In the quiet depths of the land, where the mist hung low over the earth and the wind whispered secrets to the mountains, a solitary carriage made its way through the winding roads. Its destination was a place of great renown, yet it moved with an unhurried grace, as if unconcerned with the significance of its arrival.
Inside the carriage, a figure sat with an air of quiet dignity, his gaze fixed upon the distant horizon. The man's name was Wu Tianjue, yet, for now, he bore no titles. He was simply a traveler, a seeker of things beyond the confines of his past. His face, striking in its subtlety, betrayed no hint of emotion. His robes, a simple shade of grey, blended seamlessly into the world around him, unremarkable in every way, yet somehow commanding.
The carriage's gentle rocking was a rhythm that Wu Tianjue had grown accustomed to. He could hear the rain beginning to fall, the patter of droplets upon the carriage's roof, a sound so mundane, yet soothing in its simplicity. The storm, though light, seemed to mirror the tumult of his thoughts. He was no stranger to the weight of introspection, a burden that came with the experience of living through countless lifetimes.
"Are we near?" His voice broke the silence, low and measured, as if his words had been chosen with the same care as his actions.
The old coachman, his face weathered by time but still sharp in his movements, turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "We are, Young Master. The School of Talent lies just beyond the hill."
Wu Tianjue nodded, the corners of his lips curving slightly, though not enough to suggest true emotion. It was simply the acknowledgment of what was to come. The School of Talent. A place known far and wide for cultivating the gifted, where the ambitious and the talented sought a place among the powerful.
The carriage crested the hill, and the gates of the School of Talent came into view, massive, imposing, their ancient stone walls etched with runes that seemed to hum faintly with energy. The sight was grand, though Wu Tianjue gave it no more attention than was necessary. His focus remained inward, as always.
The School of Talent
As Wu Tianjue disembarked from the carriage, his gaze swept over the grounds. A sea of people, young and old, stood gathered before the gates, their faces a mixture of hope and apprehension. They spoke in hushed tones, their conversations muted by the weight of the moment.
"The first test will determine who is worthy," one voice murmured, trembling with anticipation.
"The School of Talent only accepts the best," another voice said, the tone laced with pride.
Wu Tianjue remained silent, his expression unreadable. He was a stranger here, but he was not out of place. He moved among the crowd as if part of the scenery, his presence barely noticeable, yet undeniably commanding. Every step was measured, deliberate. His eyes, sharp and keen, observed the others around him, noting the subtleties in their movements, their expressions, the energy they gave off.
He had come here with a singular purpose, but that purpose remained hidden from all but himself. In a world where strength dictated all things, his presence alone was an unspoken challenge to those who claimed superiority. But for now, he remained silent, his mind focused on the task at hand.
The gates to the School of Talent swung open, and a figure stepped onto the platform ahead of them. The man was tall and regal, dressed in robes of deep blue, his long silver hair flowing gently behind him. His gaze swept over the crowd, the weight of his presence commanding immediate attention.
"Welcome," the elder began, his voice calm yet filled with an undeniable power that reached every corner of the gathered crowd. "Today marks the beginning of your journey. You have come seeking to join the ranks of those who stand at the forefront of cultivation. You wish to refine your talents, to push beyond your limits. But only those who possess the heart and the discipline to truly master themselves will succeed."
His words were simple, yet they carried the weight of years of experience, of countless generations of cultivators who had passed through these gates. Wu Tianjue's gaze never wavered from the elder. His mind was already weighing the significance of the speech, though he gave no outward sign of his thoughts.
"You will be tested," the elder continued, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, "not merely for strength, but for your will, your discipline, and your potential. Those who fail will leave. Those who succeed will proceed to the next step."
The crowd fell silent, a heavy stillness settling over them as they absorbed the gravity of the words. Wu Tianjue, however, felt no fear, no anticipation. His heart was like a calm lake, untouched by the winds of emotion that stirred around him.
The recruits were led into a large, open space, a field surrounded by ancient stone pillars. At the center of the field stood several large stones, smooth and dark, etched with glowing runes. These stones were no ordinary objects, they were imbued with energy, ancient and untamed. They were the first test, and their purpose was to judge the heart and mind of each individual who dared to approach.
One by one, the recruits were called forward. They placed their hands upon the stones, and the stones reacted in kind, some glowing brightly, others flickering faintly, as each person's energy was tested, measured, and weighed.
When Wu Tianjue's name was called, he stepped forward with quiet confidence. His hand hovered over the stone, and for a moment, all the noise of the world seemed to fade away. His mind was a clear pool, his energy steady and controlled. He placed his hand upon the stone, and it responded immediately, a faint pulse of light spreading from the point of contact. The stone did not flare with brilliance, but it hummed gently, as if in recognition.
"You pass," the elder's voice came, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Wu Tianjue did not react, but his expression remained unchanged.
The day's tests continued, the air thick with anticipation. One by one, the recruits were tested, some succeeding with ease, others faltering under the pressure. The elder overseeing the tests moved with practiced precision, his gaze sharp as he evaluated each candidate's potential. It was a methodical process, unhurried, yet resolute.
The crowd, filled with hopeful faces, quieted once more as another figure stepped forward. This time, there was a shift in the air, a subtle tension that passed through the ranks like a ripple in a pond. A figure, taller than most, moved through the crowd with quiet authority. His every step was measured, graceful, as if he were aware that all eyes were upon him.
Wu Tianjue observed this newcomer, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The man's presence was undeniable, yet there was no arrogance in his bearing. Instead, there was an aura of quiet confidence, a calmness that spoke of experience and control.
"Yan Junhao," the elder called, his voice filled with recognition.
The name spread through the crowd like wildfire, and several of the recruits whispered among themselves. To most, this name carried weight, not because of his accomplishments, but because of the bloodline he bore. Yan Junhao, the older brother of Yan Zhiming, the prodigy who had risen to prominence in the School of Talent just a few years prior. Yet despite his familial connection, Yan Junhao stood on his own, a figure whose talent and potential were undeniable.
Yan Junhao's gaze briefly flickered towards the crowd before settling on the stone at the center of the field. Without a word, he approached, his robes flowing elegantly with each step. Wu Tianjue, as always, observed quietly, his expression unreadable.
The air around the stone seemed to hum in response to Yan Junhao's presence. He placed his hand upon the smooth surface, and for a brief moment, there was no movement, no burst of energy or overwhelming reaction. The crowd held its collective breath, waiting, uncertain. It was only after a few moments of stillness that the stone began to glow, slowly at first, then with a soft, steady brilliance that filled the air.
The hum of energy grew louder, and the stone pulsed in perfect rhythm with Yan Junhao's energy, a harmonious resonance that indicated a mastery beyond his years. It was a calm, controlled display of power, one that did not seek to overwhelm, but to unite. A steady flow of energy, tempered by years of cultivation.
"You pass," the elder said, his tone soft but filled with approval. The stone dimmed, its glow fading back into the stillness of the field.
Yan Junhao stepped back, his expression serene, as if this result was inevitable. He was no stranger to success, but neither did he carry it with arrogance. Instead, there was a quiet pride in his demeanor, a pride rooted not in superiority, but in the understanding of his own path.
Wu Tianjue, ever the observer, did not react to Yan Junhao's success, but he noted the subtle difference between Yan Junhao and the others. There was no brashness in his energy, no wild ambition. Instead, it was as though he had already walked the path others only dreamed of, a path of restraint, of self-mastery.
As Yan Junhao turned to rejoin the others, a few whispers broke the silence once more.
"That's Yan Junhao, right? The older brother of Yan Zhiming."
"Indeed. He's more talented than even his younger brother, but he's always remained in the shadows. I heard he could have been a top disciple years ago, but chose to stay in the background."
The whispers continued, and Wu Tianjue's attention was drawn to them, though his expression remained unchanged. Yan Junhao's reputation, it seemed, was both a blessing and a curse. To many, he was always defined by his relationship to his younger brother. Yet there was something in his eyes, something that hinted at a quiet rebellion against this perception.
Yan Junhao's background was known to many. He was the older brother of Yan Zhiming, the renowned prodigy who had captured the School of Talent's attention with his raw ability and sharp mind. It was said that Yan Junhao, in his youth, had been the one to excel in cultivation first, surpassing all his peers in strength. Yet, unlike his younger brother, Yan Junhao had never craved the spotlight. He had chosen to walk a quieter path, preferring the company of books and meditation to the adulation of others.
In fact, many who knew him personally often described him as someone who was hard to read, calm, collected, and yet, there was always a certain distance in his gaze. As if he was watching the world unfold without ever truly involving himself in it.
Despite the whispers and the inevitable comparisons to his younger brother, Yan Junhao seemed unaffected by the attention. His eyes held a depth, a maturity that only those who had seen much of the world could possess. He was not one to boast or revel in the praise of others. His cultivation spoke for itself, and in that quiet certainty, he found his strength.
Wu Tianjue observed the reactions of the crowd, sensing a subtle shift. The others, who had once been eager to prove their worth, now regarded Yan Junhao with a mixture of awe and wariness. There was no resentment in the air, only the weight of respect, tempered by the knowledge that there was more to this man than met the eye.
As the final candidates completed their test, the first phase of the recruitment process came to a close. The elder spoke once more, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
"Those who pass will continue. Those who fail…" He paused for a moment, the weight of his words lingering in the air. "Will leave."
Wu Tianjue turned to face the others, his expression as calm as ever.