"Your Majesty, you overvalue the Six-Nation Treatise," Zhao Xunan said softly, shaking his head. From the perspective of the Emperor—or anyone who truly cared for Great Qin—he knew his path as a civil official was the "correct" one.
Yet he harbored a secret: his vision of the future, the martial arts he sought to master, demanded he take the martial path. It was a dilemma he couldn't escape.
Hongting, ever perceptive, read his expression. She sighed. "I've said all I can. Follow your heart, Young Master."
"But so many care for you—they'll surely try to stop you. Don't resent them."
"Never!" Zhao Xunan shook his head again, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I'm just a stubborn, talentless kid. They want me to forge iron into steel—they mean well. Even if they break my legs, I'd never blame them."
"…You're too kind," Hongting murmured, her lips curving into a strange smile before she bowed and left.
Zhao Xunan scratched his head, confused, then followed the crowd into the gates of Great Qin Academy.
"No wonder it's called the top academy of Great Qin—this grandeur puts all others to shame!"
A burly martial candidate in black cotton clothes marveled aloud near the entrance. Zhao Xunan couldn't agree more. Ten zhang tall (over thirty feet), the gate loomed with white jade foundations and nanmu pillars, the gilded characters "Great Qin Academy" shining under the sun. Its width could easily fit ten carriages abreast—nothing like the humble prefectural academy back in Qingliang.
Though crowded, order reigned. Attendants held signs directing people to their destinations, and even officials from the Six Ministries helped maintain discipline. As a direct affiliate of the Ministry of Personnel, Great Qin Academy housed not just commoners and nobles, but even princes and imperial grandchildren.
Zhao Xunan's true goal, however, lay beyond the main grounds: the academy's inner library, one of the "Eighteen Fated Treasures" of Great Qin. Spanning fifty mu (over eight acres), it held everything from mythical stone tablets of antiquity to raunchy folk tales—boasting every text under heaven. The librarian once boasted, "If it's not here, it doesn't exist." Arrogant, perhaps, but undeniably confident.
Within that library was the Daoist Scripture Tower, housing scrolls of cultivation techniques. That was where Zhao Xunan needed to go. In his past life, a legendary genius from Great Qin Academy had forged a peerless cultivation method after studying there. Zhao Xunan, though no genius, believed immersion in those texts might sharpen his path to cultivation—even if he couldn't replicate the legend.
Admittance to the academy was fiercely guarded, but the new "civil-to-martial" exam requirement worked in his favor. Becoming a short-term instructor would grant him access to the inner library—a win-win.
Inside the grand gates, attendants led the crowd to a vast training field. Men stepped into rune-inscribed arrays, their reactions ranging from awe to frustration.
"…Came to apply as an instructor, but why test spiritual roots?" Zhao Xunan muttered, rubbing his temples. Spiritual root tests were a headache even in his past life—now, as a martial candidate, he had to endure it too.
A bearded martial candidate shrugged. "Who knows? The court ordered it. Spiritual roots are for cultivators anyway—we common folk don't need 'em."
"Right. We're here to serve the nation, not chase immortality. This test is pointless," another grumbled.
Zhao Xunan scanned the crowd. Most martial candidates looked nervous. Turning lifelong warriors into teachers? It was like asking a tiger to herd sheep.
One by one, they entered the arrays. Three seconds later, they emerged—most with no change to the runes. After all, commoners rarely had spiritual roots.
"Upper Second Grade Spiritual Root!"
"Amazing—if he cultivates, he'll be a prodigy!"
Cheers erupted from the adjacent newborn testing field. Zhao Xunan glanced over to see a dashing scholar in a long robe, fan in hand, striding out of the array. Upper Second Grade—impressive even among hidden experts. With effort and luck, he might become a celestial talent someday.
Most candidates here were commoners, so a Ninth Grade root drew cheers. But at the newborn field, high-grade roots (even Middle and Upper Third Grade) popped up nonstop. Zhao Xunan frowned. He hadn't known Great Qin Academy was so… talent-dense.
When his turn came, he stepped into the array. Golden runes flared. "Sichuan-Liang Candidate Zhao Xunan—Eighth Grade Spiritual Root!"
Cheers erupted. Having a spiritual root meant a foot in the cultivation door—envy was inevitable.
After testing, a martial instructor barked, "Three trials: Cauldron Lift, Archery, and Combat Skills. Pass all, and you're a short-term instructor."
Thousands of candidates groaned. The first trial: lift a thousand-jin (over 1,000 lbs) cauldron. Only Lower Ninth Grade martial artists—or grandmasters—could manage it. Most left after the first glance.
"Ugh, Great Qin Academy's just being cruel. Let's try other academies," some muttered.
Zhao Xunan, now near the front, grinned. Originally stuck at the back, he was now first in line. When no one else stepped up, he marched to the cauldron, gripped the handles, and hoisted it overhead—drawing cheers.
The instructor's eyes flickered. This "scholar-turned-warrior" was no ordinary man.
Inspired, others tried. Most strained, some failed spectacularly (one even spit blood). But Zhao Xunan's feat emboldened them.
After the first trial, 81 candidates remained. Next: archery.
"Three-Stone Bow, Armor-Piercing Bolts. Hit the bullseye five inches deep in stone—pass!"
The target was a massive slab of bluestone. Hitting it five inches deep? Pure cruelty. Zhao Xunan sighed. The academy was clearly trying to weed them out.
He nocked three bolts, drew the bow, and released.
Thud-thud-thud!
The bolts pierced the stone, vanishing completely save for their fletching.
Cheers erupted. Candidates who'd wanted to leave now roared approval. The instructor gaped—this "scholar" had the strength of a peak martial artist, far beyond the academy's expectations.
"Third trial—who will fight me?" Zhao Xunan asked, setting down his bow.
The instructor paled. "On… on my way!" He fled, sweating.
Zhao Xunan chuckled. They'd planned to eliminate him in two trials. Now, they were scrambling.
Candidates swarmed him, cheering. When they learned he was the "Scholar Who Walked the Martial Path," admiration poured in.
News of Zhao Xunan's feats raced to the palace.
"Zhao Xunan's a cultivator?!" The Emperor stared, incredulous.
The academy's head explained, "He passed the trials with ease. His cultivation… it's beyond measure."
The Grand Academician stroked his beard. "His path is unfathomable. But his focus on Great Qin is clear—he deserves to be nurtured."
The Emperor frowned, tapping his scroll. "The Phoenix will test him. If he's truly a cultivator, she'll expose him."
In the training field, candidates jeered as the Phoenix approached, her Green Phoenix Sword humming.
"Emperor's pet—here to stab Zhao Xunan?" someone muttered.
The Phoenix ignored them, her gaze locking on Zhao Xunan. "I am the academy's honorary instructor. Why shouldn't I test you?"
No one dared argue. After all, she was the Phoenix—Great Qin's top cultivator, a grandmaster of the Green Phoenix Sect, and the Emperor's own disciple.
But Zhao Xunan smiled faintly. "I'm just a small candidate. Why trouble yourself?"
The Phoenix's lips curved. "Because you're not small. Let's see… how far your 'talent' goes."