s Li Yan followed the column forward, he quietly mulled over the situation. "Look at Marshal Hong up on the platform, his eyes fixed intently on this side. There must be more going on in that tent than mere registration. Could they be testing something else? The tent itself doesn't seem very spacious—hardly large enough for a full display of martial prowess. Could this military recruitment even be evaluating literary talent?" he wondered.
Lost in thought with his head bowed, he suddenly noticed that the last person in line ahead had already stepped into the tent. The space before him had noticeably cleared, yet when he looked up, the newcomer had already drawn the curtain, obscuring the inner view. Li Yan decided not to dwell on it. Instead, he stood quietly and waited.
After several dozen breaths had passed, someone lifted the curtain and emerged—it was the very person who had just entered. That man, while pulling down the sleeve on one wrist, wore an expression of utter confusion and bewilderment. At the urging of a nearby soldier, he was directed to join the rear of the middle row of recruits. Then one of the soldiers pointed directly at Li Yan and said, "You—step forward." Obediently, Li Yan advanced toward the tent.
Behind the curtain, upon entering the dim interior of the tent, Li Yan immediately felt the sudden drop in light. He closed his eyes for a moment to acclimate and then reopened them. Before him stood only a small, low table. Behind the table sat a man of about forty, cross-legged on a modest rug. He wore a scholar's cap and a loose black robe whose lower hem spread on the ground, lending him a statuesque look despite being only slightly taller than Li Yan. His face was gaunt and narrow, tinted with a bluish-gray pallor. A long, drifting beard brushed his chest, and his hands were folded neatly in his sleeves before his chest, partly hidden by the rug. Every now and then, his narrow eyes would flicker with a sharp glimmer of insight as he studied Li Yan. Noticing Li Yan's gaze, the man extended a long, fair finger from within his sleeve and pointed at the small rug on the table, saying simply, "Sit."
Li Yan approached the table and sat down. It wasn't long before he noticed an unfolded cloth bag laid on its surface. The bag's outer fabric was lined with rows of small pouches stitched vertically, each pouch's opening facing upward. In each pouch lay a number of fine silver needles, their tips catching the light with a chilling gleam.
Staring at those rows of glittering silver needles, Li Yan's stomach churned. "Where are the brushes, ink, and paper? How am I supposed to record anything with these?" he thought, his mind racing with uncertainty. His heart pounded as he wondered what purpose these needles could possibly serve.
Seeing Li Yan's hesitant stare, the man in the black robe spoke in a soft, measured tone: "Do not worry—they are here only to test your meridians. If your energy channels are sound, then perhaps fate holds something extraordinary for you."
After a brief moment of consideration, Li Yan, recognizing he was now past the point of no return, settled himself cross-legged—just as the man behind the table had done. He had come here, and no amount of extra thought would help him bypass this step.
The black-robed man then smiled ever so slightly and instructed, "Expose your left wrist's meridians and rest it on the table. In just a few breaths, all shall be revealed." Without hesitation, Li Yan unrolled the coarse cloth sleeve from his left wrist and placed his bare hand, palm upward, onto the surface beside the cloth bag.
As soon as Li Yan positioned his hand, the man in the black robe extended his right hand. With two long, pale fingers moving as swiftly as lightning, he plucked a single silver needle from one of the small pouches. Before Li Yan could even register what was happening, he felt a sudden numbness in his wrist. When he glanced down, the silver needle was already inserted deep into his meridian.
After completing this initial act, the black-robed man withdrew his hand, folding his arms back into his sleeves and lowering them to his waist. He then scanned Li Yan's face intently.
At first, after the numb sensation in his wrist, Li Yan felt nothing else amiss. But within only two short breaths, a cool current surged from his abdomen upward, rushing to his head as if to chill his very mind. A strange, refreshing sensation spread through his body.
The man in black squinted his eyes as he observed Li Yan's reaction. Though he maintained an impassive facade, inside he felt a tinge of regret—he had seen this scenario many times over the years, yet each time he secretly hoped for a rare, auspicious result. He recalled, with both satisfaction and lingering disappointment, an experience from just a year ago. Just as he prepared to remove the silver needle from Li Yan's meridian, he noticed something else: a dark aura was slowly blooming across Li Yan's face.
For a moment, the black-robed man hesitated—and then his eyes lit up with quiet elation. Without missing a beat, he moved his right hand again, now as gracefully as a dancing butterfly, and inserted four more silver needles into Li Yan's meridian. In less than a single breath, Li Yan was overwhelmed by four distinct surges of energy—a hot, arid, heavy, and warming force that rose from his abdomen and surged upward all the way to his crown.
It was as though he were being seared in a boiling oil bath; his head felt as if struck by a heavy blow, and an involuntary groan burst from him as his face contorted in pain. The successive waves of energy twisted and mingled, distorting his features as they passed.
After those four silver needles were in place, the black-robed man fixed his unblinking gaze on Li Yan's face, careful not to miss any subtle detail. As a second wave of blue energy tinted Li Yan's face, the man's expression grew tense. Soon, a third burst of red energy followed. The man clenched his fists, but then two additional waves—yellow and white—flared briefly. At that point, his grip relaxed ever so slightly, and his face showed traces of uncertainty as he silently evaluated the reaction.
Meanwhile, Li Yan's body writhed in agonizing torment. The internal energies collided and jostled, forcing him to curl over on the ground like a shriveled creature. His pain was so acute that he could do nothing but emit low, heavy moans. Yet, just when he believed the torment would never end, a straining sensation in his left wrist suddenly faded away as if it were nothing but a terrible hallucination.
After what felt like an eternity, Li Yan slowly propped himself up on the edge of the table. He glanced at the neatly arranged silver needles still glinting on its surface, and his eyes darted nervously toward the mysterious man in the black robe—a figure who now seemed more ghostly than human. Li Yan refused to dismiss the searing pain he had experienced as mere illusion; the evidence lay plainly in the silent rows of needles.
Noticing the apprehension in Li Yan's eyes, the man in black softened his tone and offered a gentle smile. "Do not fear," he said. "My surname is Ji—my name is Ji Wenhe. Others call me General Ji, or simply Ji Daren."
At that revelation, Li Yan's heart skipped a beat. "He is the same General Ji famed alongside Marshal Hong for guarding Qing Shan Ai! How can someone so renowned resort to such arduous methods?" he marveled silently.
General Ji regarded Li Yan's face calmly, as if he had expected nothing less. "The pain you experienced was necessary," he explained evenly. "Over the years, many have not had the fortune to bear such a trial and thereby achieve greatness. I, too, have roamed the martial world. After suffering an injury that I could not heal, I came to the military—both to serve and to search for someone with the fated potential to inherit my teachings. I have no children of my own, and I have long coveted the chance to pass on all I know. Otherwise, should I perish without continuing our sect's legacy, I would never be able to face our ancestral masters in the hereafter. The method I applied to you is our way of selecting disciples. Our martial arts demand that one possess a robust constitution, broad meridians, and well-supplied vital energies. Otherwise, even if you learn the art, it will be useless—or worse, it might cause your internal energies to rebel and bring about your demise. Now tell me, do you wish to become my disciple and inherit what I have learned?"
At that moment, Li Yan's mind swirled with conflicting emotions. The initiation was excruciating—so brutal it defied description. He wondered how one could possibly trust such a method. Yet in his mind, he recalled the words of Captain Liu Chengyong at the city gate—stories of how General Ji had once decapitated the enemy deputy commander during an assault by Meng's forces. That legendary account painted General Ji as a warrior of unrivaled might, a hero whose reputation, even after sustaining injuries, remained untarnished.
Glancing again toward the row of silver needles on the table, Li Yan remembered how, after his pain had subsided, his body had gone weak and he had needed the table's support to stand. The table, though small, had made not a single sound under his weight—a testament, he thought, to its remarkable construction. In his village, even the local apothecary's needles would bend with the slightest push; these needles, however, were different—firm, unyielding, and capable of piercing even the sturdiest of surfaces. He was no fool.
As with many youths, Li Yan had dreamed of heroes. Like every young man harboring a secret hero's wish to save the people or protect those he loved, he felt an impulsive surge now. The agony of his recent trial melted away under the lure of the possibility that following this man would unlock the extraordinary powers he had always imagined. Lifting his eyes once more to the imposing figure on the platform, he said in a respectful tone, "If you would grant me your favor, honored master, I shall not hesitate to follow."
General Ji neither smiled in surprise nor expressed any shock—he had expected nothing short of unwavering submission. "And what is your name?" he inquired.
"I am Li Yan, of the Da Qing Shan people," Li Yan replied promptly.
"Have you had any formal education? Are you literate?" asked General Ji.
"Indeed—I attended private school for a few years. Though I never achieved high honors in the imperial examinations, I read extensively," Li Yan answered modestly. It wasn't boastful; in his village, the local tutor had high hopes for him, even urging him to pursue a scholarly career. But the family's modest means meant that further study was simply not an option. The tutor had much to regret, having seen Li Yan devour nearly a hundred books, even seeking understanding where he did not know.
General Ji's eyes lit up slightly at this, and he asked, "Have you learned any martial arts or internal energy techniques?"
"I have only been taught some rudimentary fighting skills in the village; I have never studied any profound martial arts or internal energy methods," Li Yan replied honestly.
General Ji smiled gently. "Very well. Your physical constitution and meridians conform to our sect's requirements. Once we return, I will explain the rules further. As for your family background, I shall have someone look into it. I trust you have nothing to hide. You are, after all, the final candidate who applied today. In that case, come with me."
With a graceful sweep of his sleeve, the silver needles and the cloth bag vanished as if they had never been there.
Li Yan's heart surged with wonder and a twinge of relief. He bowed deeply and said, "Yes, honored master." For a long moment, hesitation flickered across his face, but even then he could not help but feel that this was the chance he had been waiting for.