The journey to the Azure Cloud Sect took three days—not because of the distance, but because Fatty Wei insisted on stopping every five miles to "investigate the local delicacies," which was just a polite way of saying he wanted to eat until he couldn't walk.
"Look at it, Brother Feng! The peak of human achievement!" Fatty Wei wheezed, pointing a half-eaten chicken leg toward the horizon.
Rising from the mist like the spine of a sleeping god was Mount Azure. Stone steps, thousands of them, wound up the mountainside like a coiled serpent. At the very top, ancient pagodas clung to the cliffs, their blue-tiled roofs shimmering under the morning sun. This was the home of the Azure Cloud Sect, a place where mortals came to chase immortality.
"It's a lot of stairs," Ye Feng remarked, adjusting the strap of his burlap sack. The Iron Pendant against his chest felt colder as they approached the mountain, its weight increasing as if it were warning him.
"Stairs? Those aren't stairs, those are the 'Path of Purgatory'!" Fatty Wei wiped grease from his chin. "Most applicants pass out by step five hundred. But with you? We could probably run up there carrying a cow."
As they reached the base of the mountain, they found a massive plaza crowded with hundreds of youths. In the center stood a monolith of pitch-black stone—the Spirit-Testing Pillar.
A middle-aged man in flowing white robes stood by the pillar, his face an expressionless mask of boredom. This was Deacon Chen, the man responsible for sorting the "trash" from the "treasures."
"Next!" Deacon Chen barked.
A young man in silk robes stepped forward, his head held high. He placed his hand on the stone. A faint blue light flickered at the base of the pillar, rising barely three inches.
"Mortal Grade 2. Discarded!" Chen shouted.
The young man paled, his dreams shattered in an instant.
"See that?" Fatty Wei whispered, leaning into Ye Feng. "That stone measures the density of your soul. Most people can't even make it glow. But you? You're going to turn that thing into a firework show!"
"No," Ye Feng said firmly. He remembered his Grandma's voice. Make them think you are normal. "I'm going to pass. Nothing more. I don't want the Heavens looking for me yet."
"Suit yourself," Fatty Wei grumbled. "But keep an eye on that guy over there."
He pointed to a group of disciples wearing inner-sect robes. In the center was a youth with sharp, hawk-like eyes and a cruel twist to his lips. Senior Brother Han. He was known for "testing" new recruits by stealing their travel money and breaking their spirits before they even entered the gate.
Han's eyes landed on Fatty Wei's bulging coin purse, then on Ye Feng's rustic, poor appearance. He smirked and began walking toward them, his Rank 1 Cultivator aura flaring out like a visible heat haze.
"You two," Han drawled, blocking their path. "This isn't a soup kitchen. The Azure Cloud Sect doesn't take beggars or... whatever that fat thing is."
Fatty Wei squeaked and hid behind Ye Feng. "He's with me! And I have papers! My father donated three shipments of—"
"I don't care about your father," Han interrupted, his hand reaching out to grab the Iron Pendant around Ye Feng's neck. "That scrap metal looks interesting. Give it here, and maybe I'll let you crawl up the first ten steps."
Ye Feng didn't move. He didn't even blink. "My grandmother gave me this. It's not for sale. And it's not for you."
The plaza went silent. No one spoke to Senior Brother Han like that. Han's face turned a deep shade of purple. "You dare? A nameless brat from the mud dares to refuse me?"
Han swung his hand in a stinging slap, his palm reinforced with Qi. To the onlookers, the move was a blur. To Ye Feng, it was moving through honey.
Ye Feng sighed. He didn't want to show off, but he wouldn't be bullied. He subtly shifted his weight, allowing the strike to hit his shoulder—but as he did, he flicked a tiny spark of his Golden Qi into his skin at the point of impact.
CLANG.
The sound wasn't of flesh hitting flesh. It sounded like a heavy hammer hitting an anvil.
Han let out a blood-curdling scream as his hand buckled. His fingers bent back at impossible angles, shattered by the sheer "Hard Work" density of Ye Feng's body. Han staggered back, his face white with shock.
"My hand! You... what are you?!"
"I'm a farmer," Ye Feng said calmly, stepping past the sobbing Senior Brother. "And you should be careful. The mountain air makes the bones brittle."
Deacon Chen's eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange. He didn't see Ye Feng move, which was the most terrifying part. "You! Boy! Come here. Test the stone."
Ye Feng walked to the Spirit-Testing Pillar. He looked at the black obsidian. He knew that if he touched it with his full intent, the entire mountain might explode. He had to be smart. He had to suppress everything.
He placed his hand on the stone and whispered to the Iron Pendant: Help me hide.
The stone remained dark for a long, agonizing second. Then, a tiny, flickering green light appeared at the bottom. It crawled up slowly, stopping exactly at the "Pass" line. Not a millimeter more.
"Mortal Grade 3. Low talent," Deacon Chen announced, though his brow was furrowed in confusion. "You pass. Barely."
Fatty Wei let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Low talent? That stone is broken! Brother Feng, you just broke a Senior's hand by standing still!"
"He tripped," Ye Feng said, his voice smooth and untroubled. He looked up the thousands of stairs toward the sect. "Come on, Fatty. We have a home to build."
As they began the climb, Ye Feng didn't feel the fatigue the others did. Each step felt like a homecoming. But deep in the shadows of the plaza, a pair of eyes watched him—not with arrogance, but with a cold, calculating hunger. The "Normal" life Ye Feng wanted was already beginning to slip through his fingers.