As we watched the elders bow before their leaders, I found myself frozen in disbelief.

  The Sect Leaders. Legendary figures, rumored to live in worlds far beyond the reach of fledgling mortals like us. And yet, here they were—present for this ceremony, for this gathering… most likely for him, Tai Yinzi.

  There could be no other reason for their arrival. Not even the rare Celestial Orchid Physique of Lan Rou had drawn them out. Only he, the boy with two soul weapons and a hundreds of tomes beckoning to him, could command the gaze of such figures.

  My eyes moved to the elders and those they now bowed before.

  The Qingcheng Sect Leader stood with a presence like a serpent poised to strike. His robe was a deep jade green, adorned with golden embroidery that traced the likeness of a serpent curling through branches. His face was sharp, angular—an eye patch with the design of his sect obscured his left eye—and his hair was tied into a high bun, with a patchy but perfectly trimmed beard. His one visible eye was cold and calculating.

  Before him knelt Elder Yanluo, not a trace of defiance in his posture.

  The Wudang Sect Leader stood like a still mountain. His robe was a calm, sky-blue trimmed with white clouds that swirled around the hem. His black hair was swept cleanly to the side, revealing a high forehead and calm, wise eyes. Large brows gave his gaze weight, yet he bore no facial hair, and his every breath seemed to carry a breeze of peace. He smiled gently, but something about that smile spoke of hidden intentions beneath tranquility. Elder Fang bowed deeply before him.

  The Shaolin Sect Leader needed no grand entrance. He was small and thin. His skin was tanned by sun and time, and his face was etched with every line of the years he had lived. His head was shaved bald, and his eyes remained closed as if sight was a choice he no longer needed. He leaned on a plain wooden staff, its surface smooth from decades of use. He wore the same saffron robes as Elder Bao, simple and dignified. And yet, even hunched and frail, his presence held a stillness that silenced the soul. Elder Bao knelt before him with reverence.

  Then came the Sect Leader of Emei. And she… was a vision of contradictions.

  Where the others commanded through presence, she ruled through allure. She was beautiful—shockingly so. Her long, ink-black hair flowed down in elegant waves, resting atop a robe of pale violet and orchid hues. Her gaze was seductive, gleaming with the mischief of someone who knew exactly how dangerous she was. Her full lips curved into a smirk, and though her robe flowed modestly around her frame, it dipped dangerously low across her chest, revealing just enough to be disarming.

  Elder Bai bowed before her, shoulders straight but head lowered in respect.

  And finally, there stood the Sect Leader of Mount Hua.

  He stood at the center of the five—the one who had spoken first, the voice that had silenced the room. Tall and commanding, his long white beard flowed in sharp contrast to the full crown of hair neatly tied behind him, also white but untouched by age's frailty. He wasn’t as youthful in appearance as the Qingcheng or Wudang leaders, nor as aged as the Shaolin master, yet he carried himself with a presence that made such comparisons irrelevant.

  Maturity. That was the word.

  He wore a flowing white robe, along the hem and sleeves, red dragon motifs curled like smoke, their forms etched in elegant detail. With every movement, the designs shimmered alive.

  Their exact age? Impossible to guess. No one could—not truly. Cultivators often defied the natural flow of time. For all I knew, the seemingly aged Shaolin sect leader, who looked as though a stiff breeze might carry him to dust, could outlive them all by centuries. In the cultivation world, appearance wasn't the truth. It was most of the time a choice.

  Some clung to the bloom of youth to intimidate, seduce, or inspire awe. Others, like this Mount Hua leader, allowed time to leave its mark. To wear age as proof of survival.

  “Honored Sect Leaders,” Elder Lianjian of Mount Hua began, his tone marked with disbelief and deep respect. “Forgive our ignorance, but... to witness all five of you here, in person, for a mere recruitment... may we ask, what has brought you before us?”

  The Shaolin elder echoed the sentiment with a nod. “We are honored beyond words. But even we did not foresee your presence for this generation of cultivators.”

  The response was a calm, knowing silence—until the Mount Hua Sect Leader stepped forward.

  “We did not plan to come,” he said, his voice deep. “And yet, something in the air changed. A shift so subtle, it stirred the heavens and even reached us. At first, we thought it was an illusion. But now... we know better.”

  His gaze turned to Tai Yinzi, still standing in the center of the circle.

  “To witness such unprecedented phenomena in a single mortal—two soul weapons, a perfect harmony of yin and yang, all cultivation methods drawn to him, and a body that defies categorization... it is not something fate allows often.”

  The other sect leaders nodded in silent agreement.

  “It is fine,” he said now to the stunned elders, his tone softening. “You have done well. But from this point forward, we will handle the matter of his recruitment.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Then, he turned back toward Tai Yinzi and extended both hands before him, open-palmed, as though offering the entire cultivation world.

  “You may choose whichever sect calls to you,” he said. “And know this—whichever one you choose, you will not be treated as an ordinary disciple.”

  “You will be our personal disciple. You will be given any treasure in our vaults. Any martial technique, any secret art. If there is knowledge, it shall be yours. If there is a path forward, we will clear it for you.”

  Murmurs swept through the room, gasps echoing from every tier of the platforms. A sect leader, offering direct discipleship to a mere mortal. A position coveted by even the most elite cultivators. Now, it was being handed freely to a youth who only moments ago had stood among commoners.

  Envy and jealousy surged like a tide, sweeping across the room. From his fellow mortals to the seasoned cultivators seated on the elevated platforms, all watched with awe—and a touch of bitterness.

  And then, as if to stake her claim, the Sect Leader of Emei approached him slowly, her figure swaying with an effortless grace that drew the eye. Her gaze held a hunger, her smile just shy of dangerous. She circled him like a predator assessing her prize, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest and arms as she passed, her touch lingering longer than it needed to.

  Her voice was silk and smoke.

  “Traditionally, the Emei Sect accepts only women into its ranks,” she said, pausing before him. “But history is shaped by exceptions… and I am willing to make one, for you. Become my direct disciple,” she offered, her voice dipping lower, more intimate, “and I will go further than any of the others.”

  She stepped in close, one hand sliding down the fabric of his pants in a slow, suggestive motion. Her smile widened, seductive and daring. “I will offer you the chance to dual cultivate with me,” she whispered, punctuating the offer with a wink that could’ve stopped lesser hearts.

  And yet, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink.

  He simply stood there, as calm and unmoved as stone.

  And in that stillness, I understood.

  He had grown up in a brothel, surrounded by advances and temptations a thousand times over. To him, this was nothing new. It was just another test. One he had already learned to overcome.

  Realizing her seductive advances had little effect, the Emei Sect Leader finally stepped back—not in frustration, but with a knowing smile. Her message had been delivered, loud and clear. And throughout her performance, not a single Sect Leader moved to stop her.

  This was a competition.

  And in the world of cultivation, anything was a viable tactic when it came to claiming talent, even offers veiled in sexual desire.

  Then, with a calm yet commanding gesture, the Mount Hua Sect Leader turned to Tai Yinzi.

  “It is your choice,” he said.

  His gaze passed over each of the five sect leaders, calm and steady. “I thank you all,” he began, his tone clear but without arrogance, “for the immense honor of your offers. But I am not one to chase glitter without substance.”

  He turned slightly, looking first to the elder of the Qingcheng Sect. “I do not favor hiding in the mist or striking from the shadows. Though my blades are daggers—often tools of stealth—my nature isn’t one that favors such actions. ”

  Then to the Wudang leader. “Your techniques are fluid and wise… but the long sword flows like water, while my daggers are meant to strike like lightning.”

  To the Shaolin master, he gave a small bow of genuine respect. “Shaolin’s foundation is unmatched. But staff and fist were never the tools I reached for when faced with hardship.”

  He finally turned to the Emei Sect’s leader, locking eyes with her. “And while your offer is… generous,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling faintly, “I’ve lived among women all my life. I know too well the games they play behind their smiles. I have no interest in a life built on pretense and temptation.”

  The Emei leader raised an eyebrow, intrigued rather than insulted.

  At last, his gaze landed on the Mount Hua Sect leader. “Mount Hua,” Tai said, voice steady, “does not bind its disciples to a single form. It does not demand I become a sword, only that I understand the blade in all its facets.”

  He turned to the crowd, and for the first time, I saw his face hold something other than passive indifference—conviction.

  “My path,” he declared, “is one I will carve with both hands. And Mount Hua… is where I will sharpen my blades.”

  The Mount Hua Sect leader smiled, calm and pleased.

  “Then let the heavens witness,” he said, stepping forward, “that Tai Yinzi shall walk the Path of Mount Hua… as my personal disciple.”

  The hall erupted. Applause and whispers clashed like thunder, and even the sect leaders nodded—some with disappointment, others with approval.

  Tai Yinzi lowered himself onto one knee, his dual blades dissipating into motes of light as he bowed with complete sincerity. “Disciple Tai Yinzi greets his master,” he said, his voice calm and resolute.

  The Mount Hua Sect Leader stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his tone gentle. “Rise, disciple. You walk with me now. There is no need to wait for the rest.”

  He turned to the elders still gathered in the hall and gave a courteous nod. “We’ll take our leave. You may proceed with the remaining recruitment.”

  The elders, all five, bowed low in acknowledgment as the sect leaders turned, leading Tai Yinzi out. The crowd parted for them in reverent silence, all eyes lingering on the back of the youth whose fate had diverged so far from our own.

  And yet—he paused.

  Just before stepping beyond the arched exit, Tai Yinzi turned his head. Not to the elders. Not to the other sect leaders. Not even to the sea of awestruck spectators.

  He looked directly at me.

  That same, unreadable gaze met mine across the vast room. It felt as if he could read the very essence of my fate in those gazes.

  Before I could even begin to make sense of it, the Mount Hua Sect leader’s voice called out his name again, and Tai Yinzi turned forward once more, vanishing into the corridor beyond.

  I was left standing there, still, lost in that single moment.

  Had I imagined it?

  The announcer’s voice broke the silence, snapping the chamber back to life. “Ahem. What a truly… unprecedented display,” he said, clearly trying to rein in the surprise that had just unfolded. “But the path continues for the rest. Let us return to the recruitment process. The next aspirant, please step forward.”

  And just like that, the world moved on.

  But my eyes lingered on that doorway… where greatness had just walked out.