Chapter 39: Within the Cycle of Reincarnation

A moment ago, the mountain path was alive with the sounds of insects and birds, but as he turned back, all fell silent. The ascent became eerily quiet. After some time, a white mist began to rise along the trail, gradually obscuring the ground beneath his feet. Qin Chengming proceeded cautiously, his vigilance heightened. When mist is used to obscure the path during the recruitment of new disciples, it is usually for an illusion or confusion formation—rarely would a dangerous killing array be employed.

As expected, Qin Chengming encountered neither killing, confusion, nor illusion arrays on his way. The mist turned out to be nothing more than a simple visual trick, which surprised him greatly.

His destination was a plaza halfway up the mountain, evidently meant to be reached within a certain time, though he did not know how much time was required to pass the trial. When he arrived, only two disciples stood there, having passed before him. Surely a sect would not recruit merely two disciples?

The first two were both young, one dressed in red, the other in green. Qin Chengming clasped his hands in greeting and announced himself, “Jiang Chengming, greetings.”

The two exchanged glances and returned the gesture, their fists cupped:

“Li Shuangjiang.”

“Li Shuanghe.”

“Greetings, Brother Jiang!”

Qin Chengming raised an eyebrow. “Are the two of you brothers? Your names sound remarkably similar.”

Li Shuangjiang stepped back as Li Shuanghe came forward, saying, “Brother Jiang, you have keen eyes. Indeed, we are twin brothers…” He was about to continue when more people arrived, prompting the three to turn their attention to the steps below.

This time, a group of twelve appeared—four men and eight women. The women looked fresh and clean, but three of the men were in a sorry state, their clothes torn, covered in dirt as if they had rolled in mud. The path had no real challenges; all one needed was to climb up. How could they end up so disheveled?

These newcomers saluted the initial three, about to offer greetings, when another group followed. The stairway was not wide, and with twelve blocking the way, those behind could not ascend unless passage was granted. They quickly stepped aside, knowing there would be plenty of time for introductions later.

More and more arrived, and within the time it takes for incense to burn, nearly a hundred filled the plaza. Then, from somewhere, a resonant bell tolled. With its sound, the mountain mist dissipated completely, and those who had not reached the plaza were sent away.

Soon, a team of people arrived, each clad in matching wide-sleeved robes, carrying various musical instruments. They sat cross-legged before the gathered disciples and began to play. Qin Chengming, who had studied music, found the melodies strange—neither the elegant strains of “High Mountains and Flowing Waters” nor the popular tunes of the mundane world. Listening closely, he thought they resembled the enchanting music the Meizu use to beguile minds, though weaker, incapable of stirring his spirit, leaving him uncertain.

When the first piece ended, a second began, its allure more pronounced. Some in the crowd began to sway with the music.

By the third song, the enchanting power grew stronger. Even the twin brothers beside him, Li Shuangjiang and Li Shuanghe, nearly succumbed. Qin Chengming pinched each of their wrists, clearing their minds. Grateful and perceptive, the two quickly steadied themselves and waited quietly for the trial to end.

After the third piece, attendants distributed numbered tokens. Qin Chengming received number one, and a faint smile touched his lips. The twin brothers, delighted with numbers two and three, cast grateful glances at him, though discreetly. Qin Chengming merely nodded and smiled in return, their understanding unspoken.

Only fifty-six tokens were handed out, yet those without tokens were not dismissed. Instead, they were all sent to another mountain peak.

Here was another circular plaza, surrounded by eight towering pillars. At the center stood a massive rune carved in cinnabar, with a giant sensor at its heart—ten times larger than the one used in the city’s tests.

A woman of ethereal beauty stepped forward and addressed the crowd, “I trust you all recognize these devices. How does it work? I need not explain again, do I? Those without tokens will begin, then those with tokens from number fifty-six to one in order. If you have questions about the test, ask now; all other questions, keep to yourselves!”

The crowd looked at one another, none daring to speak. Qin Chengming stepped forward and asked, “I see this sensor is much larger than the previous one—does it measure more accurately?”

The woman glanced at him, shuffled through several papers, her expression softening. “Of course it’s more accurate. This is no ordinary sensor—it’s a spiritual treasure, specifically designed to assess spiritual roots. You’ll see for yourselves shortly. Those without tokens, please queue up!”

Reluctantly, those without tokens formed a long line. This time, the measurement was not indicated by the sensor’s light, but by the pillars around the plaza, each corresponding to a different spiritual root.

Qin Chengming’s heart grew uneasy; he still did not know his own spiritual root. If, as he suspected, he possessed roots of every attribute, would he be expelled from the sect? He had no particular attachment to the Melody Sect, but his young age made it difficult to seek another distant sect. Besides, by the standards of other sects, his admission was far from guaranteed.

Lost in anxious thought, his turn came. Qin Chengming placed his hand upon the sensor, and instantly, all present seemed to enter a world of seven colors. The woman’s face was strangely illuminated by the myriad hues from the pillars.

Such a jumbled array of spiritual roots, and yet he had been allowed to reach this stage? How had those incompetent ones sent down the mountain failed to notice? Were they all blind?

The woman regarded him with a trace of pity and said, “Please stand aside. I will address you once I have arranged their placements.”

Obediently, Qin Chengming stepped aside, his heart sinking. Something was clearly amiss—were they about to reject him for having too many spiritual roots? Yet the colors of his roots were pure and bright; did they only care about the number, not the quality?