Looking at Miss Rou,I couldn’t help but wonder who she truly was. To be ranked third out of hundreds of thousands… It was no small feat.

  Just as the awe in the air began to settle, the announcer’s voice rang out again, this time sharper, more formal than before.

  “We shall begin with the most exceptional among this generation’s arrivals—those whose potential has already shaken the hearts of our honored guests.”

  His gaze swept over us, pausing with visible pride on the glowing numbers at the front.

  “Ranks One through Three—step forward into the open space. Let the heavens speak, and your path be revealed.”

  A hush fell across the chamber,and the eyes of every person in attendance turned to witness their first glimpse of this generation prodigy to be.

  And so, alongside Lan Rou, who stepped forward with shy, hesitant strides and a faint flush upon her cheeks—two others advanced toward the open space.

  The second figure, bathed in the same golden light of ranking, drew my attention immediately.

  Rank Two.

  He was tall—very tall—and easily the most muscular among us. His physique was carved like stone beneath the fitted orange robes he wore, each movement revealing strength honed through more than brute force. Yet, despite his imposing form, he gave off no sense of menace or aggression.

  In fact… he felt welcoming.

  There was something in his presence, a quiet, grounded strength that made him seem less like a warrior and more like a guardian. Someone you could lean on without fear of being pushed away. His eyes were narrow, as if always on the edge of being closed, lending him a look of constant calm. His head was bald, smooth and unmarred, and he moved with an elegance that defied the weight of his frame. His steps were steady and purposeful.

  There was no doubt about it—this man was someone to watch.

  And now, with two of the top three standing before the gathered cultivators, all that remained was the one who stood highest of all.

  Number One.

  The last to step forward was a man who, at first glance, might not have drawn much attention—shorter than Rank two, taller than Miss Rou, standing roughly at my own height, perhaps just under six feet. His clothing was simple, even worn: a dark green shirt faded at the seams, and black pants that had clearly seen better days. There was no extravagance in his looks.

  And yet… the moment I laid eyes on him, I felt it.

  There was something different about him.

  It was his eyes that captured me first.

  One was pitch black, deeper than night itself, like staring into the void between stars. The other… pure white. Not dull or cloudy, but bright—like the light of a star shining in the middle of that void.

  It was as if the Dao itself stirred within his gaze.

  And his hair, tied neatly in a high bun—reflected that same duality. Strands of white and black coiled together, not dyed or artificial, but natural, as if the very balance of yin and yang had woven itself into his appearance.

  He walked with neither hesitation nor arrogance—his steps casual, but every motion rippling with suppressed intent. A person in total harmony with himself, and completely unbothered by the eyes around him.

  I glanced up to the highest tier—the cultivators seated on their throne-like chairs, those far above even the black-robed elites. I saw it in their expressions.

  Their stillness cracked.

  Subtle gasps. Narrowed eyes. The faintest shifts of posture from beings who hadn’t moved an inch until now.

  They saw something we couldn’t. Something behind that mismatched gaze of his.

  Not one word had been spoken by him.

  But every eye in the chamber was now on Rank One.

  The air remained thick with tension as the last of the three took his place. Even the announcer, who had carried himself with composure until now, cleared his throat—subtle, but telling. It was as if even he had been momentarily drawn in by the silent gravity of the trio standing before us.

  “You three stand at the peak of this generation’s ascendants. The finest among your peers.”

  He gestured to the gathered audience all now watching with focused eyes.

  “To honor your achievement, you will be granted the privilege of priority—first selection within the Heavenly Archive. Let all present witness the distinction that talent and fate can bring. ”

  Then, he turned to the first of the three—the one standing with hesitant grace.

  “Rank Three, step forward.”

  Lan Rou flinched almost imperceptibly, but drew in a breath and obeyed. Her footsteps were soft, but steady.

  The announcer nodded. “Manifest your Soul Weapon.”

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  The room stilled.

  “The archive will read the essence of your soul weapon and your body foundation, and from its depths, the methods most aligned with your spirit will come forth. From them, you will choose.”

  He raised his hand toward the floating void of tomes above.

  “Now… proceed.”

  Lan Rou stood at the edge of the open space, her gaze low, shoulders slightly drawn inward beneath the weight of countless eyes. But even in her quiet demeanor, there was resolve. With a slow, steady breath, she raised her hand—fingers trembling for only a moment before light gathered in her palm.

  The air shimmered around her as threads of light coiled together, weaving into shape. It was graceful—almost delicate at first—but the more it took form, the more our awe deepened.

  And then it appeared.

  Her Soul Weapon.

  A sword, yes—but like no sword I had ever seen or thought possible to wield.

  The blade, impossibly slim, no wider than my pinky—stretched taller than her entire body. It wasn’t just long, it was monumental. Over six feet of gleaming steel, taller even than Rank Two who stood like a monolith before her. And yet, it stood there beside her.

  It gleamed with the luster of the finest metal I had ever seen—so polished and refined, it reflected the whole room. But the blade itself was only half the wonder.

  The hilt was a masterpiece. The guard curled in elegant, vine-like filigree, each tendril glinting with shifting hues of gold and violet. At its center sat a gemstone—a smooth, teardrop-shaped crystal of soft lavender.

  The grip, wrapped in silver-threaded silk, was as slender as the rest of the weapon. Tailored for a hand that prized precision and grace, not brute strength. It was a blade meant to weave through weakness, not crush through power.

  And at its base, the pommel bloomed into a lotus—small, half-open, forged in silver, with a single droplet of amethyst nestled within its petals, like morning dew captured at the height of stillness.

  It was beautiful. Too beautiful.

  No ordinary soul could summon it. Yet she stood shy and silent, holding something that made even the high-seated cultivators lean forward, eyes sharpened, no longer casual in their observation.

  I could hear the hushed voices of those closest to me, their disbelief barely contained as they struggled to process what they were seeing.

  “Is that really her Soul Weapon…?”

  “It’s taller than her! How is she supposed to wield something like that?”

  “No way she can actually swing that thing.”

  Their voices carried a mixture of awe, confusion, and admiration—none of it mocking. No one dared to question her worth. That sword… it silenced even the most arrogant tongues.

  Then… It happened.

  From the highest, most distant corner of the Archive—a single book began to shine with a deep, mesmerizing amethyst glow.

  And then it started to descend. No—rather… it was flying.

  Around it coalesced a shimmering aura, shaping itself into the form of a bird—small, elegant, and stunningly vivid. Its feathers were glittering, shifting hues of violet, pale rose, and silver with every beat of its wings. Though no larger than a dove, its presence stole the breath from the chamber. Breathtaking in its beauty.

  It glided down through the sky of suspended tomes, weaving past the books, as if the Archive itself made way for its arrival.

  Every eye followed it in silence.

  The bird reached Lan Rou, who stood motionless in the center of the open circle, her blade still beside her. Her lips parted in soft astonishment, her eyes wide with wander.

  The spirit bird fluttered in front of her, wings slowing. Its talons clutched the amethyst-glowing tome gently, almost lovingly, and with a single graceful motion, it set the book down in her waiting hands.

  The moment the book met her palms, the bird gave a single, clear chirp—soft and melodic—then began to dissolve into shimmering trails of misty light until it vanished completely, as though it had never existed.

  As Lan Rou stood there, clutching the amethyst-bound tome, the hall remained breathless for only a moment longer—before it erupted.

  On the highest tier, where the most powerful cultivators sat like monarchs, every single one of them stood.

  Their composed expressions cracked with hunger—and they spoke not in whispers, but in commands.

  “Begin the selection process—now!”

  “We won’t wait—have her choose her sect immediately!”

  “She must not be delayed—not even a breath longer!”

  The announcer flinched beneath the cascade of authoritative voices, his eyes wide with disbelief. Never before had such esteemed elders spoken out of turn, let alone all at once.

  He quickly bowed toward them, hands cupped respectfully. “Esteemed Seniors, I… I was instructed that the selection for the top three must only begin after all three have revealed their potential—”

  A sharp voice cut him off.

  “If protocol must be bent, we will bear the burden of it!” thundered one of the older cultivators. “We will take full responsibility for this deviation.”

  The announcer, still bent in half, hesitated. “With all due respect… may I ask why?”

  It was then that the only woman among the high seats stepped forward. She did not shout. She did not raise her hand. She simply looked down toward the girl still standing with the tome in hand, her sword gleaming silently beside her.

  And with a calm, almost reverent voice, she answered.

  “Because she possesses the Celestial Orchid Physique.”

  A hushed wave rippled through the audience. Those among the white-robed cultivators gasped aloud. A few black-robed disciples exchanged stunned glances. And I… I had never heard the name, but judging by the reactions around me, I didn’t need to.

  The announcer blinked rapidly, breath caught in his chest.

  “T-The Celestial Orchid… that’s…”

  The elder woman spoke again, gently, but with finality.

  “A sacred body constitution so rare it blooms once in a thousand years. A vessel of balance and harmony. The only known constitution capable of attuning with the Nine-Petal Amethyst Sutra—the cultivation method she now holds in her hands.”

  We all looked at Lan Rou as if seeing her for the first time.

  The announcer swallowed hard. Caught between the decree he had been given and the undeniable pressure of the powerful cultivators bearing down on him. But he was no fool. He knew what kind of power stood above him.

  And he valued his life.

  With a deep bow toward the high platform, he spoke with restrained deference.

  “Very well. I acknowledge your authority in this matter. May it be recorded that this deviation from standard procedure was enacted under your direct request and responsibility.”

  All of them gave curt nods.

  Straightening, the announcer stepped back toward the center of the stage and raised his voice to the entire hall.

  "By the will of the sects, we will now begin the immediate selection for Rank Three. Participant, step forward and state your name for all to hear."