The silence that followed Li Xian's declaration lingered in the Hall of Feathers like the fading echo of a gong.
Moments earlier the chamber had stirred with whispers and shifting gazes as the name Black Dragon was spoken again with something resembling pride rather than mockery.
Now the hall slowly settled.
Rows of elders remained seated upon their elevated platforms, their robes flowing over carved stone like waves of color—crimson, indigo, gold, iron-grey. Their qi pressed down upon the chamber in subtle layers, not hostile, yet powerful enough to remind every disciple present exactly where they stood in the hierarchy of the guild.
At the center throne, Madam Yan leaned back once more.
Her gaze swept across the hall.
The faint spark of amusement still lingered within her eyes, though her expression had returned to the calm authority of a leader accustomed to ruling powerful cultivators.
"The hall has heard enough speeches for one morning."
Her voice carried effortlessly through the chamber.
The murmurs faded immediately.
"Proceed with the selections."
Her gaze shifted toward the glowing slab in the center of the hall where the four cultivation techniques shimmered faintly in golden script.
Iron Vein Harmonisation.
Eight Gate Circulation.
Dantian Spiral Condensation.
Heaven–Earth Circulation.
Each name pulsed gently with qi, as though the techniques themselves were living things waiting to be chosen.
Near the slab, Al Scar inclined his head slightly.
"Of course, Madam Yan."
His tone remained smooth.
Yet his eyes drifted briefly toward the Black Dragon faction, where Lu Mao and the others still stood beneath the watchful attention of the entire hall.
A faint smile touched his lips again.
"Well then."
His voice echoed across the chamber.
"It appears one faction still remains."
Several disciples around the hall shifted in place.
By now every other candidate had completed their selections.
The ceremony had nearly concluded before the earlier drama had interrupted it.
But now—
The final choices belonged to the faction everyone had been whispering about.
And after the bold display moments earlier, curiosity spread through the chamber like wildfire.
Disciples who had already received their techniques leaned slightly forward.
Some whispered behind their sleeves.
Others openly stared.
If the Black Dragon recruits had the courage to challenge elders with their words—
Then what kind of paths would they choose for their cultivation?
Al Scar gestured toward the slab.
"Black Dragon faction."
His smile widened faintly.
"You may step forward."
Behind Lu Mao, Bao Fu cracked his knuckles.
"Well," he muttered, "looks like the spotlight's ours."
Marco grunted quietly.
Chen Yuan adjusted the sword at his waist.
Yan Mei simply folded her arms.
Li Xian stepped aside slightly, allowing the recruits to move ahead.
Her expression remained calm.
But inside…
She was watching carefully.
This choice would shape their futures.
The techniques chosen today would guide the direction of their cultivation for years—perhaps decades—to come.
Bao Fu was the first to move.
Naturally.
He bounced forward with his usual loose, almost playful stride, his steps light as though he were strolling through a marketplace rather than standing beneath the gaze of dozens of saint-level elders.
Several disciples watched him with open curiosity.
Bao Fu reached the slab and tilted his head slightly as he studied the glowing names.
"Hmm."
The grin on his face widened.
"Well… that one's obvious."
Bao Fu loved explosives.
Talismans.
Traps.
Strange little devices that detonated when someone least expected it.
He thrived on precision.
On careful setups.
On the delicate moment where preparation turned into chaos.
For someone like him, there was only one method that made sense.
He raised his hand.
Placed it upon the glowing script.
And spoke clearly.
"Dantian Spiral Condensation."
The slab hummed.
Golden light surged upward.
For a moment Bao Fu's entire figure was wrapped in a shimmering aura as strands of qi flowed from the stone and into his meridians.
Tiny sparks danced around him like fireflies.
Several disciples gasped softly.
Bao Fu blinked.
"Whoa."
The glow faded.
He flexed his fingers experimentally before grinning even wider.
"Well that felt nice."
He strutted back toward the group.
Marco shook his head faintly.
"You're enjoying this too much."
Bao Fu shrugged.
"When you spend your life blowing things up, you learn to enjoy the good moments."
Next came Marco.
The tribal warrior stepped forward without hesitation.
Unlike Bao Fu's playful stride, Marco moved with steady confidence.
His broad shoulders rolled slightly as he approached the slab, muscles shifting beneath his clothing like coiled ropes.
He did not pause to consider the choices.
Warriors like him rarely did.
There was only one path that suited his nature.
Marco placed his palm firmly upon the glowing script.
"Iron Vein Harmonisation."
The slab responded instantly.
Golden qi surged into his arm like molten metal flowing through a mold.
Marco's body stiffened slightly as the energy spread through his meridians.
For a brief moment the veins along his forearms glowed faintly beneath the skin.
Then the light faded.
Marco exhaled slowly.
His expression remained calm.
But the subtle tension leaving his shoulders suggested the technique had settled comfortably within his body.
He turned and walked back without another word.
Chen Yuan stepped forward next.
The young swordsman moved with quiet elegance.
His robes barely rustled as he approached the slab, one hand resting lightly upon the hilt of the sword at his waist.
Unlike Marco, Chen Yuan studied the glowing names carefully.
A swordsman's path required balance.
Control.
But also bursts of decisive power.
His fingers brushed the edge of the slab briefly before settling upon the script he had already chosen in his mind.
"Eight Gate Circulation."
The slab flared.
Golden strands surged upward, weaving around Chen Yuan like threads of sunlight.
His eyes closed briefly as the technique entered his meridians.
The flow of qi felt sharp.
Precise.
Like a blade sliding along bone.
When the glow faded, Chen Yuan opened his eyes again.
A faint smile touched his lips.
He returned to the group.
Next came Yan Mei.
The shift in attention was immediate.
Disciples leaned forward.
Whispers rippled through the hall.
After all—
Yan Mei was not merely another recruit.
She was the daughter of the guild leader.
Even some elders watched her with quiet curiosity.
Yan Mei walked forward calmly.
She ignored the stares.
Ignored the whispers.
Her gaze remained fixed on the slab.
There was never any doubt what she would choose.
The technique she selected had been practiced by guild leaders for generations.
It required immense resources.
Rare spirit materials.
And an understanding of balance few cultivators possessed.
Yan Mei placed her hand upon the glowing script.
"Heaven–Earth Circulation."
The reaction was immediate.
Golden light surged upward more intensely than before, swirling around her like a gentle storm.
The qi felt different.
Balanced.
Deep.
For a moment the air around her seemed to harmonize with the world itself.
When the glow faded, a few elders nodded faintly in approval.
Yan Mei turned and returned to the others without a word.
Now—
Only one remained.
The hall's attention shifted naturally toward Lu Mao.
The young thief stepped forward slowly.
Eyes followed him from every direction.
After the bold declaration earlier, everyone seemed eager to see what path such a reckless boy would choose.
And truthfully—
Most people already believed they knew the answer.
A thief.
An agile fighter.
Someone who relied on stealth rather than brute force.
There was only one cultivation method that suited such a path.
Dantian Spiral Condensation.
Lu Mao himself had already decided.
As he walked toward the slab, he could almost feel the choice waiting for him.
He raised his hand.
The glowing script shimmered before him.
Everything seemed simple.
Straightforward.
His fingers hovered above the slab.
Then—
Something changed.
A sharp tremor shot through his body.
Lu Mao froze.
Inside him—
His meridians suddenly erupted into chaos.
Qi twisted violently within his channels as though something deep inside his body had awakened.
A pressure built behind his temples.
A faint sound echoed within his ears.
At first it was nothing more than distant noise.
Like wind rushing through a narrow tunnel.
Then the sound grew louder.
Vibrating.
Unclear.
Pain stabbed through his skull.
Lu Mao clenched his teeth.
His vision blurred slightly as blood rushed through his veins.
The noise intensified.
A strange vibration pulsed inside his mind.
Then slowly—
The sound began to form something resembling words.
Not clear.
Not entirely understandable.
But insistent.
Eight…
The vibration surged again.
Eight… Gate…
Lu Mao's breath caught.
His hand trembled above the slab.
This wasn't right.
That wasn't the technique he had chosen.
But the pressure inside his head grew unbearable.
His meridians twisted violently.
The sound roared through his mind.
Eight Gate Circulation.
Lu Mao's fingers moved before he could stop them.
His hand slammed down onto the slab.
"Eight Gate Circulation!"
The stone hummed.
Golden light exploded upward.
The technique surged into his meridians like a raging river breaking through a dam.
The noise vanished instantly.
The pressure inside his skull disappeared.
Silence returned.
The glow faded.
Lu Mao stood there breathing heavily.
Sweat trickled down his temple.
Behind him—
The hall erupted.
"What?!"
"He chose that?!"
"That's the worst possible match!"
Disciples burst into laughter.
Several elders exchanged looks of disbelief.
Even some who had defended the Black Dragon faction earlier frowned deeply.
A thief choosing Eight Gate Circulation made little sense.
The technique specialized in explosive bursts of qi.
It suited aggressive fighters.
Frontline combatants.
Not stealth specialists.
From the elder seats, one man scoffed loudly.
"So much for bold words."
Another chuckled.
"An idiot after all."
Even Al Scar allowed himself a faint amused smile.
Only a few figures remained silent.
Madam Yan.
Elder Ji Han.
And the members of the Black Dragon faction themselves.
Li Xian's eyes narrowed sharply.
Bao Fu stared.
"Lu Mao… what the hell was that?"
Yan Mei stepped forward slightly.
"You chose the wrong one."
Lu Mao didn't answer.
He simply stood there, staring at his own hand.
What just happened?
He had intended to choose something else.
He was certain of it.
Yet his body had moved on its own.
The whisper inside his mind had vanished completely.
Leaving only confusion.
Al Scar gestured toward the exit.
"Well then."
His voice carried a faint hint of mockery.
"The selections are complete."
Lu Mao turned slowly.
The laughter of surrounding disciples followed them as the Black Dragon faction walked away from the slab.
Whispers trailed behind them.
Mocking.
Amused.
Pitying.
Lu Mao said nothing.
He walked in silence.
His face dark.
Bao Fu tried speaking again.
"Seriously, what happened back there?"
No response.
Even when they left the hall and returned to the quieter corridors of the guild, Lu Mao remained silent.
His thoughts churned.
Something had interfered with his choice.
Something inside his own body.
By the time they reached the Black Dragon residence, he had not spoken a single word.
Li Xian finally turned toward the others.
"Return to your quarters."
Her voice was calm.
"We will discuss this later."
The recruits nodded slowly.
Lu Mao walked past them without looking up.
He entered his room.
And shut the door behind him.
The quiet inside the chamber felt heavier than the mocking laughter they had left behind.