had been trapped at the Second Martial Layer for nearly 20 years. The older he grew, the more the Third Martial Layer felt like an uncrossable chasm.
When the Mind-Clearing Dew slid down his throat, years of scattered thoughts dissolved in an instant. In his mind, the opening toward the Third Martial Layer sharpened into something bright and reachable.
He sprang to his feet, overcome, and bowed deeply toward the high platform.
Many reacted as Pang Zhen did. Zhao Chun saw a flash of satisfaction on the Immortal Master’s face, and something in her turned faintly amused. So even someone who claimed transcendence still enjoyed watching others lose themselves over gifts.
Some children on the redwood platform watched with naked envy. The Immortal Master lifted his chin slightly.
“No need for envy,” he said. “In the next stage, I will test you one by one. Those who fail may take a jug of Mind-Clearing Dew.
“As for those who pass…”
He stroked his beard.
“Rare treasures will be bestowed.”
Zhao Chun had seen how the adults below had nearly lost all restraint. She understood how precious Mind-Clearing Dew must be. And she understood something else just as clearly.
If she failed and returned to the Zhao Family, Zhao Jian would never let a treasure like this be used on her.
And even if Zhao Jian didn’t seize it, Pang Zhen would. He could claim it in the family’s name long before they ever reached home.
Being chosen wasn’t just luck.
It was her only road.
Attendants began arranging the chosen children into a single line, sorted by commandery. Zhao Chun ended up near the back.
Right in front of her stood Wang Chu Yan, the only child from He Dong Commandery’s Wang Family to reach this platform despite their 12 entrants.
Zhao Chun thought of Wang Yi Jiao’s bright face and the faint sadness under it, and she felt a brief pang. Wang Yi Jiao hadn’t been chosen.
Zhao Chun had been naive earlier. One chosen child out of 800 in Ping Yang Commandery and one out of 1,300 in He Dong Commandery were both incredible strokes of fortune. Several commanderies had failed to produce a single chosen child at all.
She only felt it so keenly because she knew Wang Yi Jiao.
While Zhao Chun’s thoughts drifted, the second selection began.
Unlike the first, this time the Immortal Master acted personally.
A youth in blue-and-white Daoist robes stepped forward holding a jade basin. Inside, a silver fish floated belly-up, looking half dead.
The Immortal Master snorted. With a flick, he draped his whisk over his left arm. Then he raised two fingers on his left hand and traced talisman marks through the air. When his fingers pressed down toward the basin, the fish snapped upright and began swimming happily.
The Immortal Master’s beard trembled. “Greedy beast.”
He gestured at the first child in line. “You. Step forward.”
The child was only eight or nine. He was still staring, stunned by what he’d seen.
When he realized the Immortal Master was addressing him, he jolted as if struck. Tears gathered, but he didn’t dare cry. He froze, feet rooted to the spot.
The youth with the basin saw the Immortal Master’s expression darken and stepped forward, voice gentle. “Just place your hand in the water.”
The child, shaking, lowered his fingers. The silver fish darted away in an instant.
The youth moved the basin aside and reported, “No reaction.”
The Immortal Master’s face didn’t change. He gave the attendants a glance. “No affinity. Take him away.”
“Next.”
The child was led down, eyes dull. The second hurried forward, desperate not to be looked down on.
But the fish only avoided the hand again. At the Immortal Master’s order, the second child was dismissed as well.
One after another failed. A dozen. More. The air on the platform grew heavy with dread.
The Immortal Master’s patience thinned. His brows drew together. His face turned cold.
Two more were taken away. Then, at the seventeenth child, something finally changed.
The Immortal Master’s hand hovered over the basin, barely moving. The silver fish jolted away as if struck by lightning. The boy yanked his fingers back in alarm—and heard the youth say, softly, “Congratulations.”
The Immortal Master gave a slight nod. “Name?”
“This commoner is Liu Zi Yi.”
The boy wore coarse brown clothing, clearly from a poor household, and his words carried a country accent.
“You have affinity,” the Immortal Master said, indifferent to background. “Wait to the side.”
Origin meant little in cultivation, Zhao Chun realized. She’d heard stories even in the Zhao household: a senior who had once been a beggar child, who later encountered a chance and climbed step by step until he became an Elder. Compared to that, noble birth was dust.
Liu Zi Yi could barely contain his joy. He bowed and was guided by an attendant to seats near the high platform. Surrounded by nobles and powerful figures from across Chu Kingdom, his pride swelled before he could stop it.
After him, it was as if one spark had lit dry wood. Several more children triggered anomalies. The Immortal Master’s expression eased. He waved his hand and had three boys and one girl take their seats as well.
Seeing he wasn’t alone, Liu Zi Yi finally reined himself in. Sitting properly, he lowered his gaze and began quietly studying the others around him.
But affinity remained rare. From then on, until Zhao Chun’s turn approached, no one else succeeded.
Then Wang Chu Yan stepped up—and something unexpected happened.
The youth holding the basin offered her a smile that was almost familiar. The Immortal Master’s eyes sharpened. “She is your kin?”
“Yes,” the youth replied. “My younger sister.”
No anomaly appeared. Yet the Immortal Master’s tone turned accommodating. “Junior Brother Wang will return to the sect in the future. I had intended to choose a menial servant for you. Since she is your kin, she will do better than a stranger.
“Let her remain as an errand hand.”
So that was the Wang Family boy who had been taken to the Royal Capital early, Zhao Chun realized. No wonder the Wang sisters had acted the way they did. He wasn’t simply connected—he had status within the temple itself, enough to be addressed as a peer.
Zhao Chun’s surprise cooled quickly.
She thought of Wang Yi Jiao’s downcast eyes. She remembered the youth’s subtle distance, the coldness he didn’t bother to hide. And she heard the Immortal Master’s words—menial servant, errand hand—as if Wang Chu Yan were nothing more than convenient labor.
Wang Chu Yan’s face lit up all the same. Others looked indignant, but with Junior Brother Wang standing there, no one dared speak.
The line moved.
At last, it was Zhao Chun’s turn.
She drew a slow breath, lifted her hand, and lowered her index finger into the water.