"The Yao Guang Holy Land is a pinnacle of power in the Eastern Wilderness," Deacon Yang began, his tone that of a veteran introducing a corporate structure. "Throughout history, it has produced countless earth-shaking figures. Dynasties rise and fall, but Yao Guang remains."
He then shifted to the procedural details Li Yao required. Cases like his—talents elevated from subordinate forces—were routine. The process was standardized.
Upon entry, a powerful artifact would scan him for hostile spiritual marks or evidence of espionage. Once cleared, a Grand Elder would assess his cultivation aptitude and assign a resource tier. Higher aptitude meant greater investment.
Within the Holy Land, the division was binary: Ordinary Disciples and Elite Disciples. The Yao Guang Holy Land's core inheritance, the Yao Guang Scripture, was restricted to Elite Disciples. Out of hundreds of thousands, fewer than ten thousand held this privilege.
A final, non-negotiable step for all scripture recipients was the planting of a restriction within the sea of consciousness—a safeguard against theft or forced extraction of the secret method. This applied universally, even to Holy Sons and Daughters. Li Yao noted this as a critical security protocol, a standard practice for any major power protecting intellectual property.
His understanding was operational. The rules existed to preserve the institution's capital. Efficiency through structure.
"With your talent, barring anomalies, you will be designated an Elite Disciple and learn the Yao Guang Scripture. That single step places you in a different category of existence," Deacon Yang said, a trace of personal yearning in his voice. Nearly a hundred, and only at the Four Extremes Realm, he had never qualified for the supreme methods of his own sect.
Li Yao offered the expected, minimal humility. "The Holy Land gathers geniuses from across the wilderness. My aptitude is but a drop in a vast ocean."
"No need for such modesty," Deacon Yang countered, a flicker of memory in his eyes. "Your Daoist aura and naturally opened Sea of Bitterness mark you as a premium prospect. I once escorted a genius from another cave heaven; his assessed potential was inferior to yours."
"Was that senior brother made an Elite Disciple?" Li Yao asked, leveraging the conversation to gather a critical data point: a benchmark for his own perceived value.
Deacon Yang's voice lowered slightly. "He was. But he is no longer a disciple."
Li Yao waited, his expression politely inquisitive.
"He shares your surname—Li. He is now a candidate for Holy Son."
The name clicked into place in Li Yao's mental archive: Li Rui. A minor antagonist in the original narrative, a stepping stone for the protagonists. The new data was significant. If Deacon Yang's assessment was remotely accurate, his starting point was higher than a known Holy Son candidate. This recalibrated his risk-benefit analysis for the immediate future. Higher perceived talent meant more resources, but also more scrutiny and higher stakes.
He felt no pride, only a sharpening focus. The margin for error had just narrowed.
After a day of relentless travel across three hundred thousand li, they arrived.
The Yao Guang Holy Land existed within a permanent mist, a realm of stunning, unnatural beauty. As the paramount power of the Eastern Wilderness, its scale was incomprehensible. Palaces and majestic structures stretched to the horizon.
Li Yao's observation was comparative and strategic. Hengyang Cave Heaven had been impressive. This was of a different ontological order. The difference was not in beauty, but in the sheer, tangible concentration of power and resources it represented. It was a fortress, a factory, and a university all in one.
The procession landed respectfully outside towering city walls. An ancient plaque bore the two characters "Yao Guang," their strokes infused with a Daoist might that had endured for millennia. Standing before it, Li Yao felt a physical pressure, a psychological assertion of dominance. He did not feel small; he recognized the architecture of authority. The city was a dragon. He was a potential scale or a tooth, depending on his utility.
"Come. I will guide you through the procedures. If all goes smoothly, the Supreme Elder will impart your cultivation scripture tomorrow," Deacon Yang said, stepping forward.
Li Yao followed, his emotions not "calmed," but deliberately suppressed as irrelevant. He crossed the threshold.
Inside, the vista was vast. Distant mountains housed celestial waterfalls that fed great rivers. Clustered at the foothills were endless rows of palaces.
These house the Ordinary Disciples. The Holy Land has a million disciples in total. While not all reside here permanently, the population is immense."
Li Yao's surprise was purely logistical. The "worst" housing here surpassed Hengyang Palace. As they proceeded inward, the residences grew progressively more opulent, gleaming with infused materials.
He processed this spatial hierarchy instantly. Real estate was a direct reflection of status and resource allocation within the sect's economy. If these were the quarters for Ordinary Disciples, the dwellings for Elite Disciples—and the resources they implied—were a tangible prize to be acquired.
His mind was already moving past the splendor, focusing on the next day's procedure. The scripture, the restriction, the first step on the controlled path. The grandeur around him was merely the shell of the machine he was about to enter.