“Li Xiang, second-rank.”

With the clerk’s loud call, Xiangzi’s name on the courtyard wall’s list was marked with a second-rank grade.

For the next six months, these apprentices’ names would carry such rankings.

Xiangzi’s expression was complex, his mind swirling with doubts as he stepped out of the courtyard.

Seeing his face, Jiang Wangshui assumed he was ashamed and approached, whispering, “Brother Xiang, second-rank’s not bad. Of the dozen who went in, less than half got that.”

Xiangzi, preoccupied, only nodded curtly.

Noticing Xiangzi’s mere “second-rank,” Chen Jiashang, the chubby youth, froze, then stood taller, eyeing the list’s many second-rank marks.

So far, he was the only one in the courtyard with a top grade!

If he could secure three top grades, he’d leap to first-rank apprentice!

At this thought, Chen Jiashang’s gaze on Xiangzi shifted—a mere second-rank at his age, even with backing, so what?

Could this big fellow really make first-rank?

Especially as a commoner.

Chen Jiashang’s interest waned, regretting his earlier eagerness. Thought he was a tiger in disguise, but he’s just a plain pig!

“Brother Xiang, Brother Chen, wait up. It’s my turn. If I pass with second-rank, I’ll treat you both to roasted demon beast meat in the kitchen!” Jiang Wangshui said, watching apprentices come and go, his nerves steeled with a gritted-teeth resolve.

Chen Jiashang’s eyes lit up. “A little second-rank? Young Master Jiang’s got it in the bag. Look, Brother Li Xiang got second-rank easily!”

“Hopefully,” Jiang said, calmed slightly by the encouragement.

Xiangzi paused, noting Chen Jiashang’s shift from “Brother Xiang” to “Brother Li Xiang.”

Smiling, he cupped his fists. “No need to trouble Young Master Jiang. I’ve got things to do and will head back.”

“Oh, Brother Li Xiang’s busy? Go handle it. We’ll catch up next time,” Chen Jiashang said, grinning broadly.

Xiangzi saw through his ploy—the costly demon beast meat meant less for Chen if he stayed, so his absence meant more for the chubby youth.

Quite the unabashed schemer.

Xiangzi didn’t call it out, just smiled, bowed, and left.

He was here for the trials, not to play palace intrigue—especially not with teenagers.

Walking the wide bluestone path, seeing youthful, vibrant faces, Xiangzi felt a touch of daze.

Used to the cramped, wary life at Harmony Rickshaw Yard, this scene felt strangely unfamiliar.

Or rather, it’s been ages since I felt such peace.

—

Back at the dormitory, dinner was served. Unlike lunch, the evening meal had extra staples. The black-robed disciple outside was clear: Eat your fill—white rice and meat aplenty.

Xiangzi ate heartily, downing three large bowls of rice.

Burping, he set down his chopsticks, sighing deeply.

Leaving aside why Baolin chose this for the blood energy test, Xiangzi knew he could’ve claimed top grade with those three iron horses!

Had he known they were laced with five-colored ore slag, would he have hesitated?

Xiangzi gave a wry smile.

Years of treading carefully had etched caution into his bones—and this time, it cost him.

No matter. Next week.

But today’s unprecedented blood energy test hinted at something unusual.

Where there’s anomaly, there’s intent. For a centuries-old hall like Baolin, trials were solemn, and standards rarely changed.

Yet, Baolin had done just that.

It felt like the trials were preparing for something.

Forget it. I might be packing my bags soon—why worry?

Like today, several pampered rich youths had requested third-rank courtyards, planning to coast through six months for a gilded title before leaving.

Bone-tempering broth? They’d never intended to risk their lives or martial paths for it.

With their backgrounds, the three major halls’ apprentice status was enough for a secure future. Why gamble for a slim chance?

Especially after Deyilou’s heir’s gruesome fate, many abandoned their hopes.

Sighing, Xiangzi glanced around—the dormitory’s bunkhouse was nearly empty.

The wealthy youths, unused to communal meals, had gone to the kitchen, spending silver for private dishes.

Even Xiangzi felt a pang of envy: Money’s nice.

The few remaining apprentices, like him, wore simple cloth shirts, clutching large porcelain bowls, eyes gleaming.

Like the elite schools of his past life, few commoners breached this splendid dragon gate.

Since ancient times, the poor rarely rose.

No world was exempt.

—

“This trial’s unfair to commoners?”

“Zhao Mu, what nonsense! Baolin Martial Hall picks talent and ability, never birth or status!”

“You’re the old master’s chosen apprentice instructor. Watch your words!”

In an opulent room, Old Liu gnawed on a roast goose, not looking up.

Before him stood a dignified young black-robed disciple—Zhao Mu.

Stung by Old Liu’s retort, Zhao Mu’s face flushed, and he stiffly replied, “Senior Brother Liu, talent and ability are true, but many commoner apprentices lack early elixir training. Such harsh tests bury their potential!”

“As the apprentice instructor, I have the right to speak.”

Old Liu looked up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, grinning. “Finished your opinion?”

Zhao Mu snorted. “Yes.”

“Good, I’ve heard it. It’s nice. Now go,” Old Liu said, smile unchanged. “As head examiner, I can reject it.”

“You—” Zhao Mu’s face darkened, but facing this notorious elder, he could only suppress his fury. “When the old master returns, I’ll report this.”

Old Liu set down a goose leg, saying softly, “Zhao Mu, if I recall, you’re involved in that matter six months from now…”

“Don’t forget what this trial is for!”

Zhao Mu froze, sighing heavily, unable to reply, and turned to leave.

Watching Zhao Mu’s retreating figure, Old Liu found the goose tasteless.

He knew Zhao Mu’s stubborn nature—why the old master chose him as instructor.

He also knew Zhao Mu was right.

Past trials were gradual, giving commoner talents a chance.

Compared to rich youths soaked in elixirs, commoners started behind.

True, younger bodies absorbed elixirs better, but their efficacy waned over time.

And human bodies, unlike demon beasts, had limits. Few could withstand constant elixir backlash.

When, how, and what elixirs to use was a science.

Thus, young commoner talents often had greater potential than their rich peers at the same age and realm.

Old Liu, overseeing selections for years, knew this despite his hands-off approach.

Finding another Lin Junqing among commoners would be a jackpot.

But there was no time.

If not for the perilous event in six months, why would the old master take Lin Junqing to Shen City? Why would Old Liu be forced to oversee this trial?

People saw only Baolin’s golden-threaded banner fluttering proudly.

Who knew what Baolin faced?

As Zhao Mu’s figure faded into the twilight, Old Liu sighed.

Some things, the young must figure out themselves.