As he spoke, Zhang Qingliao stepped directly in front of Chen Gensheng.

  Gensheng remained motionless, allowing the elder’s heavy aura to wash over him. A flicker of surprise crossed Zhang’s eyes. He extended two fingers, which began to glow with a soft, tepid white light, and slowly pointed them toward Gensheng’s eyes.

  The glowing fingertips stopped barely an inch from his eyelids. The white light flowed like water around his eyes before dissipating. To Zhang's probe, these were merely ordinary eyes—exceptionally beautiful, yes, but possessing no special traits.

  Yet, the youth standing before him was undeniably at the Ninth Level of Qi Condensation.

  "Ninth Level..." Zhang Qingliao murmured to himself, re-evaluating the disciple. "Not bad, lad. Not bad at all."

  He patted Gensheng on the shoulder, his demeanor significantly warmer than before. "Simin is a fortunate child to have studied under me. Though she was born with the Void-Observing Eyes, her heart was never in the Dao. Returning home is better than wasting her years in the sect."

  With those words, he completely brushed aside the previous tension.

  "With your current cultivation, you aren't far from Foundation Establishment."

  "This disciple is dull-witted; I dare not harbor such grand hopes," Gensheng replied.

  "No need for excessive modesty." Zhang Qingliao stroked his long beard. "If a speed of cultivation like yours isn't considered talent, then there are few 'clever' people left in Maple Red Valley. However, while your foundation is thick, it is too chaotic—your path has been too wild. If you continue like this, even if you manage to establish your foundation by luck, you won't go far."

  Gensheng listened in silence.

  "In two months, the sect will hold its decennial Outer Sect Martial Competition," the Elder continued. "Top performers among the Outer disciples may participate. The three who take the top spots will each be awarded a Foundation Establishment Pill."

  To any Qi Condensation cultivator, a Foundation Establishment Pill was a ticket to the heavens. Gensheng’s hand, hanging at his side, twitched ever so slightly.

  "Do you have the ambition to strive for it?"

  "This disciple lacks the confidence..."

  "If a Five-Element Pseudo-Root can reach the Ninth Level at your age and still lacks ambition, then I’ve misjudged you." Zhang’s eyes narrowed, a sharp glint flashing through them. "Tell me: do you want to reach Foundation Establishment?"

  "Yes."

  "That skin of yours is your greatest asset, but also your greatest trouble," Zhang said. "A 'Waste-Root' with such high cultivation and such a handsome face is a walking injustice. On the martial stage, blades have no eyes. Many will want to sever your path to immortality."

  The Elder pulled a mask as thin as a cicada's wing from his storage bag. "Wear this. It will save you much unnecessary trouble."

  Gensheng reached out to take it, but Zhang suddenly pulled his hand back. He rubbed the cold mask, his brow furrowing.

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  "Never mind." He tucked it away. "This competition is held to celebrate the Saintess’s successful Core Formation. She may even attend in person. The sect must remain harmonious and festive. If you take the stage wearing a suspicious mask, it might displease Her Highness. I cannot bear the guilt of ruining the Saintess’s mood."

  Gensheng silently withdrew his hand.

  Zhang then produced a small porcelain bottle from his sleeve and tossed it over. "Here are ten Qi-Condensing Pills. They are common, but they will help stabilize your realm. Go now. Prepare well, and do not disappoint me."

  Gensheng caught the bottle, bowed deeply to Zhang Qingliao, and exited the cave without a word.

  He had a mountain of tasks ahead of him: he had ten years to refine Li Simin into a Corpse Puppet to preserve the Void-Observing Eyes; his Ten-Thousand Insect Tripod had yet to be fired up; and now, he had to push for Foundation Establishment.

  Should he take the stage and seize that pill right under Lu Zhaozhao’s nose?

  It wasn't a matter of courage. It was because he had played the role in that hundred-year dream for too long, and too convincingly. To the current Lu Zhaozhao, was that dream a beautiful memory or a thorn in her side?

  If it were the former, his face might earn him favor. If it were the latter, showing his face would mean absolute destruction. He needed to consider carefully before placing his life in the hands of someone else's whims.

  As he descended, the crowds grew thicker and more boisterous. He left the quiet cave district and entered the chaotic heart of the sect: the Maple Red Valley Market.

  There were no grand pavilions here, only crude stalls built from mountain stone and timber, packed so tightly they seemed to stretch forever. Countless disciples—and even some servants—wandered through the rows. Shouts of hawkers, the bartering of buyers, and the hum of clashing artifacts blended into a roar.

  Gensheng stopped at a corner stall. The owner was an elderly Outer disciple whose cultivation had stalled at the Fifth Level. His stall was piled with yellowed books and cracked jade slips.

  "Junior Brother, take a look? These are the notes and insights of those who came before us. You might find something useful." The owner froze upon seeing Gensheng’s face, then grew even more enthusiastic.

  Gensheng crouched down and sifted through the junk. He pulled out a small booklet bound in beast skin: Introduction to Talismanry. It detailed the methods of guiding Qi into a brush and concentrating intent onto paper, along with several common Grade-1 talisman patterns: Cleanse, Water-Gathering, Fireball, and Light-Body.

  Minor tricks, barely worth mentioning.

  "Good eye, Junior Brother!" The owner leaned in. "Those are the personal insights written by a senior from the Talisman Hall a hundred years ago. You can't buy this anywhere else."

  Gensheng fished three low-grade spirit stones from his bag and dropped them on the stall. The owner’s smile stiffened. "Junior Brother... this is worth at least ten stones."

  Gensheng stood up, weighing the booklet. "The ink on this isn't even three years old. The binding is common black-horned goat skin; you can buy three skins for a single stone in this market. As for the content, any disciple from the Talisman Hall could explain it clearly for free."

  He looked the owner in the eye. "Three stones. Do you want them or not?"

  The owner’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anger, but he didn't dare lash out. "I'll sell! I'll sell!" He snatched the stones before Gensheng could change his mind.

  With the manual in hand, the next step was materials. Gensheng crossed the market to a shop specializing in talisman supplies.

  "What can I get for you, honored guest?" a clerk asked.

  "A talisman brush, paper, and cinnabar."

  "You wish to learn to draw them yourself?" The clerk was surprised. In modern Maple Red Valley, few people bothered with "side-paths" like talismanry, which consumed massive amounts of time and resources.

  "The brush must be wolf-hair, the paper made from green bamboo pulp, and the cinnabar at least a century old."

  The clerk led him to the counter and produced a wooden box, a stack of green paper, and a small porcelain jar.

  "Wolf-hair brush, crafted from the tail-tip of a spirit wolf from Black Wind Ridge—perfect for guiding Qi. Thirty stones. Green bamboo paper, pounded from the heart of hundred-year-old Jade Bamboo. One hundred sheets. Fifty stones. Century-old cinnabar, harvested from fire-vein mines. High Yang energy, best for warding evil. Eighty stones."

  "Total: one hundred and sixty spirit stones."

  Gensheng paid the stones, bought a few more supplemental materials, and left.