Chapter 47: The Registration Exam

The next day.

Today was the day of the entry and qualification exam. The three of them rose early and headed toward the Celestial Master Hall. Only upon arrival did they truly grasp the scale — people stretched across the entire square like an endless sea. Most stood in groups of three or five, wearing coordinated uniforms. Clearly, these were disciples from various sects and noble houses.

Yun Jiao looked closely and noticed that most people had a copper coin hanging at their waists, marked with numbers from one to ten. Some, instead of coins, had embroidered symbols on their robes — flower-like emblems that looked part rune, part insignia. Some bore four or five flowers, others one or two. Those seemed to be the leaders of the copper-coin disciples.

Disciples like them — with no coin and no flowers — were rare. Yun Jiao guessed these were the level markers Old Zhou had once explained to her.

Although it was called the registration exam, most mystic disciples were actually here to renew or certify their rank. Suddenly she understood why that arrogant youth yesterday had been inspecting their waists — he’d been checking for rank markers. Seeing they weren’t even one-coin Celestial Masters, he thought they’d be easy targets to bully into giving up their room.

Speaking of that youth, Yun Jiao glanced around and soon spotted him ahead in the crowd. He had left earlier than them and was now just a short distance away. Clearly, he’d noticed them too. Remembering the painful three hundred taels he’d paid, his face twisted; he snorted coldly at them before disappearing back into the crowd.

Yun Jiao didn’t care — the money was already in hand. Old Zhou pointed forward. “Registration is over there. Let’s go.”

They nodded and followed him to the left, where four long queues had formed. Signs above each line showed which to join:

• One- to Five-Coin Celestial Masters
• Six- to Ten-Coin Celestial Masters
• Flower Rank (Shenghua)
• First-Time Applicants

The six-to-ten queue was longest, followed by one-to-five. The fewest were the Flower-ranked and newcomers; the latter had barely a dozen people. Old Zhou led them to the far-left First-Time Applicants line.

Looking around, Yun Jiao realized this queue was mostly children around ten years old. Only two or three were young adults like herself, and among the older crowd only she and Bai Yu stood out. Curious stares turned their way.

Old Bai — usually shameless — actually flushed red. This embarrassment was exactly why he’d delayed registering for so long. Thankfully, the line was short, and soon it was their turn.

The Celestial Master Hall disciple doing registration glanced up, momentarily startled, and blurted out in a tone usually reserved for coaxing children: “How old are you?”

The three: “…”

“Ahem… I mean, your age, name, and sect.” The registrar quickly recovered, realizing his slip.

They reported their names one by one.

When Old Zhou stated their sect, the man froze and repeated uncertainly, “Qingyang Sect?”

“Yes.” The old man nodded, pointing to Yun Jiao. “We’re both from Qingyang Temple.”

“You’re… sure?” the man asked again.

Old Zhou blinked, confused, but still nodded. “Of course!”

The registrar frowned slightly, his gaze turning odd — once neutral and official, now faintly disapproving. But he said nothing more, simply wrote down their details and handed them each a wooden identity plaque.

“Here. You’ll need these to enter the examination grounds,” he instructed. “The exam has three parts: first, comprehension of Daoist arts; second, practical proficiency; and third, a real-world test of ability. Details will be announced as each stage begins. Proceed.”

They each accepted their plaque, thanked him, and headed into the Celestial Master Hall. Behind them, they faintly heard the registrar mutter under his breath, “Another one… these people nowadays…”

Yun Jiao didn’t catch his meaning and didn’t dwell on it. They stepped inside — and were stunned.

The Hall was far larger than it looked. It sprawled across a mountain that rose into the clouds, with towering palaces climbing upward as far as the eye could see. The plaza at its base could hold tens of thousands. Walls, roofs, and even the paving stones were engraved with countless runes — steeped in mystic tradition.

Following the instructions on their plaques, they entered the largest main hall at the mountain’s base. Inside were many rooms; they were guided into one, where rows of square tables were already filled with examinees.

At the front stood a white-bearded, ethereal-looking mystic wearing robes embroidered with a single rune-flower — a One-Flower Celestial Master. Seeing the newcomers, he waved them in. “Take your seats. The first exam begins soon.”

They quickly found seats. Yun Jiao scanned the room — unlike the queue earlier, this room held all ages. Most wore coins at their waists. She guessed this first test was theoretical, likely a unified written exam.

Sure enough, after a short wait the One-Flower examiner took out a talisman scroll and chanted something. Light flared across every table, and ink, brush, and paper appeared. A glowing array gleamed at the upper right corner. The examiner spoke loudly:

“The first exam lasts four incense sticks. Place your identity plaque into the array to begin. No talking or noise — violators will be expelled.”

Then he declared the exam started.

Yun Jiao calmly set her plaque on the array. Instantly, it lit up. Walls of light rose around her, enclosing her desk in a silent bubble. She could still see others, but all sound vanished — perfect isolation. She studied the array briefly, impressed by its quality.

Then she frowned at the brush. Of course it’s a brush…

If she’d known, she’d have brought her own from the temple. Sighing, she resigned herself to using the provided one and began writing.

As expected, the paper tested basic theory, common spells, and some elementary array applications — nothing difficult for someone who had read every single book in Qingyang Temple out of boredom.

Less than one incense stick later, she’d finished. Looking around idly, she considered submitting early, but the isolation barrier seemed time-locked — no leaving before time was up.

With nothing else to do, she reviewed her answers, then started adding multiple alternative solutions to each question. For the final array problem, she even extended and optimized it into several new forms.

By the time she had come up with what felt like a hundred and one creative variations, the four incense sticks finally burned out. The examiner called an end to the test. The light walls dropped, and he moved through the room collecting papers.

When he reached Yun Jiao’s desk, his hand froze midair. He nearly doubted his eyes.

“…”

What the—?

Everyone else had at most two or three answer sheets. Why did this desk have an entire stack?!!

Σ(°△°|||)︴

(End of chapter)