Chen Jiang emerged—

Carried out on a stretcher by two black-robed disciples.

The apprentices in the courtyard heard a muffled thud from inside, followed by a piercing wail. Then they saw the haughty Master Chen carried out.

In less than half an incense stick’s time, he went in upright and came out horizontal.

His left shin was twisted grotesquely, white bone jutting through.

Blood soaked through his silk robe into the white stretcher, his massive frame’s pig-like squeals adding to the grisly scene.

—

An old martial artist strolled in from outside, his face unmoved by the sight. He leaned close to inspect Chen Jiang, then slipped a fragrant pill into his mouth before signaling the disciples to carry him away.

“Not dead… but half his life’s gone. Send him to the rear courtyard to recover. Notify his family to fetch him.”

“Oh, and that ‘Blood-Regenerating Pill’ goes on his tab. Don’t forget tomorrow, or it’s your wages.”

The disciples’ faces twitched, nodding hastily. “Yes, Senior Brother Liu.”

This Senior Brother Liu, known for his slick sharpness, was a headache even for inner disciples, let alone these outer ones.

“Go on, go. What a bloody mess,” Old Liu muttered, hunching his back and waving lazily.

Turning to the crowd, he snorted. “Told you youngsters not to show off, but you didn’t listen.”

“Now look—his leg’s snapped.”

This was Old Liu, the registration officer from the gate.

Seeing him, the supervising disciples greeted, “Senior Brother Liu!”

A young black-robed martial artist, his flattery unmasked, added, “Senior Brother Liu, you’re the head examiner! Why bother with a small trial like this?”

Old Liu only smiled, saying nothing.

No one expected this unremarkable, even sleazy-looking old man to be the trial’s head examiner.

The apprentices were stunned, especially the wealthy ones who’d paid for insider details. This doesn’t match the info!

The head examiner checking qualifications at the gate? A first in Baolin’s history.

Seeing the shocked apprentices, Old Liu’s interest waned. These days, youngsters pile up coin for elixirs, boosting their realms but lacking a shred of courageous spirit.

Another batch with few good seeds.

But when his gaze fell on the calm, tall figure, he paused, nodding inwardly.

Lin Junqing’s pick has some mettle, though he’s a bit old. His composure’s decent.

Yawning, Old Liu tucked his hands into his sleeves and shuffled inside. “Next! Number two, enter!”

A steady, dark-faced youth stepped forward into the chamber.

—

The courtyard erupted in chatter.

“What? Chen Jiang couldn’t lift the first-rank iron horse? I heard his blood energy’s brimming, as thick as an arm!”

“An arm’s thickness at sixteen? That’s incredible!”

“Guess I’ll play it safe with the second-rank iron horse. At this rate, who knows when I’ll make first-rank.”

Spooked by Chen Jiang’s fate, the apprentices fretted and whispered.

From their talk, Xiangzi gleaned details about the trials.

The apprentice trials had three rounds.

The grading was simple: first, second, or third rank.

The first round, the blood energy test, was consistent yearly—lifting the iron horse to measure blood energy strength, or raw power.

The second round, the skin test, varied annually, typically using external stimuli to gauge skin resilience.

The third, the sinew and bone test, was critical. To endure the “bone-tempering broth,” sinew and bone strength were paramount.

One trial per week. Earning “first-rank” in all three meant promotion to first-rank apprentice by next month, with free medicinal soaks.

A single “first-rank” secured second-rank apprentice status. No free elixirs, but good performance could earn techniques or pills.

Three “third-rank” grades meant immediate expulsion.

Xiangzi chuckled wryly. This is like those cutthroat high schools from my past life.

Weekly tests, monthly exams, sifting layer by layer?

Only the exceptional got the hall’s resources?

No wonder this hall’s lasted centuries. This brutal selection is ruthless but effective.

But why no tests for stances or techniques? Xiangzi frowned.

To Baolin, an apprentice’s talent for forms seemed less vital than physical gifts.

This isn’t picking martial artists—it’s like picking livestock.

—

The dark-faced youth emerged, his expression calm.

“Xu Xiao Liu, second-rank!”

A clerk shouted, marking a second-rank grade on the ledger.

The youth, Xu Xiao Liu, seemed shy under the crowd’s stares.

His worn short shirt and old cloth shoes, paired with his name, marked him as a poor boy.

Without precious elixirs, earning a “second-rank” on his first day showed real talent.

“Young Master Jiang, Brother Xiang, I’m heading in,” Chen Jiashang said with a grin, showing no fear but eager confidence.

Xiangzi returned a polite gesture.

Jiang Wangshui, still pale from Chen Jiang’s fate, reacted only when Xiangzi moved.

Chen Jiashang handed over his number plate and strode inside.

Soon, the gate reopened.

The clerk sang out, “Chen Jiashang, first-rank!”

From the threshold, Chen Jiashang surveyed the crowd with a lofty air.

His chubby face beamed with pride, his eyes glinting with an odd light.