The news reached Lin Yuan without ceremony.
He heard it from Fang Huai while signing off on a small maintenance report, the kind that no one read twice. The office was half-empty, sunlight slanting across worn desks, dust motes floating lazily in the air.
"The Basic Array Master Examination?" Fang Huai said, glancing up. "Every six months."
Lin Yuan paused. "Six months?"
"Yes." Fang Huai leaned back slightly. "Unless you have connections. Then you can test anytime."
"I see."
"The next one is in three months."
Three months. Lin Yuan noted the number and let it settle.
He asked another question, almost casually. "How many people usually take it?"
Fang Huai looked at him for a moment, then gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Not many."
That answer surprised Lin Yuan.
He did not show it on his face, but Fang Huai noticed anyway.
"You think array masters are common?" Fang Huai said. "They aren't. Not here."
"Why?" Lin Yuan asked.
"The first attempt is free," Fang Huai explained. "That's how they filter people. Talent gets one chance. After that, every attempt costs spirit stones."
"How much?"
"Enough to make most people stop trying."
He continued, voice steady. "And that's just the exam. Practice costs more. Materials. Failed arrays. Replacement stones. Time. Most people can't afford to fail twice."
Lin Yuan listened without interrupting.
"Only the talented pass," Fang Huai finished. "And talent alone still isn't enough if you don't have resources."
Lin Yuan nodded once. "Thank you."
He turned to leave.
Fang Huai watched him go, his gaze lingering longer than usual. Lin Yuan didn't walk like hopefuls did. No tension in his shoulders. No urgency in his steps.
For reasons Fang Huai couldn't fully explain, he thought:
Maybe this one actually can.
That afternoon, Lin Yuan returned home earlier than usual.
He sat at the small wooden table in his courtyard room and untied his spirit stone pouch. The stones spilled out softly, catching the light.
He counted them once.
Then again.
The number had not changed.
If he wanted to practice formations properly—to build, fail, rebuild—this would not be enough.
He leaned back slightly and exhaled.
For the first time in a while, something like hesitation touched him.
A name crossed his mind.
Qingshi.
One word, and everything would change. Resources. Access. Time.
The thought lingered for a breath.
Then Lin Yuan shook his head.
"No," he said quietly.
Not pride. Not stubbornness.
Simply correctness.
He had chosen this path. He would walk it as it was meant to be walked.
If he passed, it would be because he could.
If he failed, it would still be his.
He reached for the book instead.
The manual lay open on the table, its pages already familiar.
Inside were the requirements.
Ten formations.
All Tier 1.
List of Arrays:
1.Dust-Settling Pattern
2.Still Air Loop
3.Moisture Balance Array
4.Minor Stability Grid
5.Light Diffusion Formation
6.Sound Dampening Web
7.Heat Retention Cycle
8.Pest Repulsion Ring
9.Qi Equalization Pattern
10.Structural Reinforcement Thread
If you can construct and stabilize any of the ten, you qualify.
They were not impressive arrays. Not dangerous. Not complex.
But they were complete.
Lin Yuan read through them again.
Then again.
Understanding came instantly—not as insight, but as recognition. These formations were built for people with limited control, meant to function even when qi handling was clumsy.
They compensated where mastery was lacking.
He closed his eyes.
In his mind, the arrays assembled themselves.
One by one.
He saw the flaws immediately—not errors, but inefficiencies. Overcompensation. Redundant anchors.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the stone floor.
Without meaning to, he focused.
Qi stirred.
It surged and flared.
It responded.
Lin Yuan froze.
Then he laughed softly, the sound surprising even himself.
"I forgot," he murmured.
He had lived too long as something smaller.
The world answered him because it always had.
He was the Lord of this realm.
He looked back at the first formation.
Tier 1 — Array One.
He did not draw it.
He did not carve it.
He simply allowed it to exist.
The qi settled.
Array Two followed.
Then Three.
By the time he reached Five, he had stopped smiling. Not because it was difficult—but because it was simple in a way he had not expected.
These arrays were beneath him.
Not in power.
In intention.
They assumed struggle where there was none.
Still, he continued.
Ten formations.
Ten confirmations.
When he finished, nothing glowed. Nothing remained.
The floor was unchanged.
Only Lin Yuan's understanding had deepened.
The three months passed quietly.
Lin Yuan worked during the day, dismantling flawed formations, earning stones one problem at a time. At night, he read.
Sometimes, he paused and listened.
The house was quieter now.
silent—settled.
Cracks did not widen, they was closed or appearing to be.
Tiles did not shift.
Qi moved gently, as if learning a pattern it had always known.
Lin Yuan noticed it.
But did not think about it seriously.
He slept well.
When the city notices were posted, he read them once and turned away.
The time had come.
Whether the world recognized him or not—
He was ready.
End of Chapter 65