After this experience, another five days passed, marking a full two months since Zhang Tian had arrived in this new world.

  The final few disciples, those with the weakest talent, had finally broken through to the second realm of Qi Condensation. Their spiritual sense was now awakened, if only faintly.

  Xiao Fang stood before them with her usual composed elegance, hands csped neatly in front of her. Behind her, the tiger yawned zily, licking its paw like a disinterested observer of the mortal world.

  The group of youths instinctively straightened, all eyes on her, tinged with curiosity and anticipation.

  Zhang Tian, not wanting to stand out, mirrored their posture—shoulders back, expression focused—but inwardly, his thoughts were far from collected.

  How did I even end up here? he sighed internally, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

  His life on Earth, as mundane as it may have once seemed, now glimmered like a paradise of lost comforts.

  He missed things others here could never understand—simple, human things. Going to the bathroom in peace. A clean, hot shower. Even being able to wash his hands with scented soap instead of at a cold stream. And food—he missed real food. Not the bnd bread, tasteless stew, and occasional slivers of dried meat they were served here. It wasn’t starvation—but it certainly wasn’t fvor.

  He missed salt. Spice. Oil. Fried chicken.

  No, scratch that. He missed everything.

  Even a microwave meal would be heaven right now.

  He also missed his quiet days, his headphones, games, scrolling through his phone. His university lectures—even the boring ones. His girlfriend’s ugh. The comfort of hearing his mother’s voice. The warmth of a soft bed. A heater in winter.

  And most of all?

  He missed choice.

  In this world, every step was survival, silence, or struggle. You either meditated, cultivated, or got swallowed up by the stronger. Even downtime wasn’t truly free. Groups had naturally formed among the disciples. There were those who gathered to gossip—mostly girls. Others, particurly a few of the boys, leaned toward posturing or veiled bullying of the weakest.

  Zhang Tian didn’t fit neatly into any of these groups. He was quiet, polite, and just skilled enough to avoid becoming a target. But he was also just distant enough to be left alone.

  No shows. No movies. No ramen. No messaging my friends. Just stew and spiritual sense. Fantastic.

  Before his thoughts could spiral further, Xiao Fang's voice cut through the quiet morning.

  “Now that all of you have reached the second realm of Qi Condensation,” she said, “we proceed to the next part of your assessment.”

  The disciples stilled.

  “You will each engage in a match against a senior outer sect disciple. These will not be life-and-death battles—merely demonstrations. Their purpose is to evaluate your martial foundation, your talent in battle.”

  A ripple of tension passed through the crowd.

  “You will be scored based on three tiers,” she continued. “A score of 1 is the highest—indicative of exceptional martial talent and potential. 2 is above average, and 3 denotes a basic foundation. None of these scores are final judgments. They will simply help determine your pcement in the sect when we arrive.”

  Zhang Tian felt a knot form in his stomach.

  Of course there’s fighting.

  He wasn’t weak by any means. He’d been a martial genius in the mortal world before all of this. But compared to others here, who might have trained since early childhood under cn methods or cultivated under guidance, he was still adapting.

  When his turn came, he fought with calm movements and solid technique—nothing fshy, but undeniably sharp. His strikes were clean, his footwork precise. He lost, as expected, but not easily.

  When the results were posted ter that evening, Zhang Tian found his name listed among those who received a score of 2.

  Better than average, he thought. But not extraordinary.

  He was relieved more than anything.

  Only five disciples had received a score of 1—undeniably talented in martial combat. A handful, including himself, were awarded a 2. The majority fell into the 3 tier—promising in survival, essence control, or spiritual potential, but clearly cking martial refinement.

  This, as Xiao Fang expined, was normal.

  “Not all disciples excel at martial combat,” she said. “Some of you will pursue alchemy, formation arts, talismans, beast-taming, or soul refinement. But this test gives us a window into how you act under pressure—and how well your foundation supports you.”

  Zhang Tian nodded slowly to himself.

  I suppose... this wasn’t so bad.

  And somewhere, far beneath that thought—buried deeper than even his spiritual consciousness—Stoneheart remained silent, watching without judgment, unmoved by tests or titles.

  In the blink of an eye, three days passed in quiet rest and recovery. After the intense battles, each youth had been provided with a recovery pill—cheap by cultivator standards, yet still considered precious by mortals. These were the lowest-tier immortal medicines, but even so, they worked efficiently to stabilize qi and mend minor injuries.

  After some time to themselves, the disciples were summoned once more.

  This time, Xiao Fang led them to a secluded mountain peak, still nestled safely within the boundaries of the sect’s protective formations. The summit was wide and ft, encircled by formation fgs that shimmered faintly in the morning light. At the center stood a stone pedestal, ancient and marked with carved characters along its base. Hovering above it was a softly glowing orb, radiating a serene light.

  The youths stood in silent awe, gazing curiously at the strange formation. Even Zhang Tian found himself intrigued, his usual guarded indifference slipping into quiet wonder.

  Xiao Fang smiled faintly, sensing their curiosity.

  “This is the Heart Mirror Formation,” she said, her voice calm. “A tool of the sect, used to test the spirit. It creates a dream world that draws out your inner self—your willpower, your patience, your sense of self.”

  She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in.

  “In this trial, you will live out a mortal life. You will forget who you are, what you’ve learned, and even that this is a test. You will fully believe you are someone else.”

  A murmur of surprise spread through the group.

  “Those who break free the fastest will receive the highest score. But fear not—though the emotions may feel real while you are inside, the formation seals off your spiritual consciousness from any sting harm. When you wake, it will feel like a distant memory. Distant, but still meaningful.”

  One by one, the disciples stepped forward, entering the formation. The orb pulsed brighter with each entry.

  When it was Zhang Tian’s turn, he hesitated only briefly before stepping into the light.

  He was born as Lan Tian, the only son of a wealthy merchant family.

  His early years were filled with comfort. His family traded silk and dyes, respected and well-off. He wore fine robes, ate rich food, and was taught poetry and calligraphy by a private tutor.

  But by the time he was sixteen, the foundation of that life crumbled. Business rivals schemed, and his father was imprisoned on false charges. Their assets were seized. His mother, frail in health, passed soon after.

  Lan Tian left the vilge in shame and heartbreak.

  Years passed.

  He drifted from town to town, boring where he could. Eventually, he settled in a modest vilge. There, he met a kind woman named Mei. They married quietly. Children came—two sons and a daughter.

  He lived humbly but happily. The vilgers came to trust him. He was elected vilge chief, though he never sought the title. He mediated disputes, led harvest rituals, and protected the fields from bandits.

  But the world was not kind.

  One day, the horizon darkened with fire.

  A neighboring kingdom invaded. The vilge stood at the border, and war swept through like a storm. Lan Tian survived the chaos by sheer luck.

  When he returned, his home was ash. His wife’s shawl y among the ruins. His children... were gone.

  He buried them with trembling hands and hollow eyes.

  After wandering again, he finally settled in a small, forgotten vilge as a soap maker. He became known as Grandpa Lan—kind, soft-spoken, loved by children, respected by adults. He smiled gently, avoided conflict, and never spoke of his past.

  But time wore on.

  At the age of sixty, while washing his hands in the cold water of his basin, he stared into the mirror-like surface—and paused.

  Something was wrong.

  The vilgers' smiles felt too perfect. Their replies, too rehearsed. He began to question them. Subtly at first. Then openly.

  They looked at him strangely. They whispered.

  He stopped asking.

  If this is fake... then maybe dying will wake me up.

  But the thought chilled him. Even in doubt, he feared death too deeply to risk it. So he remained. Silent. Smiling. Pying the role.

  Waiting.

  When Zhang Tian opened his eyes, the memory of that life clung to him like mist—fading, yet present. The sorrow of Grandpa Lan lingered in the corners of his chest, like an echo.

  He was one of the st to awaken.

  Nearby, a stone tablet shimmered softly, revealing each disciple’s results.

  Zhang Tian found his name.

  Score: 3

  He stared at it in silence.

  He had expected it. After all, he wasn’t truly of this world. But some small, unreasonable part of him had quietly hoped for a 2.

  I stayed too long, he thought. I couldn’t let go… not even at the end.

  Only four others still y within the glow of the formation. One of them had high aptitude, another middle, and the st two were known for having the weakest spiritual roots.

  To everyone’s surprise, the first to wake had been a boy with the lowest recorded talent—a quiet, often-overlooked youth named Lang Chufeng.

  Zhang Tian gnced at the stone tablet again.

  Lang Chufeng – Score: 1

  He blinked.

  A score of 1?

  The name alone sounded like it belonged to a genius—heroic, poetic, destined. But Lang Chufeng had never stood out before. His essence tests were poor. His talent was considered among the weakest. And yet…

  He woke first.

  He broke free faster than any of us.

  Zhang Tian sat quietly, staring at the boy who now stood silently at the edge of the clearing, his eyes distant, posture calm.

  Maybe talent isn’t as simple as numbers, Zhang Tian thought. Maybe there’s more to strength than roots and rankings.

  The memories of Grandpa Lan faded further, like mist burned away by morning light.

  But the questions they left behind would remain for a long time to come.

  After Zhang Tian awoke, Xiao Fang had the group remain seated quietly.