The evaluation grounds stretched before Lin Tian like a vast arena, its perimeter lined with spectators eager to witness the quarterly assessment. Pavilions adorned with the Celestial Dragon Sect's emblem housed elders and core disciples who would judge today's performances. The atmosphere hummed with anticipation—for most disciples, this ceremony represented opportunity; for Lin Tian, it was something far more complex.

  Lin Tian observed the proceedings with an analytical mind, noticing details the old Lin would have missed. Each movement of the supervising disciples, the arrangement of the grounds, the subtle hierarchies evident in where people stood—all revealed the underlying structure of the sect.

  "The evaluation has three trials," Lin Feng explained, unaware if Lin Tian remembered or not. "Each designed to test different aspects of a disciple's cultivation."

  Lin Tian nodded. "Designed to identify potential regardless of current cultivation level. Quite efficient."

  Lin Feng blinked in surprise at his young master's assessment. "Yes, exactly. Those with raw power but lacking technique can be taught proper forms. Those with excellent technique but insufficient spiritual energy can be given cultivation resources."

  'And I currently have neither,' Lin Tian thought grimly, feeling the barely-formed Qi Core in his dantian—a mere spark compared to the roaring fires his competitors possessed. But today would be different. Today, he would show them glimpses of his potential.

  An elder rose from the main pavilion, his voice carrying across the grounds without visible effort—a simple application of spiritual energy that Lin Tian mentally cataloged for future reference.

  "The quarterly evaluation begins now. Participants will face three trials. First, the Breaking Trial—destroy the training dummy with as few strikes as possible. Second, the Form Trial—demonstrate your cultivation technique. Third, the Challenge Trial—face an instructor and earn their approval through combat prowess."

  Lin Tian's gaze settled on the training dummy positioned in the center of the first arena—a humanoid figure crafted from spirit-infused wood. It appeared deceptively ordinary, but Lin Tian noticed the faint runic patterns etched into its surface.

  "Those dummies are specially constructed," Lin Feng whispered. "They resist pure force. You need both power and precision to break them efficiently."

  The first participant stepped forward—a young man in flowing azure robes that marked him as from one of the prominent merchant families. His posture spoke of confidence born from years of proper training. Lin Tian immediately assessed his movement pattern—balanced, centered, with no wasted motion.

  As the bell rang, the young man burst into action. His strikes resembled flowing water, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. On his fifth attack, the image of a blue dragon briefly materialized around his fist as it connected with the dummy. Wood splintered in all directions as the construct shattered completely.

  Applause erupted from the spectators. "Five strikes! Disciple Wei Zhen completes the first trial with distinction!" the announcer proclaimed.

  Lin Tian watched thoughtfully. 'Fourth-level Qi Condensation, at least. His technique channels spiritual energy efficiently, minimizing waste. The dragon manifestation suggests he's beginning to align his energy with elemental affinities.'

  One by one, participants took their turns. Some performed admirably, others adequately. A particularly muscular youth relied on brute force, requiring fifteen strikes to destroy his dummy—respectable but unrefined. A slender girl used precise strikes targeting weak points, finishing in eight moves.

  Then came a comically inept performance from a round-faced boy who seemed to panic under observation. His strikes lacked both power and direction; after thirty ineffective attacks, the judges mercifully ended his attempt.

  "Liu Hui fails the first trial," the announcer stated flatly. The boy's shoulders slumped as he trudged away, whispers following him.

  Lin Feng shifted uncomfortably. "That was traditionally your... I mean..."

  "My performance level?" Lin Tian finished, his expression neutral. "I understand."

  More participants followed. Lin Tian studied each one, mentally cataloging their strengths and weaknesses. Then he heard his name called.

  "Disciple Lin Tian, proceed to the Breaking Trial."

  A hush fell over the crowd. Lin Tian could hear the whispers: "The Lin family's trash..." "Why does he even bother?" "Another embarrassment coming..."

  Lin Feng squeezed his shoulder. "Young Master, just do your best."

  Lin Tian stepped forward, acutely aware of his body's limitations. The tiny Qi Core in his dantian was barely formed, nothing compared to what the other participants commanded. He approached the dummy, assessing it with narrowed eyes.

  Lin Tian was painfully aware of his current state—his cultivation was preliminary at best, with spiritual energy reserves less than a hundredth of what even a standard first-level Qi Condensation disciple would possess. Conventional breaking techniques would be impossible with such meager resources.

  Lin Tian placed his hand on the dummy, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes briefly, reviewing what he'd observed from the previous participants.

  As Lin Tian circled the dummy, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration. The crowd's impatient murmurs faded into background noise as Emperor Reinhart's analytical mind took over.

  He recalled each participant's performance with perfect clarity. Wei Zhen, the merchant family's son, had struck with flowing precision—but there was something else. On his third and fourth strikes, Wei Zhen's attacks had subtly shifted toward the dummy's upper right quadrant, where the shoulder joint would be on a human opponent.

  The muscular youth who had needed fifteen strikes—his initial attacks had been scattered, but as he grew desperate, his blows had gravitated toward that same region. Even the slender girl with her eight precise strikes had targeted similarly.

  'They know,' Lin Tian thought. 'Perhaps not consciously, but through training or instinct, they've identified a structural weakness.'

  As Lin Tian was finishing up his slow circle, his mind raced through the implications. The runic patterns weren't merely for show—they created a network of energy resistance, but networks always had junctures, connection points where disruption would cascade through the entire system.

  The bell rang.

  Lin Tian did not immediately attack. Instead, he completed his circle around the dummy, his gaze intent. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, some laughing at his apparent hesitation.

  Then he struck.

  His first attack wasn't powerful—he simply didn't have the spiritual energy to make it so. Instead, it was precisely targeted at one of the junctures where three runic lines intersected. The dummy vibrated slightly.

  His second strike hit another juncture point, as did his third. Each impact was economical, using only the necessary force. By the seventh strike, observers noticed something strange—the dummy's surface was developing hairline cracks, spreading in a pattern that followed the runic lines.

  On his thirteenth strike, Lin Tian finally channeled the minimal spiritual energy from his newly formed Qi Core, directing it through his palm into the central convergence point of the runic pattern.

  The dummy didn't shatter spectacularly like Wei Zhen's had. Instead, it simply fell apart, the pieces separating along the network of cracks Lin Tian had methodically created.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  'I can't believe that actually worked,' he thought, his usual composure briefly giving way to genuine surprise. With the barest fraction of spiritual energy that the others possessed, he had accomplished what had seemed impossible minutes before.

  The silence of the crowd told him everything he needed to know—he'd done something unexpected, something that defied their understanding of "Trash Lin's" capabilities. It wasn't power that had won this trial, but observation and precision.

  Silence fell over the evaluation grounds.

  "Thirteen strikes," the announcer finally stated, sounding slightly confused. "Disciple Lin Tian completes the first trial."

  The response was subdued—thirteen strikes was mediocre compared to the top performers, yet far better than anyone had expected from "Trash Lin." More importantly, the method had been unlike anything they'd seen before.

  Lin Tian returned to Lin Feng's side, his breathing slightly labored. The minimal exertion of spiritual energy had taxed his weak cultivation base significantly.

  "Young Master, that was..." Lin Feng struggled for words. "Different."

  "Adaptation," Lin Tian replied simply. "I worked with what I have." But inwardly, he felt satisfaction. The first glimpse of his potential had been revealed.

  The second trial—the Form Trial—began soon after. Participants demonstrated their cultivation techniques, showcasing the martial arts forms passed down through their families or taught by their mentors.

  Wei Zhen performed the "Azure Dragon's Descent," his movements creating afterimages as spiritual energy flowed visibly around him. Others displayed varying levels of skill and power—some technically perfect but lacking spiritual resonance, others overflowing with raw energy but lacking refinement.

  When Lin Tian's turn came, he faced a difficult choice. The original Lin Tian had practiced his family's "Flowing Wind Sword Art" countless times, but had never managed to infuse it with even the most basic spiritual energy. His current options were limited—he could perform the Flowing Wind Sword Art with only physical movements memorized and no true mastery, or he could draw upon his knowledge of Latvarian Imperial Combat Forms, which were highly efficient but incompatible with this world's energy system.

  Lin Tian stepped forward, accepting a practice sword from an attendant. He began the opening stance of the Flowing Wind Sword Art—the form was familiar to his body, even if he had never executed it properly before.

  But as he moved through the sequence, Lin Tian subtly altered the movements, incorporating elements of a more efficient combat style. The changes were minimal, barely noticeable to most observers, but they transformed the inefficient form into something more balanced, more economical.

  The tiny amount of spiritual energy in his dantian wasn't enough to create the wind effects the technique was named for, but he directed what little he had with perfect precision, creating the faintest shimmer along the blade's edge at the technique's culmination.

  When he finished, the response was again uncertain. He had performed adequately—better than expected for "Trash Lin," but nothing spectacular compared to the other participants. Yet something about his execution caught the attention of the more experienced observers.

  "Disciple Lin Tian completes the second trial," the announcer stated. "An... interesting interpretation of the Flowing Wind Sword Art."

  As Lin Tian returned to the waiting area, he noticed Yang—the Core Disciple who had broken up the earlier confrontation—watching him with narrowed eyes. Good. His gamble was working. The right people were beginning to notice.

  The third and final trial was the most daunting: face an instructor of the sect and gain their approval through combat prowess—or at minimum, make them acknowledge your effort by forcing them to move from their starting position.

  The instructors were all at the Great Peak realm or higher, far beyond the participants' cultivation levels. Victory was impossible—the trial measured not success but the approach, determination, and ingenuity displayed by the disciples.

  Lin Tian watched as Wei Zhen launched a magnificent attack against his assigned instructor—a middle-aged woman with a serene expression. His azure dragon technique forced her to take three steps back and earned her appreciative nod.

  Another participant nearly collapsed from exhaustion after expending all his spiritual energy in a desperate final attack that compelled his instructor to shift to avoid it. Even this minimal success was enough to pass.

  The round-faced boy who had failed the first trial didn't even manage to approach his instructor before his courage faltered.

  Then it was Lin Tian's turn.

  His assigned instructor was an elderly man with a long white beard and hands marked with calluses that spoke of decades of weapons training. He stood in the center of the arena, hands clasped behind his back, regarding Lin Tian with a mixture of pity and boredom.

  "Disciple Lin Tian," he intoned. "You may begin when ready."

  Lin Tian felt the eyes of the entire sect upon him. His body was already at its limit, the tiny Qi Core in his dantian nearly depleted. Conventional attacks would be futile against an opponent of this caliber. This would require his most daring gamble yet.

  Lin Tian walked slowly toward the instructor, his practice sword held loosely at his side. The old man didn't shift his stance, clearly expecting no real challenge.

  "Master Instructor," Lin Tian said, his voice carrying across the suddenly quiet arena. "Before we begin, may I ask your name?"

  The instructor raised an eyebrow at this unusual opening. "I am Zhou Wei, Weapons Master of the Celestial Dragon Sect's Inner Court."

  Lin Tian nodded respectfully. "It's an honor to face you, Master Zhou." Then, in a move that confused everyone watching, he placed his practice sword on the ground.

  Murmurs swept through the crowd. Was Trash Lin surrendering before even attempting the trial?

  Instead, Lin Tian simply stood, hands empty, watching Master Zhou with the calm assessment of a seasoned warrior studying an opponent.

  "Have you given up already, disciple?" Master Zhou asked, his tone caught between amusement and annoyance.

  "Not at all," Lin Tian replied. "I'm merely acknowledging reality. My current cultivation is insufficient to force you to move through conventional means. Therefore, I must find another way."

  Master Zhou's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what way might that be?"

  Lin Tian's expression remained serene as he walked forward, step by deliberate step. "In battle, Master Zhou, what is more important than spiritual energy or combat techniques?"

  The old master didn't reply, but something in his posture changed almost imperceptibly—a slight heightening of attention.

  "Understanding," Lin Tian continued, still moving forward with measured steps. "Understanding your opponent, yourself, and the nature of the confrontation."

  He was now just beyond arm's reach of Master Zhou, who remained motionless, his expression increasingly curious.

  "You've trained with weapons for decades," Lin Tian observed. "Your hands tell that story clearly. Yet you stand as one who has mastered empty-hand techniques as well—balanced, centered, ready to respond to any conventional attack."

  Master Zhou's eyebrows rose slightly.

  "I could expend my meager spiritual energy in a futile attack that you would easily counter," Lin Tian continued. "Or I could attempt to surprise you with an unconventional approach that might, if I were extraordinarily lucky, cause you to shift your stance slightly."

  Lin Tian took another step forward. "But neither would demonstrate true understanding."

  The arena was now completely silent, everyone straining to hear this unusual exchange.

  "And what would demonstrate true understanding, disciple?" Master Zhou asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

  Lin Tian smiled faintly. "Recognizing when to advance and when to retreat. Knowing that true strength lies not in forcing your opponent to move, but in moving yourself to a more advantageous position."

  With those words, Lin Tian abruptly stepped back, bowed deeply, and retreated three paces.

  For a long moment, Master Zhou stood motionless, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Then, to everyone's shock, he laughed—a warm, genuine sound that echoed across the arena—and deliberately took one step forward.

  "Disciple Lin Tian passes the third trial," he announced, his voice carrying clearly to the judges' pavilion.

  Confused murmurs swept through the crowd. Lin Tian had seemingly done nothing, yet one of the sect's strictest instructors had not only moved but declared him successful.

  As Lin Tian returned to the waiting area, Master Zhou's voice followed him: "Understanding is indeed fundamental, young disciple. Remember that wisdom as you continue your journey."

  Lin Feng stared at him in disbelief. "Young Master, how did you...?"

  Lin Tian merely shook his head, conserving his strength. The evaluation had pushed his weak body to its limits. The trials were complete, but the day wasn't over. Now came the assessment and rankings—the moment that would determine whether the Celestial Dragon Sect saw any value in "Trash Lin" after all. His gamble had to pay off. He needed those resources.

  Lin Tian stood among the other participants as the elders conferred in their pavilion. His performance had been unusual—mediocre in raw results but distinctive in method. Whether that would work in his favor remained to be seen.

  Around him, other disciples whispered, occasionally glancing his way with expressions ranging from curiosity to dismissal. He had done better than expected for "Trash Lin," but in the competitive hierarchy of the Celestial Dragon Sect, that still placed him firmly near the bottom.

  Yet as Lin Tian waited for the final assessments, he found himself experiencing something unexpected—a sense of genuine interest. This world of cultivation, with its complex energy systems and ancient techniques, presented challenges unlike any he had faced before.

  The path ahead would be difficult. His body was weak, his cultivation base barely formed. Resources would be scarce unless he could dramatically improve his standing. But within those constraints lay an intriguing puzzle—one worthy of his intellect and determination.

  The elders rose from their seats, ready to announce the results. Lin Tian straightened his posture despite his exhaustion, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts.

  Whatever came next, he would face it with calculation, adaptation, and unyielding will.