The fourteen of them plummeted from the heavens, like a string of silver meteors streaking through the sky.
During the descent, the silver chain binding them all quietly dissolved, its essence merging into the bodies of each candidate.
Of this, Jing Qian unhesitatingly seized half for himself.
That chain was none other than the Banquet Spirit Qi, condensed from the power of the membrane and gathered from the surrounding cave-heavens.
With this qi absorbed, when these students one day attempted to ascend to the Star-Seizer realm, piercing the world membrane with their own power and linking to the celestial stars, they would face no barriers.
Only now had the Academy Banquet fully run its course. All that remained was the final stage, the great division of disciples among the sects, like cutting meat at a feast.
From the world's edge back to the ground was nearly a thousand miles. Midway through the descent, the other thirteen slowly awakened, none speaking a word, all focused on refining and absorbing the precious Spirit Qi within them.
At last, they landed once more within the Academy's cave-heaven, upon the high white jade platform.
There, eleven mighty cultivators had been waiting all along.
The twelve great Daoist academies of the realm were represented, save for Pure Yang Ruins, whose envoy had not come. The Ying Dynasty's chief priest presided; the rest were all present.
Counting the fourteen successful candidates, there were now exactly twenty-five figures standing upon the platform, each quietly sizing the others up.
Jing Qian's gaze too swept across the gathered experts, discerning the sect or academy each belonged to.
Each of the twelve academies had distinct traits; with some effort, he could tell them apart.
But what surprised him most was spotting an old acquaintance even here!
Representing Feathered Transformation Gate was none other than his former colleague, former superior, and former defeated rival Ling Mingji.
From the looks of it, Feathered Transformation Gate must truly have declined. Whenever a high-level representative was required, they sent Ling Mingji without even a replacement to rotate in. They might be stronger than Pure Yang Ruins, but not by much.
Yet being sent everywhere brought Ling Mingji no real benefit, only a delay in his own cultivation.
Among the ten sect envoys present, only Ling Mingji was at the sixth-rank Spirit-Suppressing level. The rest were all Earthfiend experts.
As the fourteen youths found their footing, the presiding master of ceremonies spoke:
"You fourteen have proven yourselves exceptional in talent and deep in foundation, your paths to the Dao are boundless!"
"Through this banquet, chosen by our Ying Dynasty, you may now enter any of the eleven academies listed upon the rolls, or you may join the Dynasty's own Court and be granted the office of an eighth-rank Spirit Officer."
"Consider carefully. Once chosen, the path cannot be undone."
He paused, giving them a brief moment to reflect.
In truth, most who made it this far had long since decided their destination. Some had already secured promises of acceptance from specific sects; there was no need for hesitation.
So the master wasted little time, continuing:
"Of the fourteen who have partaken of the Banquet Spirit Qi, only one Jing of the Jing Clan of the Hun Continent has glimpsed the true void beyond the membrane."
"By rule, the Dynasty will first recruit Spirit Officers. Only afterward shall the academies choose disciples in turn."
"Any student willing to serve as a Spirit Officer of the Dynasty, step forward."
At once, more than half did so, eight of the fourteen!
Even Fan Zhuoyan, who had fought hard to reach this point, resolutely joined the Dynasty's system.
For one of Yingdu's great clans, this was the best possible road.
From this day, he would begin as an eighth-rank Spirit Officer, starting at the deputy-director level, a future bright with prospects.
With his appointment, the troubles of the Fan family's main branch were all but erased, ushering in new growth opportunities.
This was exactly why the Ying Dynasty poured resources into the Academy Banquet: to snatch away the brightest talents of the realm. And they always reaped the lion's share.
Of the thirty-six continents' most gifted youths, they claimed more than half.
That left only six to be divided among the eleven academies, meaning some would inevitably go without. This too was tradition.
The more often a sect left empty-handed, the greater the gap between powers grew.
After the Spirit Officers had been chosen, the presiding master turned his gaze to Jing Qian:
"Scion of the Jing Clan, your talent is unmatched. You pierced the membrane and glimpsed the true void. Such achievement merits a reward from our Academy."
"Of the twelve academies, you may choose freely among them."
This was expected.
Jing Qian's expression did not waver. He simply bowed to the gathered masters and said:
"Honored presiding master, this disciple chooses Pure Yang Ruins.
This is the path my Dao heart has set upon, and so it must be."
Having spoken, Jing Qian felt sword-qi surge wildly through his sea of consciousness, endless intent and spirit welling up within him.
To have reached this day, he had endured countless trials. True, with his overwhelming strength, he had cut down every obstacle in his path. Yet only now, having truly fulfilled his long-held wish of formally taking a master's, did his heart finally relax.
This was a pivotal moment in his cultivation journey. Once he formally entered the Pure Yang Ruins and received its inheritance, the road ahead would completely open.
All the deep foundation he had laid would be converted into pure strength. Already, he was looking forward to it.
Jing Qian's choice made the other thirteen candidates turn their heads in unison. The strongest of their generation, choosing of his own accord to step into the "death pit" of Pure Yang Ruins, shocked all who knew the inside story.
Even Fan Zhuoyan had no idea his elder brother would choose Pure Yang Ruins. Had he known, he would have done everything to dissuade him.
To him, it made no sense that all powers, the Dynasty was the true giant. It had limitless space, inexhaustible resources, a stable system with guaranteed minimums, and no ceiling for advancement. Why run into the storm-tossed ruins of Pure Yang Ruins?
Yet neither the presiding master nor the ten other great cultivators reacted. None was surprised.
Simply by standing there, Jing Qian bore the unmistakable aura of a disciple destined for Pure Yang Ruins.
The presiding master only said:
"Since you have confirmed, so be it. Pure Yang Ruins is thin in numbers; no one came to this Academy Banquet to receive disciples on its behalf. Wait aside for now.
As for the rest of you, fellow Daoists, please step forward and choose your disciples."
Of the remaining five students, only the sects had the right to choose.
The nun of Mirror-Cloud Shrine casually pointed at one and claimed him, though her gaze never once strayed from Jing Qian.
Next, Stellar Kui Mountain's envoy stepped up to take their disciple, a youth brimming with astral power, clearly pre-arranged, only here to go through the motions.
After that, Hearth-King Hall, Cihang Monastery, and Chongxuan Palace each claimed one in turn.
Thus, every chosen talent found a home, and outwardly the sects remained harmonious.
But even this process revealed the hierarchy of the academies.
Mirror-Cloud Shrine, as host, had first pick; the rest chose in order of strength and standing.
Meanwhile, sects like Feathered Transformation Gate, ever at the bottom, and Pure Yang Ruins, which sent no one, were regular losers often left empty-handed.
Without new blood, what future could they have? The strong grew ever stronger; the weak were left without even broth to sip.
Just as the new disciples thought the banquet had truly ended, the presiding master spoke again:
"All formalities are nearly complete. Only the final matter remains the sects' contention.
Handle it among yourselves."
At this, Ling Mingji stepped forward and said to all:
"Fellow Daoists, my Feathered Transformation Gate voluntarily withdraws from this round of contention. Do as you will."
Then he retreated, washing his hands of it.
He had no choice; his strength was far below that of the gathered Earthfiend masters. He had no place in such a contest.
The so-called sect contention left all the candidates bewildered. Nowhere in their briefings had this ever been mentioned.
It was a secret clause, known only among the academies themselves, a mechanism to balance uneven disciple allocations.
Any sect that failed to obtain a disciple could challenge another sect's envoy directly. If they won, they could forcibly seize the disciple chosen by the other.
This was the Academy's way of letting struggling sects snatch a lifeline, preventing them from overturning the table entirely.
Feathered Transformation Gate merely played a walk-on role, not even attempting a challenge, further exposing its weakness.
Then, a shriveled monk, gaunt as a skeleton, stepped forward.
"I, on behalf of Wuchang Monastery, challenge Pure Yang Ruins for contention.
I ask the presiding master's permission."
"This Jing scion's talent is extraordinary, and his nature aligns with our Wuchang inheritance. He ought to enter our sect and walk the Impermanence Dao with us!"
The monk's rasping voice was like splitting wood, but his words left Jing Qian utterly dumbfounded.
So there was such a trick?
They actually wanted to drag him off to be a monk?
He was speechless.
He had long expected interference from the Three Lower Sects, but never imagined they would attack from such a sly and "legitimate" angle.
The monk's gaze was dark, fixed on Jing Qian as if on a piece of prime meat.
With no envoy of Pure Yang Ruins present, there was no one to answer the challenge. By rule, this was a certain defeat.
For over a thousand years, the Three Lower Sects Wuchang Monastery, Blood River Sect, and Mirror-Cloud Shrine had used such despicable tactics to squeeze Pure Yang Ruins' very life.
Whenever a disciple was allotted to Pure Yang Ruins, they would exploit this rule and snatch the disciple away.
They cared nothing for the disciple's path or whether he fit their cultivation. Their only aim was to choke Pure Yang Ruins' inheritance out of existence.
And all of it was perfectly legal under the Academy's rules. None could intervene.
With Shangxi bound to his mountain and none left in Pure Yang Ruins to fight, once Wuchang Monastery made the demand, Pure Yang Ruins was doomed to defeat without battle.
And so, Jing Qian was forced, at least on the surface, to change allegiance, seemingly destined to become a monk.
The presiding master addressed him:
"Jing family boy, since Pure Yang Ruins sent no one, there is no one to answer the challenge in this struggle for succession. Without a fight, it is a certain defeat.
As things stand, you can only go to Wuchang Monastery to cultivate.
However, you were the foremost of this banquet's candidates. If you come to your senses and are willing to join the Dynasty system instead, I can grant you one chance to make another choice."
"This is against the rules, Master!"
The gaunt monk from Wuchang Monastery immediately cut in upon hearing the presiding master's words.
The Three Lower Sects had carefully arranged this siege against Pure Yang Ruins' lone inheritor. Even the presiding master, throwing in a twist, could not be tolerated!
Facing a Star-Seizing cultivator, the monk still dared to argue firmly, his tone cold and hard:
"My lord, this contest of succession is the rightful privilege of our sects. Even you cannot change it at will.
In this banquet, we have employed no trickery; everything was by your arrangement. You cannot humiliate Wuchang Monastery in this way!"
The presiding master glanced at him but did not reply. Instead, he continued speaking to Jing Qian:
"Do not concern yourself with others' opinions. If you agree to join the Dynasty Academy, I can personally shield you, block them, and guarantee you a proper place to cultivate.
In our Dynasty, every inheritance exists. We hold twenty-three direct paths to the Upper Three Ranks, more than enough to ensure your advancement."
The presiding master truly valued talent. A gem like Jing Qian was one in a thousand years. He could not bear to see him dragged off and wasted.
And with his authority, as long as Jing Qian had not formally sworn into Pure Yang Ruins, the Three Lower Sects could hardly raise a fuss. If the Dynasty itself plucked the peach from the Pure Yang Ruins' tree, that only diverted Shangxi's wrath away from them. That this foolish monk didn't recognize the favor only made the master shake his head.
As the two great cultivators exchanged words, every eye locked on Jing Qian, waiting for his decision.
Such a prodigy, and yet a disciple of Pure Yang Ruins, pity his cultivation was too shallow to command his own fate.
It seemed inevitable: he would have to abandon his chosen sect and begin anew under the Dynasty.
But just when everyone thought Jing Qian would wisely forsake Pure Yang Ruins, the unexpected happened.
He raised his hand, summoning a razor-sharp sword-light that hung over his brow, its tip fixed firmly on the gaunt monk.
Then he spoke:
"Who says Pure Yang Ruins has no one present?
Since I have passed the Academy Banquet and entered Pure Yang Ruins, I am of Pure Yang Ruins.
Master, if you wish to seize the heirship of Pure Yang Ruins, then come and test my sword!
If you defeat me, I will abandon my sword-cultivation entirely. I will shave my head and follow you into monkhood, why not?"
"Heh…"
The gaunt monk's response was a mocking sneer.
This child had little strength and no sense of heaven and earth; challenging him was nothing but a death wish.
The gap in realm between them was so vast that everyone assumed Jing Qian had lost his wits.
Yet the way his sword-light blazed, ready to strike at any moment, showed he was not joking.
Faced with such resolve, the presiding master did not press further.
He had already offered a lifeline; since the boy refused, there was no point in more words.
Strength aside, to draw his sword without hesitation against an enemy far beyond him, this was the very spirit of the Pure Yang swordsmen of old.
That spirit, long vanished from the Yingfutu Realm, stirred in the presiding master's memory.
He declared:
"There has never been such a precedent!
But, Jing family boy, since you so insist, I will grant your request.
You are now a disciple of Pure Yang Ruins. If you wish to answer the challenge for its heirship, then step down!"
The moment he finished, Jing Qian became a streak of sword-light, flying off the jade platform to hover a thousand fathoms below.
There, he faced the monk and said:
"May I ask Master's name? Forgive my offense."
"I am Zhujue of Wuchang Monastery. Boy, it is not too late to regret."
The skeletal monk descended slowly from the platform, striding toward Jing Qian.
But Jing Qian spoke again:
"Greetings, Master Zhujue. It is not that I scorn Wuchang's Dharma.
Even with my meager talent, if I forced myself, I could train in your arts. In three to five years, I will not fall too far behind you.
But alas, Master, you are simply too hideous. I was born a man who values beauty, and I cannot bring myself to keep such company."
"Hahahaha cough, cough!"
His opening words carried a sting of humor. Even on the eve of a battle that would decide his life's path, Jing Qian showed not the faintest nervousness!
Zhujue's expression only grew colder and darker.
The boy's tongue was sharp, refusing to yield even half a step, showing not the slightest respect.
Just as the monk was about to counter with words, the youth vanished without warning.
An instant later, blazing sword-light erupted, piercing the heavens, already slashing toward Zhujue's brow.
When it came to true combat experience, this withered monk was not worth a hair compared to Jing Qian!
"Ah!"
The scene that followed was terrifying: an Earthfiend grand cultivator's body was cleaved apart, his Spiritual Construct shattered, his fiendfire extinguished, erased in a single stroke.
That shriveled monk could never have imagined he would fail to withstand even a single blow.
Jing Qian had never intended to hold back. This was his strongest strike without drawing upon his core sword-essence
a strike empowered with the Fate Locking Needle Spiritual Construct, stacked atop an Opening-Heaven Sword Momentum, and reinforced by the dimensional might of Sumeru.
He poured the entirety of his cultivation foundation into this blow.
With the Pure Yang Heaven's doctrine of ultimate offense, his attack power was raised to the absolute extreme, shattering every expectation.
No matter how many times Jing Qian had defied the odds against mid-tier grandmasters, to those unfamiliar with him, seeing him cut down an Earthfiend expert in one sword was a thunderous declaration to the world.
After countless years, Pure Yang Ruins finally had a disciple worthy of Shangxi Zhenren!
Those monsters and demons who had suppressed Pure Yang Ruins for so long, were they prepared for what was coming?
The presiding master, along with everyone present, fixed their eyes on Jing Qian as he sat with eyes closed, quietly recovering his essence.
The master's gaze shone with intensity, as though he were beholding a peerless treasure.
Moments ago, his desire to recruit Jing Qian had been only a passing thought out of pity for wasted talent.
Now it had risen to the highest of priorities.
"Brilliant!" he couldn't help but exclaim.
"Do any of the others wish to contest for succession?"
Among the gathered grand cultivators, murmurs passed between them.
Then, the great cultivator from Kitchen King Hall spoke:
"Shengji, stop wasting everyone's time. Since Blood River's Wuying isn't here, it falls to you to test this Pure Yang son's worth."
The stunning woman from Mirror Cloud Shrine turned her gaze upon him, cold and sharp as a blade. Word by word, she declared:
"In the Yingfutu Realm, no Pure Yang son shall ever rise again.
There has been none these past three thousand years.
There will be none now.
And there will be none in the next three thousand years!"
Then she addressed the presiding master:
"My lord, Mirror Cloud Shrine will relinquish the disciple we just claimed to the Blood River Sect.
In return, I volunteer to challenge this Jing Dao-you of Pure Yang Ruins for succession. I beg your permission."
Before the presiding master could reply, the woman leapt from the jade dais, flying straight toward Jing Qian.
Her eyes flared with double pupils, and her entire bearing shifted in an instant.
A moment ago, she had been a delicate, refined beauty. Now, she seemed like a ghastly specter.
Beneath her skin, something writhed and pressed outward, as though it might burst through her flesh at any moment.
The Three Lower Sects were deeply tied to Yanfu Dao.
Each sect's path corresponded to one of Yanfu Dao's three branches.
The now-slain monk of Wuchang Monastery cultivated the "Death-Imbuing" branch, masters of curses and unseen malice.
Blood River Sect followed the "Flesh-Feast" branch, focused on blood and body, forging rivers of gore to devour all qi.
And the eerie woman before him, from Mirror Cloud Shrine, cultivated the same branch as Jing Qian Ghost-Driving.
She was, without doubt, the strongest among the Three Lower Sects' representatives here.
All of their Star-Seizing grandmasters had gone to block Shangxi Zhenren's descent.
Her sole mission at this banquet was clear: to prevent the Pure Yang inheritor from ever entering Pure Yang Ruins, from ever meeting Shangxi face-to-face.
Now that the situation had shifted, she could no longer conceal herself.
This was the current shrine-maiden of Mirror Cloud Shrine, bearer of the heavenly title "Daughter of Ghosts."
Her power was leagues beyond that of an ordinary Earthfiend.
Without doubt, this would be the most formidable battle Jing Qian had ever faced.
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