Senior Sister's lips curved into a faint smile, her hair ribbon fluttering freely in the mountain breeze.
"You are now disciples of the Li Shi Pavilion. Naturally, you must also take upon yourselves the duty of guiding others toward virtue."
"To lead astray demonic disciples back onto the righteous path—that will be the goal of your trial."
"Conveniently, there are still two days before the next secret realm opens. You will both set out now, and return here at this time tomorrow."
"Whoever can find the greater number of demonic disciples and persuade them to enter the secret realm under our Li Shi Pavilion's banner shall be the victor."
At these words, Wen Shan's expression immediately turned strange.
Though Senior Sister's reasoning seemed righteous, her words perfectly aligned with the doctrines of orthodox sects… why did this task feel like it had been prepared specifically for him?
After all, who could guess that this "new scholar" of the Pavilion actually had his true roots in the Grand Heaven Demonic Sect, thousands of li away?
To him, finding demonic cultivators willing to defect was child's play. If nothing else, he could simply pluck a few from Liu Meng's domain. That alone would be enough to outshine his fellow disciple with little effort.
While Wen Shan looked amused, Wen Yuan's face stiffened.
His already flushed cheeks turned redder still, and beads of sweat rolled down his temples. The task before him was clearly one he least wished to face.
At last, gathering his courage, he raised his hand weakly:
"Senior Sister… perhaps… perhaps this trial should be entrusted to Wen Shan instead. I… I choose to withdraw."
At once, Senior Sister's face hardened. Her voice rang sharp, cutting away his hesitation:
"Nonsense! This contest tests not only your adaptability but also the steadiness of your Dao heart. If you shrink from hardship and shy away from danger, how will you ever pierce through to the Grand Dao and seek eternal life? With such weakness, where is your determination of heart?"
Shamed into silence, Wen Yuan lowered his head, cheeks burning scarlet, no longer daring to protest.
"Hmph." Senior Sister's cold snort cut the air. Her sharp gaze swept across both disciples as her tone grew even more severe.
"Wen Shan. Wen Yuan. Hear me clearly. If by this time tomorrow you fail to bring back even a single demonic cultivator, then I shall question whether either of you is truly qualified to be considered disciples of Li Shi Pavilion."
The weight of her words struck both men's hearts like thunder.
With a flick of her sleeve, she extended two slender fingers. With a snap, twin beams of light blossomed in the air.
Before Wen Yuan appeared the mark of a flowing river.
Before Wen Shan appeared the mark of a mountain.
"When you find demonic cultivators, hand them a token engraved with your mark. Once they arrive here, I will know by whose guidance they came."
Hearing this, Wen Yuan's head drooped low again, his mind already racing in frantic circles. Where in the world could he possibly find a demon disciple willing to forsake their path for righteousness?
But Wen Shan, after bowing in farewell to the two fairies, turned and departed without hesitation. His steps were firm, his figure soon swallowed by the forest shadows. It was clear he already had a plan in mind.
Meanwhile, far away in his secluded chamber, Liu Ming was summoning yet another avatar.
[Summoning avatar—]
[Random appearance generated]
[Please assign talent]
"Assign: 'Muddle Through.'"
[Talent assignment successful]
[Please name avatar]
"Liu Twelve."
At once, a plain-faced, average-looking man appeared quietly within the chamber.
This newly-born Liu Twelve possessed the talent of "Muddle Through"—a passive knack that seemed vague, and for now, of little use.
Following custom, Liu Ming tested him with alchemy and talisman crafting. As expected, the results were abysmal—worse even than Liu Ming's own mediocre attempts.
But this did not surprise him. He was slowly realizing that alchemy and talisman-making were arts attainable only to the rare few.
If Liu Twelve could do nothing else… what purpose should he serve? Should he remain in the cave as a disposable "blood slave"? Or should he risk sending him again to the Three Talents Market, gambling on the chance to acquire refining techniques?
The latter was quickly dismissed—resources were already stretched thin. Adding another complex craft would only worsen matters.
Just then, Wen Shan received his mission:
To seek demonic cultivators, guide them into the secret realm, and lead them to abandon their sect.
As soon as he heard it, a plan quietly formed in his mind.
Elsewhere, Liu Meng descended gracefully from her high platform, her every step exuding elegance. She made her way toward the prison chambers deep within her cave.
Everywhere she passed, decadent music echoed, and the very air reeked of indulgence and decay.
Inside the cells were countless men—faces vacant, eyes hollow. Though the sect could buy thousands of mortals for mere coins, only a fraction survived long enough to end up here.
These men were not treasures but fuel.
Those with a trace of talent in the "Profound Arts" could scrape by a little longer… those without died after but a single use, their bodies drained lifeless by the sect's voracious maids.
The higher the maids' cultivation climbed, the faster these men dwindled.
Liu Meng noted this silently, already planning to send Qingyue to purchase another batch later.
But for now, she would deliberately allow a few to "escape."
At her command, several men who had barely reached the Qi Refining stage were dragged to the great hall.
Though exhausted from constant torment, they remained demonic cultivators by lineage and practice.
After dismissing the attendants with a flimsy excuse, Liu Meng allowed a masked figure—Liu Twelve—to lead the men quietly from the cave.
The "escaped" captives wept with gratitude, though their eyes still brimmed with despair. They knew well: the venomous imprint branded upon their souls meant they could never truly flee. At their mistress's whim, they could collapse dead on the spot.
But Liu Twelve lowered his voice, offering them a sliver of hope:
"Your chance has come. If you enter the secret realm I tell you of, you may sever the brand within your souls—freeing yourselves from the Demonic Sect's control."
From his robe, he produced ten wooden tokens, pressing one into each trembling hand.
"As long as you carry this, the righteous sect there will not bar your way."
"Quickly—follow me! If they discover your escape, it will be too late."
Without hesitation, he raced down the mountain.
The captives stumbled after, clenching the tokens as though they were lifelines.
Upon each token's face was carved a single image—
The mark of a mountain.