The short-haired young man stepped forward, raising his hand above his head and clenching it into a fist. Then he brought it down sharply.
Vvvv
A stronger wind blew, ruffling the clothes and hair of the crowd. Some covered their faces with their hands, some shielded their children, and some simply opened their eyes wide, watching what was about to happen.
Thud
There was a muffled thud as ten iron rods, carried by the wind from the ship, plunged into the ground behind the short-haired young man.
"Your first test is to pull out these hundred-kilogram rods. Whoever manages to pull one out will earn the right to advance to the next stage."
The participants stirred, gazing reverently at the display of extraordinary power. They whispered to one another, pointed, and smiled with excitement. Among them, Tu Heng was the most agitated — his whole body trembled, his eyes quivered, and his clenched fists shook. This is it! Incredible strength! Fireballs, flying swords, lasers from the eyes — I want it all!
"Mr. Song," a young man with neatly groomed hair stepped out from among the participants. "My apologies, but there are only ten rods, and twenty-three of us. There won't be enough for everyone."
"You're right," Song nodded to the speaker. "The path of cultivation is a fusion of luck, perseverance, opportunity, hard work, and talent. Unfortunately, it is not meant for everyone. Your assessment will follow these principles, which means only ten will advance to the second stage."
He raised his hand, and the lines inscribed on the rods glowed aquamarine. "As for the matter of numbers — don't worry. Act freely. We'll determine who among you will move forward."
"Thank you for dispelling our doubts, Mr. Song," the young man said, bowing with his fist pressed to his palm.
"Begin," Sun said with a smile, stepping back toward his companions and watching as the young man approached one of the rods and placed his hand on it.
"Aaaah!"
Tu Heng shouted, spreading his fists to the sides and thrusting out his chest.
I know this test! I'm sure it's meant to measure one's potential. And who am I? A traveler! That means I must have something special — potential, hidden talent, treasure! Such a simple obstacle won't stop me!
He ran forward, rushing past the guy with the well-groomed hair, almost crashing into the rod from inertia. Digging his feet into the ground, he barely stopped, leaving streaks in the mud.
He grabbed the twelve-millimeter-thick rod, bent his legs into a squat, and began to pull. His hands reddened from the contact of bare skin against cold iron. He groaned but kept going.
Is he one of those eccentrics? I've heard of them in the sect, but I've never seen one in person. Are they all like him? Song wondered, but quickly pulled himself back to reality.
Tu Heng fell — he had exerted too much strength. His lower back gave out, he lost balance, and collapsed.
On the path of cultivation, it doesn't matter how many times you fall. What matters is whether you rise again. Come on… do it, Song thought, pausing to watch the fallen Tu Heng expectantly.
"Ah, damn it," Tu Heng grumbled, getting up. Seeing his dirty, crumpled clothes, he grimaced. "Take that!"
He kicked the rod, froze for a moment, then began hopping in a circle, clutching his foot. He jumped like that for nearly a minute before collapsing again.
Damn test! What barbarism! Who do they think I am? A modern man — the pinnacle of nature! I'll pass this test with modern methods!
He jumped up as quickly as he could, turned around, and ran off, showing the rod his middle finger on the way out.
The young man with the neat hairstyle watched him leave, shook his head, and began his attempt. The other participants followed: they approached and tried to pull the rods, some studying the carvings carefully, others touching the glowing lines. People murmured and debated among themselves.
Song approached the ship, where his companions stood.
"What an amusing show. Pity it ended so quickly," one of them said.
"You only ever think about fun, Ma Jian," Song sighed.
"Hehe, aside from that odd one, the rest are quite capable. Look," said the herb-scented girl, pointing at two older participants with stubble and broad shoulders. They pushed the rod from opposite sides, trying to dislodge it from the ground.
"The teamwork forms fast," Song noted. "Good observation, Su Rui."
"Who do you see as promising, Song? I'm watching that girl," Ma Jian said, nodding toward a thin girl wrapping her hands with a scarf before spinning around the rod.
Song pressed his hand to his lips, scanning the participants. "I haven't decided yet. Besides, it's wrong to pick favorites. Our job is to evaluate fairly and choose the worthy. After all, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance — their hopes must not be in vain."
He glanced at the villagers — they hadn't dispersed, staying as spectators. Adults spread fabrics and hides on the ground, seating elders and children, while chatting among themselves, pointing out relatives, acquaintances, sons, or daughters. A bearded man grabbed at the air as if holding an invisible rod, showing his friend how he would have pulled it out.
Song sighed and closed his eyes. The steady beating of his heart echoed pleasantly in his chest.
Someday, I'd like to live in a village like this… like the old eccentrics from the tales.
He looked at the sky, the river, the earth — and in the distance, a dusty cloud approached. Song frowned, Ma raised an eyebrow, and Su laughed.
Tu Heng was running, gasping for breath and tripping over the flat ground. People looked at him again, curious what he'd do next. Soon, they noticed what had worn him out — he was carrying a shovel.
He ran up to the rod, undeterred. The young man with neat hair stepped aside to give him space. Tu Heng lifted the shovel above his head, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and drove it into the ground with a dull thud.
Clumps of dirt flew into the air. The participants froze, silence hung for a moment — and then they all dashed back toward the village.
The villagers brightened — gasps and exclamations rippled through the crowd as if they had realized something.
"Well done, bastard," Zheng Te grinned, relaxing his muscles and lowering his arms.
Song, Su, and Ma simultaneously stepped back, almost pressing against the ship, whispering among themselves.
"They've chosen… an interesting approach. But now it'll be harder to select anyone in particular," Ma Jian clicked his tongue, frowning and crossing his arms. "Should I intervene, Song?"
"Leave them," Song sighed, scratching his head.
"What about the next test? How will we conduct the selection, Song?" Su asked.
"Let them all pass," Song replied. Ma frowned, about to protest, but Song pointed at him, cutting him off. "You'll conduct the next test yourself. I don't know how — use your ingenuity. Then we'll pick the best."
Ma nodded, his eyes gleaming, and his hand instinctively reached for his sleeve.
"Don't injure them," Song warned.
Ma just raised his hand, shaking his sleeve, from which came first the sound of steel, then the faint clinking of stones.
"Don't worry, I'll heal them if anything happens," Su said gently, patting Song on the shoulder.
Song nodded and turned his gaze back to Tu Heng, still lying in the mud. Other participants were returning from the village, carrying various tools as they approached the rods.
A resourceful guy.