Some time later, when everything had calmed down, Jin remained seated at the edge of the vessel, watching the landscape pass by far too quickly to truly appreciate.

  The ship had resumed its journey and now moved even faster than before, as if the encounter with the beast had been nothing more than a minor interruption. The wind intensified, and mountains, forests, and rivers turned into fleeting shadows beneath their feet.

  Jin would have liked to see a bit more of the power of a Golden Core cultivator.

  However, Elder Zhao had returned to his cabin with the same naturalness with which he had stepped out, as though erasing a demonic beast from the sky were a routine task unworthy of comment.

  What had changed, though, was the atmosphere.

  The noise had noticeably increased. The disciples spoke among themselves in low voices, trying to maintain composure. They feigned calm, but their excitement betrayed them—in the speed at which they interrupted one another, in the tension of their gestures, and in how their gazes kept drifting back to the sky.

  Among the children, the commotion was even greater. They talked about the size of the bird, the purple hue of its feathers, the lightning that had seemed to split the heavens in two. They repeated over and over how Elder Zhao had needed only a single gesture to make it disappear. Some had eyes shining with admiration; others reenacted the scene with exaggerated, energetic movements.

  Jin listened in silence.

  Many seemed convinced that one day they would reach that level—that it was enough to enter the sect and train hard for power to come naturally.

  He turned his gaze toward the horizon and released a barely audible sigh. He thought about the reality many of them would face: the talent required, the time invested, unpredictable luck, and the inevitable price of advancing even a single step on the path of cultivation. He wondered how many would be left behind long before ever brushing against something like the Golden Core.

  The vessel continued slicing through the clouds, carrying with it newborn illusions and a future that would not be kind to all.

  Jin emerged from his thoughts with a faint, mocking smile. He was getting ahead of himself again. He could not change what awaited them, and there was no point in resenting something that had not yet happened. He exhaled calmly and focused on what he had beside him: a little lotus who would not stop talking.

  “Big Brother Jin,” Xiao Lian said with shining eyes, “did you see how Elder Zhao flew? Are all immortals like that? When will I be able to do something like that?”

  She did not wait for an answer.

  “That bird was really scary… but you and Brother Wei were so calm. Why did it attack us? And even so… it was beautiful. It’s a shame it disappeared.”

  The words tumbled out one after another, mixing excitement, delayed fear, and childish curiosity.

  Jin listened patiently. He nodded from time to time, replied with brief phrases, and let his smile do the rest. He did not try to explain anything complicated or dampen her enthusiasm.

  “You’ll understand when you’re older. Everything in its own time.”

  She seemed satisfied and continued talking.

  A little farther away, Wei was doing what he did best: meditating as if the world did not exist. His back was straight, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. Neither the noise nor the wind seemed to affect him.

  Jin watched him for a moment and shook his head slightly.

  Seriously… this guy is hopeless.

  The journey continued without further incident.

  When the sun began to rise the next day, the sky was just beginning to brighten, orange tones staining the horizon. The light of dawn filtered through the clouds surrounding the vessel, creating a soft, uniform golden glow.

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  Jin lay on his side, his head propped on one hand, watching the birth of the day. One night had already passed.

  He recalled the information he had drawn from one of the disciples: the trip would normally last three days, but with the flight system operating at full capacity, it would be reduced to one.

  Beside him, Xiao Lian slept deeply. She breathed lightly, and one of her hands still clutched the edge of his robe, as if afraid he might disappear. Jin carefully adjusted the fabric so it would not slip and made sure not to wake her.

  Farther away, Wei remained exactly as he had the night before.

  He had meditated all night.

  He had not moved even once. Back straight, eyes closed, breathing so steady that, for a moment, Jin wondered whether he was still alive.

  Curiosity finally won out. He extended a finger and gently poked Wei’s cheek.

  No reaction.

  He frowned and pressed a little harder.

  Wei’s eyes snapped open.

  “What are you trying to do?”

  The voice was calm, but sudden enough to make him flinch.

  Jin immediately withdrew his hand.

  “Damn it. I was just checking if you were still alive.”

  Wei stared at him for a full second, expressionless.

  “I’m alive. And there’s no need to check like that.”

  Jin let out a low chuckle.

  “With you, you never know.”

  Wei closed his eyes again and resumed his meditation as if nothing had happened.

  The sun had already risen clearly when Jin noticed something in the distance. At first, they were simple dots in the sky; then they began to grow. Not one or two, but several, scattered at different heights.

  Curiosity made him sit up carefully, causing Xiao Lian to stir and half-open her eyes.

  “Are we there already…?” she murmured sleepily.

  “Not yet,” he replied softly, patting her head. “Sleep a little longer.”

  She nodded without thinking much and lay back down, once again gripping his robe.

  Jin moved to the edge of the vessel.

  Then he understood.

  They were other flying ships, almost identical to theirs, with the symbol of eight great mountains wrapped in clouds engraved along their sides. They maintained some distance from one another but followed similar routes.

  At lower altitudes, other figures moved—cultivators flying atop artifacts. Giant swords gliding naturally through the sky.

  Jin’s eyes lit up.

  Now that was interesting. Much better than traveling inside this enormous vessel.

  Farther below, he spotted figures mounted on flying beasts, advancing freely in the same direction.

  The invisible routes of the sky converged toward a single point.

  Carefully freeing Xiao Lian’s hand, he walked toward Ma Jun, the outer disciple he had spoken to before, and performed the customary martial salute.

  “Senior Brother.”

  Ma Jun recognized him immediately and, though his expression tightened for a brief instant, replied with a polite smile.

  “Another question?”

  “Are we almost at the sect?”

  Ma Jun looked at him as if the answer were obvious.

  “Not yet. We’re not going to the main sect. This is one of the four outer bases that guard the cardinal directions of the Eight Celestial Peaks Sect. All candidates must pass trials before entering the true sect.”

  Jin remained silent for a few seconds.

  So this was not the arrival.

  It was the beginning.

  Returning to his place, he lifted his gaze toward the mountain range stretching before them. Countless peaks rose one after another, disappearing into clouds and mist, forming an imposing and continuous natural barrier.

  The vessel began to descend.

  The disciples woke the children and told them to prepare. Xiao Lian ran toward him as soon as she saw him stand.

  “Big Brother Jin…”

  “I’m here,” he replied, patting her head.

  Wei walked behind them, observing the mountains with an analytical gaze.

  When the vessel descended low enough, the complex came into view. Multi-tiered pagodas, vast halls with high roofs, precisely laid stone paths connecting structures, platforms, and courtyards arranged in evident order. There were buildings whose purpose was not immediately clear.

  It was enormous. Far too large to be merely an outer base.

  Everything spoke of resources, accumulated power, and a long history.

  If this was only the entrance, the heart of the sect must surpass any expectation.

  The vessel landed without incident, and the disciples began organizing the twenty-nine children. Jin disembarked with Wei and Xiao Lian, observing every detail.

  He saw Elder Zhao hand something to one of the senior disciples. He did not catch the entire conversation, but he heard fragments: responsibility, necessary, report.

  Shortly afterward, the elder rose into the air and disappeared toward one of the mountains, as if he had never been there.

  More ships landed on nearby platforms. More children descended. Some arrived on flying swords; others mounted on beasts.

  Jin watched carefully.

  Then he noticed the pattern.

  Those who had arrived by ship wore simple clothes: sons and daughters of villagers, farmers, and ordinary families. In contrast, those who came by other means wore finer fabrics, better-chosen colors, and subtle ornaments that revealed status.

  It was not only about talent.

  It was about starting point.

  Noble families. Cultivation clans. Lineages with resources.

  Some began the path several steps ahead, even before setting foot in the sect.

  Jin moved forward in silence, Xiao Lian at his side and Wei behind him, as the magnitude of the place became increasingly evident.

  This was not a simple trial.

  It was a filter.