Chapter 77: Student Selection

Xu Qingfeng wasted no time spreading the news that Daoist Yun Jiao had agreed to accept disciples from various sects to study the long-lost formation techniques.

The announcement caused an immediate uproar.

At first, most sect masters reacted the same way Xu Qingfeng had—skeptical. After all, the true core techniques of cultivation—aside from the most common and basic spells—were jealously guarded secrets. They were never shared outside one’s own sect and were taught only to the most gifted inner disciples. Outsiders could dream on.

There were two reasons for that.

First, Daoist arts were vast and profound; most sects specialized in only one branch of cultivation because even mastering a single discipline required immense focus and effort. Few had the time or capacity to learn more.

Second, the elite disciples chosen to inherit these arts were already highly talented and quick to comprehend the teachings, so the tradition naturally stayed within each sect.

This system had worked fine—until five hundred years ago, when the Misty Mirage Demon War broke out. That battle nearly wiped out half of the cultivator world’s elites, causing countless ancient techniques and entire lineages to vanish overnight.

In recent centuries, natural disasters and demonic chaos had only worsened, and even cultivators found themselves struggling to survive, let alone the common folk. Some sects had begun to realize that remaining closed off only hastened their decline. A few were even tentatively opening their doors to outsiders.

But to publicly share a sect’s core formation arts with the world? That was unthinkable.

No one expected that the first person to do so would be Yun Jiao—an unassuming disciple from the reclusive Qingyang Sect, who had only just been formally registered within the Celestial Masters Hall.

Xu Qingfeng couldn’t help but feel deep respect. For the first time, he truly understood the meaning of the name Qingyang Sect’s Founder: Guǎngjì (广济)—“to bring salvation to all.” Yun Jiao embodied that spirit, showing no trace of selfishness or secrecy.

Compared to that magnanimity, Xu Qingfeng felt ashamed of his own smallness. But he quickly refocused on the practical problem—if every sect wanted in, who exactly should be allowed to go?

Naturally, Elder Jiao Hengyi was the first to clamor for a spot. Formations were his specialty, and he had been the one to bring up the issue in the first place. Lately, he hadn’t been able to reach Yun Jiao through her message talisman—likely because she’d limited his contact permissions—so his questions had piled up. He was eager to discuss them in person.

Originally, Xu had intended to send only representatives from sects that specialized in formation arts. But once word got out, everyone wanted a piece of the action. Grand sects, minor families, even wandering cultivators—all sent applications filled with polite but desperate pleas.

The total number quickly ballooned to over four hundred.

Even the most optimistic of them knew that was absurd. Yun Jiao’s time and energy were finite. There was no way she could teach hundreds of students.

After hours of heated debate, no one could agree on how to narrow the list. At last, they decided to ask Yun Jiao herself.

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When Xu Qingfeng told her the number, Yun Jiao froze mid-drawing.

“…How many did you say?” she asked again.

“Roughly four hundred,” Xu admitted awkwardly. “That’s after we filtered the names—three main sects, four grand schools, six noble families, and several smaller orders… plus a few itinerant cultivators.”

“…” Yun Jiao’s expression twitched. This isn’t a training session—it’s a whole academy!

She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Xu Hall Master, there are only two of us in Qingyang.”

And one of them—her “assistant”—was barely qualified to be a class monitor!

“Uh…” Xu looked sheepish. He turned to the crowd of sect leaders and elders behind him, who all glared back as if to say Don’t you dare back out now! Then he cleared his throat. “Daoist Yun, please don’t worry. This list is only preliminary. You have the final say on who gets accepted. Perhaps I could send you each candidate’s profile, and you can make your selections?”

“No need to send me anything,” Yun Jiao interrupted immediately. “Our sect’s had enough paper deliveries lately.”

If he sent her more, she’d just end up burning them with the rest.

“Then…” Xu faltered. The problem was, even after cutting the list, the number was still overwhelming. The Celestial Masters Hall prided itself on fairness—he couldn’t favor one sect over another. But excluding the small ones entirely would cause resentment.

Yun Jiao lowered her gaze, tapping her brush thoughtfully against a half-finished formation sketch. After a moment, she said, “Give me a few days. I’ll send something over—keep an eye out for it. It should solve your problem.”

Xu blinked. “May I ask what it—”

Before he could finish, the sound of loud banging—like someone knocking insistently on wood—came from Yun Jiao’s side of the talisman.

She sighed, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Is it noon already? I’ll have to leave this here, Hall Master. We’ll talk again in a few days.”

And with that, the connection went dead.

The elders and sect masters stared at each other.

“…So… was that a yes? Or a no?”

They had planned to suggest that if teaching everyone at Qingyang was inconvenient, Yun Jiao could simply hold classes at the Celestial Masters Hall. But now, after that abrupt ending, they weren’t sure what to think.

In the end, they decided to wait for whatever “thing” she planned to send. Xu ordered his disciples to keep watch for any incoming message cranes, so they wouldn’t accidentally miss hers.

As it turned out, they needn’t have worried.

Because there was no way anyone could miss it.

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Three days later, Yun Jiao’s “message” arrived.

A colossal paper crane—nearly the size of a washbasin—flapped laboriously toward the Celestial Masters Hall, its wings fanning gusts of wind with every beat. It was easily dozens of times bigger than a normal message crane, and each wing stroke looked like a monumental effort.

The entire hall shook as it flew through the main gates, circled once above the assembly chamber—and then, with a dramatic thump, it landed squarely on Xu Qingfeng’s head.

Xu Qingfeng: “……”

The elders: “……”

The sect masters: “……”

What in the heavens… is this?!

Message cranes were supposed to be small, lightweight, and elegant. Why was this one so fat? And how had something this gigantic made it all the way across the land without being shot down by some overzealous cultivator?

Xu felt a dozen complaints bubbling up but didn’t know where to start.

“Er… Hall Master,” one of the elders coughed gently. “Perhaps… we should read it first?”

Xu twitched but reached up, pulling the green paper crane off his head. Green, he noted grimly.

Why did that color feel so… insulting?

Suppressing his irritation, he touched the rune seal.

Immediately, the massive crane began to unfold and reshape itself with a flurry of rustling paper. Within seconds, the enormous creature disassembled into a thick stack of crisp white sheets that piled up neatly in his hands.

Only then did everyone realize why it had been so huge—the stack was so thick it might as well have been a whole book.

“What is it?” the others crowded around curiously.

“It looks like… diagrams,” Xu murmured, flipping through the sheets. “No text—just strange symbols and numbers.”

“Could these be the formation blueprints?” one elder guessed excitedly. “Perhaps Daoist Yun found it too troublesome to teach in person, so she sent us the drawings directly!”

“Let me see!” Elder Jiao pushed forward eagerly.

Everyone stepped aside. When it came to formations, no one in the hall knew more than him.

Jiao Hengyi studied the papers carefully, his brows knitting tighter with each page. After a long moment, he finally shook his head.

“No… these aren’t formation diagrams,” he said slowly. “But… they do look familiar.”

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(End of Chapter)