Lan stood silently at the center of the open circle. The immense hall, once filled with whispers, was now utterly still, waiting for her to speak.

  At last, with visible hesitation, she took a small step forward and bowed.

  She offered a deep, respectful gesture toward the masters on their raised platform.She then turned her body slightly, bowing again toward the white and black robed cultivators seated in their respective rings, acknowledging them as senior pathwalkers on the road she had only just stepped upon.

  Her voice, when it came, was soft but somewhat shaken.

  "My name is Lan Rou. I greet the honored and respected cultivators.”

  The announcer gave a respectful nod to Lan Rou as she retreated to her place among the three.

  Then, turning back toward the sect representative seated above, he raised his voice once more with crisp clarity.

  “Honorable Great Sects, as custom dictates, please rise in order from right to left. State your name, your position within your sect, the name of your sect, the path your sect is most known for, and what you offer to Lan Rou should she accept your invitation.”

  He stepped back, folding his arms respectfully behind him.

  A heavy silence followed… until the one seated furthest to the right stood.

  He wore a robe of deep, forest green with jade accents, and on his chest was a silver emblem of a serpent coiling around a blossoming branch.

  When he spoke, his voice was smooth… yet somehow every syllable cut through the chamber with the weight of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

  "I am Elder Qing Yanluo of Qingcheng Sect."

  He placed a single hand over his chest and gave a shallow, refined bow. His eyes never left her.

  "The Qingcheng Sect has long followed the Way of the Hidden Flow. We cultivate agility, clarity of mind, and mastery over inner balance. While others proclaim their presence for all to see, we strike like mist—unseen, swift, and precise."

  “Our sect walks a path shaped by short blades and hidden weapons. Our disciples train in light-footwork, misdirection, and the art of striking not once, but precisely when it matters most.”

  He gestured faintly, and from his sleeve slipped a silver pin no longer than a finger—sharp, narrow, and almost invisible until it caught the light. With a flick of his wrist, it vanished again.

  “Your soul weapon, I must admit, does not align with our martial lineage. It is long, elegant… too pronounced for the close-quarter precision our methods are built upon.”

  A pause followed, as murmurs stirred lightly among the crowd—but his expression did not falter.

  Then he continued, voice now lower, smoother, almost entrancing:

  “But cultivation is not always about the blade. It is about what grows beneath the blade. The balance within. The harmony between movement, Qi, and soul. In that, you and Qingcheng may not be opposed, but complementary.”

  He raised a hand, this time forming a soft spiral of green and black mist, from which a single spectral orchid bloomed—its petals dark and gleaming with threads of silver.

  "We offer techniques that refine agility, cleanse the body of all poison, and grant unparalleled control over movement and breath. Should you walk with us, hidden gardens filled with rare medicinal herbs will be made available to you in abundance to aid your cultivation."

  He let the orchid dissolve silently into the air, its fragrance faint but haunting.

  With a final graceful bow, he returned to his seat, leaving behind the lingering scent of temptation.

  The hall was still once more, until the next elder shifted to rise.

  His presence was the opposite of the one before.

  Wearing an orange-yellow robe with dark brown trim, the elder stood tall with a straight posture that didn’t feel arrogant. He was broad-shouldered but not bulky, and even though his head was clean-shaven, there was a weight to his expression that hinted at centuries of deep meditation.

  When he bowed, it was deep and deliberate.

  “Amitabha.”

  His voice rang low and steady, reverberating like the striking of a temple bell.

  “I am Elder Bao Rujing of the Shaolin Sect.”

  “The Shaolin Sect has endured since ancient times. Our path is one of stillness, then movement. Of purity in Qi and discipline in mind. We seek not after power… but harmony with all living things. While others chase the heavens, we work on perfecting the temple within.”

  He folded his hands together with a soft clap, and a staff appeared between them, humming with a faint vibration.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Our techniques are rooted in the body—staff and fist. We teach not flash nor fury, but foundation. The strength to stand still when others break. The clarity to act only when it is righteous.”

  He looked directly at Lan Rou now, and his voice softened—not in weakness, but in compassion.

  “Your soul weapon is like a river: graceful in flow, deadly in force. But even rivers require banks—discipline and direction. With us, you will forge not just power, but purpose.”

  He stepped forward with a single motion and extended his palm. A golden light bloomed softly in his hand, then formed into the image of a golden lotus, spinning slowly in perfect stillness.

  “We offer techniques that fortify the spirit—resisting fear, illusion, charms, and all forms of mental disruption. Alongside them, methods to temper the body, enhancing endurance and resilience, which will prove invaluable when wielding a weapon of such length and weight with a frame as delicate as yours. And lastly, the Purity Pill—a rare medicinal treasure refined but once every thirty years, capable of cleansing even the deepest-rooted impurities within the meridians, paving a smoother path forward in cultivation.”

  With one final look—less a recruitment, more a benediction—he bowed again.

  “Should your path be righteous… the temple is open to you.”

  And then, in calm grace, he returned to his seat.

  The golden lotus lingered a moment longer in the air before fading into soft motes of light.

  As their words faded into the silence once more, I found myself holding my breath without realizing it.

  Immunity to poisons? Protection from mental disruption? Full access to rare herb gardens, techniques to refine the body, a pill to cleanse the meridians? These weren’t mere invitations—they were gifts. Life-altering advantages offered as casually as one might offer tea to a guest.

  They spoke as though such treasures were common within their sects, as if every disciple would be bathed in divine elixirs and trained under the sect leader himself.

  But I wasn’t foolish.

  No sect offered these to just anyone. These weren’t generous promises, they were bids. Weapons in a silent war to win the favor of a person the heavens had already crowned.

  Had I been the one standing in that circle instead of Lan Rou… I could only dream of what might have been offered, if anything at all.

  And that was only two of the five.

  I glanced at the remaining sect elders still seated.

  What could they offer her that could eclipse this?

  My fingers clenched instinctively.

  This world… was made for people like her.

  I couldn’t help but wonder—how much further would the heavens tilt in her favor?

  The air stirred once more as the next elder rose.

  Clad in a flowing robe of deep blue trimmed with pristine white, the man moved with a quiet grace. He bowed with a gesture both elegant and effortless, hands folding together in silent respect.

  Then he spoke.

  “I am Elder Fang Heyi of the Wudang Sect.”

  “Wudang’s path is one of harmony between body and mind. We walk with the Dao, not against it. We do not force, but flow. Like water shaping stone.”

  He stepped forward just slightly, his hands still folded, eyes half-lidded in tranquil poise.

  “Our techniques emphasize redirection over resistance, balance over brute strength. Where the honorable Shaolin Sect teaches the strength to endure and stand unmoved, we teach the art of yielding, of flowing around the force instead of standing before it. Our focus lies in swordsmanship, whether it be long sword, greatsword, or your own sword, Miss Rou. Our sword techniques are rooted in stillness and expressed through motion, forming one of the most revered long sword disciplines in the cultivation world."

  He raised his hand, and a long, slender sword slid gracefully off the edge of the blade, as if the weapon itself refused to be confined by any fixed form.

  "Yours is a blade of elegance," he said, meeting Lan Rou’s gaze. "It wasn’t forged to cleave mountains, but to pierce the veil of illusion. Among us, such a weapon wouldn’t be an oddity—it would be a centerpiece. Your sword was meant to walk our path."

  With a single, seamless motion, he performed a sword form. The blade moved like a ribbon of water, impossible to follow with the eyes. As he finished, the sword dissolved into mist.

  “We offer you techniques rooted in the long sword, along with methods suited to your more delicate frame—techniques that turn overwhelming strength back against the brute foolish enough to threaten such grace. ”

  From his sleeve, he produced a small porcelain vial, engraved with the shape of flowing clouds.

  “We also present the Clear Mind Elixir—a tonic that sharpens thought, steadies turbulent Qi, and purifies the spirit. With it, one may see the world more clearly… Literally.”

  He bowed a final time, before returning to his seat, silence folding around.

  I didn’t entirely understand what that Clear Mind Elixir was supposed to do. His explanation had been wrapped in flowery words, but from what I could gather, it seemed to sharpen the senses, settle the Qi, and… clear the mind. A tool to help a cultivator stay calm and focused perhaps? Useful, no doubt, but far less extravagant than the pill or the herb garden.

  Still… I could see why his offer stood shoulder to shoulder with the ones before him.

  It wasn’t just about what was given.

  It was about where it led.

  Wudang specialized in the long sword. Their entire cultivation path seemed perfectly suited for someone like Lan Rou, whose Soul Weapon was nearly as tall as she was and thinner than a finger.

  They didn’t promise force. They promised finesse.

  And more importantly, their techniques were built around deflection, misdirection, and flowing around the enemy—ideal for someone with a delicate build and subtle strength. Not everyone could take a hit. But some could ensure they never had to.

  Even with the simplest offer on paper, Wudang’s alignment with her body and soul weapon made their bid every bit as tempting as the ones that came before.

  Just as the quiet began to settle once more, movement drew every eye back to the platform.

  Another figure rose.

  His robe was white as untouched silk, with flowing patterns of pale pink embroidered into the sleeves and hem. The colors were soft, but his presence was anything but.

  He stepped forward, the soft brush of his garments barely making a sound.

  The fourth sect was about to reveal itself.

  And from the silence that fell over the room… we all knew.

  These final two would be different.