From the information Mo Piner had compiled, Jing Qian gained a new layer of understanding about the situation within the Yingfutu Realm.
Across the realm, there were exactly twenty-two top-tier powers: twelve scholastic Dao-lineages belonging to the human race, and ten dreadful forbidden grounds belonging to demons, monsters, and spirits.
Each of these twenty-two forces was backed by Upper Third Rank strength, anchoring their fortune with foundations of unimaginable depth.
Yet among them, the Ying Clan stood unchallenged, reigning alone in its own tier.
The very fact that they dared name the entire realm after their own surname showed how absolute their status was.
In the records Mo Piner provided, Emperor Wuchang himself had once remarked: in the present Yingfutu Realm, even if the other twenty-one powers combined their strength, they might still fail to contend with the Ying Clan.
But things had not always been so.
Three thousand years ago, the balance of power was different. The Ying Clan, the Yanfu Dao, and the Pure Yang Heaven were the three great contenders, with every other faction playing the role of supporting cast.
Then came the great calamity. Both Yanfu Dao and Pure Yang Heaven fell into ruin, almost vanishing entirely from the realm, leaving only the Ying Clan to consolidate its own dominion.
The details of that catastrophe were veiled in secrecy. Even first-hand survivors such as Emperor Wuchang and the Ghost Mother Wusheng avoided the subject, speaking of it only with deliberate obscurity.
Even so, many of today's surviving factions still retained hidden ties to those fallen legacies.
The background of the Pure Yang Ruins was the clearest: the last remaining remnant of Pure Yang Heaven, its lineage pure and direct.
Its current master, True Person Shangxi, was the final Pure Yang Son, a swordsman whose killing Dao had reigned supreme for three millennia.
Connected to Pure Yang Heaven were also the Feathering Gate, the Cihang Monastery, and the Lingluo Palace, known together as the "Three Yang Sects." In their day, they had been subordinate branches of Pure Yang Heaven.
By contrast, the Temple of Impermanence, the Blood River Sect, and the Mirror Cloud Shrine, known collectively as the "Three Fallen Sects," had once served under Yanfu Dao.
In earlier times, the Ying Clan's imperial court and academies had stood shoulder to shoulder with both the Three Yang Sects and the Three Fallen Sects, competing as equals.
But with the deaths of their sect lords and three thousand years of decline, the tide had turned. The academies of the imperial court had pressed their former rivals beneath their heel.
So much so that even those very sects, when recruiting disciples, now had to come to the Academy Banquet to make their selections.
The contrast could not have been more stark.
And the old bonds of subordination were shattered beyond repair.
The Three Yang Sects had long since drifted from the Pure Yang Ruins, with no more closeness, no ties of hierarchy.
The Three Fallen Sects, meanwhile, viewed Yanfu Dao as a hated foe. They scoured the realm to eradicate every last trace of its legacy.
What's more, for special reasons of their own, the Three Fallen Sects also bore murderous hatred toward the Pure Yang Ruins. Together, they pooled their strength to blockade it entirely.
Even so, though the Pure Yang Ruins were down to Shangxi alone, the last Pure Yang Son's sword-wielding might was so fearsome that none of the three sects dared confront him openly. They could only resort to shadowy plots and schemes.
The Academy Banquet itself had become their most decisive move against the Pure Yang Ruins.
Thanks to their interference, the Pure Yang Ruins had not seen a single truly gifted disciple admitted in many years.
On the rare occasions they allowed someone through, it was always those of mediocre talent disciples incapable of posing any threat, who instead drained the sect's resources like burdensome tools.
Thus, by setting his first-choice application for the Pure Yang Ruins, Jing Qian had, in one stroke, invited the pursuit and suppression of three top-tier sects.
At the banquet, the moment he revealed even the slightest intent toward the Pure Yang Ruins, there would be hands reaching out to block him!
Mo Piner's intelligence, combined with the jade slips provided by the Fan Clan, finally allowed Jing Qian to piece together the full picture behind the Academy Banquet.
With all the threads in place, he began to flesh out a clear plan of action.
At this point, there was only a single month left before the banquet began. Jing Qian was just one step away from completing his cultivation, preparing to enter the trial in peak condition.
While waiting for the final opportunity, he sat cross-legged in his secret chamber, sinking his mind once again into the Stele of Fate, drawing out the Qiongqi for another round of sparring.
This time, he no longer needed to hide within the sub-dimensional void. Instead, clad in the protection of his Sumeru Ghostskin, he dove headlong into the net of soundwaves woven by the Qiongqi's Star-Seizer power.
The resonant sound, condensed from stellar force, battered against his ghostskin, setting it rippling violently, but it did not break. He endured it head-on.
Jing Qian remained perfectly still, using the Qiongqi's sonic barrage to test the limits of his newly reborn ghostskin.
Each impact drained seven or eight strands of his life essence, and within minutes, the relentless grinding of the sound had stripped him of all his energy, peeling away the ghostskin layer entirely.
Yet he was delighted with the results.
In a true battle, he could always rely on the combined agility of his Bian Yuan Weiyang and Sumeru mandate.
It was impossible that anyone would be able to shred his ghostskin in just a few minutes.
At the Academy Banquet, where countless eyes would be upon him, he could not openly flaunt his Sumeru domain. If his hidden cave-heaven were revealed, the consequences would be unpredictable. That would not do.
But with the Sumeru Ghostskin alone, he could withstand ninety-nine percent of all combat situations.
If he were ever forced to dive back into the Sumeru dimension, it would only mean the situation had grown dire enough that he was already preparing to flee altogether.
As for the problem of energy consumption, he simply needed to keep strengthening his reserves of power.
And so Jing Qian battled fiercely with the Qiongqi, tempering his new combat system, rapidly honing his ghostskin battle instincts. Each exchange brought rich rewards.
When the bout ended, he once again shifted across space, descending into the boundless Hanhai.
At this moment, the nine Nine-Hearted Ghosts had all gathered there, each harvesting prey.
As usual, Jing Qian slew them one by one with a single sword, harvesting all their spoils.
Nine seventh-rank sea fiends collapsed beneath his blade, yielding him fifty-seven years of precious lifespan, replenishing the two full cycles he had just burned away.
Then, gazing toward the depths of the sea, Jing Qian hesitated only briefly before decisively recalling all the Nine-Hearted Ghosts back into himself. With a single step through space, he vanished.
Mo Piner had deep knowledge of the ocean's forbidden zones.
Both the Dragon Pool and the Kunpeng Cavern harbored resident Second Rank anglers.
Jing Qian's string of bold traversals across the seas had already been far too conspicuous. His cave-heaven's power was glaringly obvious. Since Emperor Wuchang had pierced through his dimensional veil, Jing Qian had learned to keep a far lower profile when faced with Second Rank existences.
So, before the Academy Banquet, he avoided stirring up trouble. He recalled all the wandering ghosts and drew them back into his body.
With so many great ghosts attached, his energy capacity swelled tenfold, reaching the very limit of what the Dragon-Elephant Realm could support in ghost-driving cultivation.
His lifespan was now more than ample. Quietly, he hid once more in the Fan Clan's ancestral compound, burning another sixty years of life to invoke the Knowledge of Heaven's Mandate:
Life Pattern: Primal Qi – Netherworld
Rank: Heaven's Mandate
The Sea of Primal Qi, the pivot of origins, the fountainhead of netherworld essence.
Thus, within his Sea of Primal Qi, a third spring gushed forth, flooding him with boundless energy.
His cultivation surged. His recovery speed crushed all his peers. Even the heirs of the Ying Clan might not be able to stand against him!
His path was nearly flawless now. Jing Qian harbored no regrets as he sat in meditation, making his final adjustments.
Within his sea of consciousness, in the stele space, the sparring battles continued without end.
The Qiongqi and the Thunder Bird, his two inexhaustible sparring partners, served as his final mock examinations, accompanying him up to the brink.
One month passed in the blink of an eye.
The Academy Banquet… had begun!
...
Behind the Pure Yang Ruins, Shangxi gazed with relief at a fresh sword mark etched into the cliff of the Sword-Grinding Crag. The mark had climbed steadily upward, now reaching the upper middle section.
He stretched out a hand, brushing the scar. Its razor-sharp sword intent cut his finger, drawing a bead of blood.
Yet Shangxi did not mind. In his dim eyes, a trace of brilliance flashed.
At long last, he would finally meet his new disciple. In these long, desolate years, this was one of the few things he could call a joy.
He straightened his robes, lifted his iron sword, and unleashed a ray of sword-light onto the Sword-Grinding Crag.
The sword-light struck and solidified there, a guard to protect the sect.
The Pure Yang Ruins had nothing of value left but this crag. With a single sword-ray to watch over it, he could leave without fear.
Shangxi took a deep breath, mustering the last embers of his spirit. Stooped and weary, he began to descend the treacherous stone steps carved into the mountainside.
He looked every bit an aged man nearing death, devoid of any of the majesty once expected of a Pure Yang Son.
Reaching the base, he untied an old white ox from a tree. Climbing onto its back, he patted its bony head, and the beast labored to rise.
The ox was thin and frail, panting heavily. Yet with each step it trod upon clouds, bearing its master aloft into the sky.
Together, the decrepit swordsman and his dying mount flew toward Yingdu, bound for the Academy Banquet.
This time, Shangxi would personally receive a new disciple, something he had not done in eight hundred years.
But scarcely two miles into the sky, the winds shifted violently. Clouds surged, the bright moon loomed, and a blood river drowned the sun.
Ferocious auras erupted, surrounding the old man and his ox, barring their path.
Shangxi did not so much as flinch. His voice was calm, unmoved by pride or humiliation, as he said:
"So many of you have come. Tell me who wishes to die first?"
His words dripped with killing intent.
From within the river of blood, a figure stepped forth, the Blood River Sect's resident Star-Seizer, Xue Cang.
He cupped his hands toward Shangxi and said:
"Realman, please do not be angered. We come not with malice, but only to persuade you not to descend the mountain. The journey to Yingdu is long, and your body is unwell. Should any mishap occur along the way, it would only waste your vital energy.
We can swear here and now: at this Academy Banquet, our three sects will not violate the Academy's rules in any way. Please set your mind at ease.
As long as any disciple successfully passes the banquet's trials and enters the gates of the Pure Yang Ruins, we will personally escort him up the mountain to see you."
Xue Cang was not alone. Behind him, within the floating clouds, the high-hanging moon, and the bloody river, stood five other Star-Seizer sovereigns.
The "Three Lower Sects" had mobilized every great power within the realm, emptying their coffers of strength.
And yet, though six mighty cultivators gathered here together, they were content to quarrel with words, never daring to act.
Even if the opponent was the last Pure Yang Son, reduced to a dying candle flickering in the wind, none of them dared to move against him.
Shangxi tilted his head skyward. At his brow, a seam split open, revealing a pure white, pupil-less eye. It flicked once, then closed again.
He said evenly:
"Then swear. I'll wait here for the result."
He showed them no courtesy at all, glaring until each of the six great cultivators, representing their respective sects, swore their oaths one by one.
Afterward, Shangxi ignored them completely, settling cross-legged atop his ox's back and closing his eyes to rest.
He knew the truth clearly; so long as they truly swore not to employ underhanded means, his disciples' lives would at least be safe.
As for himself… before he died, he would overturn the table one last time. Early or late, it made no difference.
...
Outside the Fan Clan ancestral estate, Fan Zhuoyi was busy preparing the travel kits for two young candidates.
Jing Qian and Fan Zhuoyan each wore robes personally sewn by Zhuoyi after she advanced to the Hundred Refinements of the craftsman's path. They were peak eighth-grade garments, elegant in hue and simple in design, yet undeniably fine treasures.
Tall and graceful as jade, the two youths in these robes looked like young noble heirs from some great family.
Thanks to Jing Qian's aid, Fan Zhuoyan now wielded two Fate Locking Needles, rising as a peerless genius.
He had finally caught up in time for this cycle of the Academy Banquet, able to accompany Jing Qian into the fray.
Zhuoyi looked at the two and said softly:
"I wish you both victory on the first stroke, your names inscribed on the golden rolls!
Brother… if the examination does not go well, come home and inherit the family estate. Above all, guard your life, do not act recklessly."
"Sister… can't you at least hope for something better for me?"
Jing Qian laughed loudly, striding away with confidence.
This journey, he would not stop until he achieved his aim!
His very blood and marrow boiled with anticipation.
Fan Zhuoyan quickened his pace, taking the lead as guide, heading straight for the Academy at the heart of Yingdu.
Across the twelve Upper Provinces and twenty-four Army Provinces of the Divine Dynasty, all the prodigies born since the last Yin year four years ago had been summoned here. They would fight bitterly for a sliver of Banquet Spirit Qi, competing for a place within one of the great lineages.
For three thousand years, this had been the unchanging tradition of the Yingfu Domain.
Fierce competition was the very reason the human race remained ever ahead of the other tribes.
After countless banquets, the method of assessing talent had been refined to perfection.
So long as one truly possessed talent for cultivation, it was almost impossible to be buried or overlooked by the Academy Banquet.
Fan Zhuoyan, raised in Yingdu, knew every detail of this trial.
As he led the way, he explained:
"Elder Brother, once we turn this corner, we'll enter the Academy grounds proper, and the banquet will begin with its first trial.
This first trial is called the Name Verification, testing the validity of our candidacy.
I have the Fan Clan's protection. Each generation, one child of our clan may participate.
My sister gave me the quota this year, and I feel unworthy of such grace.
But you, Elder Brother, came here with a purpose, and naturally also hold the proper qualifications.
The true difficulty of this first trial is not the verification itself but the trouble caused by outsiders."
He turned into a long new street as he spoke.
On either side stretched tall palace walls, three zhang high, running for a full li until they reached the Academy gates.
At the bases of the walls, dense throngs of grim-faced cultivators crouched, many masked.
Fan Zhuoyan continued:
"Those qualified to take the exam are but a rare few. Most cultivators live their whole lives without ever setting foot inside the Academy.
But on this path, it is always life and death!
These men and women, waiting on either side, are here for one thing only to snatch a jade token and steal their way into the Academy."
With that, Fan Zhuoyan drew a jade token from his storage treasure and hung it around his neck with a golden chain.
He drew in a deep breath and continued:
"This road ahead is bound by the Academy's restrictive formation. As long as both feet remain on the ground, all internal mana will be completely suppressed, making it impossible to use. But the instant both feet leave the ground, one's mana returns in full.
So once you step onto this path, you have three choices: fight your way through the brigands barehanded; abandon the trial by flying off the ground; or be robbed of your jade token and fail at the very first gate."
"Elder Brother, I'll go first. I'll wait for you at the end of the Path of Name Verification."
With that, Fan Zhuoyan stepped onto the peculiar road.
He raised both fists, each thumb capped with a white jade thimble, his clan's heirloom treasure, the fifth-grade Flourishing Blossom Rings.
Slotted into those rings were his sharpest weapons: the pair of deadly Fate Locking Needles.
From between his index and middle fingers, the needles extended like hidden, vicious golden spikes, a secret weapon as brutal as brass knuckles.
This was the reliance that would carry him through the gauntlet of thugs.
His steps were quick and dense, never fully lifting his feet as he sprinted forward at top speed.
With prey finally entering their snare, the cultivators lurking on both sides of the road surged forward at once.
On this one-lane stretch, nearly a thousand people waited in ambush.
So many against one, there was not a shred of fairness in it!
Yet Fan Zhuoyan lowered his head and charged. Any who dared to bar his way received a piercing punch, the needle-tipped fists striking only at vital points.
Every blow promised death or crippling injury.
By the time he'd covered barely fifty meters, seven or eight would-be robbers lay sprawled behind him, blood spraying in torrents.
Though he had only recently embarked on the path of cultivation, his ruthless decisiveness was unmistakable. It made Jing Qian reassess him with newfound respect.
Watching Fan Zhuoyan carve a bloody path, Jing Qian realized that these ambushers, the so-called "bandits" trying to steal exam tokens, were mostly under the Longevity realm, their strength unimpressive. Their only edge was sheer numbers.
What's more, they were even further restricted: none were permitted to carry weapons.
If Fan Zhuoyan could blaze through them like a storm, Jing Qian had even less to worry about.
"A rabble of minnows and rotten shrimp," he thought. "Not worth a fraction of effort."
He sent a soundless transmission into the Void Realm, calling to the civet-spirit cat:
"Is it ready? Hurry up."
"Ready, ready, coming right up!"
Inside the Void Realm, the civet was busy at the Void Furnace, forging a massive bone warhammer.
The hammer's material was nothing less than the spine of a seventh-grade leviathan whale, tough and impossibly heavy. Jing Qian had commissioned it on the spot.
After the spirit cat's frantic effort, the warhammer was finished. Jing Qian drew it out and gripped it in his hands.
Nearly two meters long, with a head almost a meter across, it was a peerless weapon of slaughter.
With the great hammer in hand, Jing Qian's heart was utterly unburdened. He plunged into the Path of Name Verification, charging straight toward the Academy gates.
The moment the ambushers rushed him, one swing of the hammer sent them flying.
He was like a runaway bulldozer crashing into a flock of sheep. Wherever he passed, gods and buddhas alike would be smashed aside. No ordinary cultivator could withstand even a touch.
Any who tried to overwhelm him by numbers met the same fate: crushed beneath the sweeping hammer.
In no time at all, Jing Qian caught up to Fan Zhuoyan, who was still stabbing his way forward with iron determination.
"Keep behind me!" Jing Qian barked, leading the way as his hammer cleared a bloody corridor.
Together, the two of them stormed through the first trial.
This so-called Name Verification was, in truth, no great obstacle. With a strong enough body, one could grit one's teeth and endure to the end.
And Jing Qian, blessed with the Flesh-Breeding Bud life-mark and the strength of countless great ghosts climbing his frame, had a physical body that far surpassed most Dragon-Elephant cultivators.
Dragging his blood-soaked bone hammer, he strode up to the Academy gates. At that moment, a stream of jade-colored light flew from within his body and fused into the gates.
With a thunderous rumble, the gates swung wide, revealing another world within.
Without hesitation, Jing Qian stepped through. Behind him, Fan Zhuoyan, spared much effort thanks to his protection, followed close behind.
The instant Jing Qian set foot inside, he realized this place was an independent cave-heaven.
Within the Academy's cave realm, a crowd had already gathered: more than fifty cultivators who had passed the Path of Name Verification stood waiting.
Jing Qian and Fan Zhuoyan blended quietly into the group, saying nothing, awaiting the banquet's next trial.
The true challenge was only beginning.
Fan Zhuoyan leaned close and sent a private transmission:
"Elder Brother, the second trial typically tests a cultivator's craft. Among inscription and rune-carving, alchemy and tonic-cooking, weapon-forging and armory, weaving and skin-painting, you may choose one skill for evaluation.
My Fan Clan excels at weaving; this stage poses no threat to me. As for you, your divination arts are exceptional; you should be able to breeze through straight to the third gate.
Less than one in ten candidates are eliminated in the first trial, but the second is far harsher.
Any loose cultivator without a strong inheritance will suffer greatly here."
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