Chapter Eight: The Choice of Fate

“If you won’t take him, I will,” said Zheng Feixian, who had been calmly sipping her tea at the side, suddenly making a startling declaration. The young girl standing beside her turned pale with shock. “Master! How can someone so base and filthy be allowed to join our sect?”

Beneath them, Bu Jingxian, still kneeling, showed little reaction to her words. He had long understood that this girl and the two senior brothers came from extraordinary backgrounds, and it was entirely natural for them to look down on him with such lofty pride. Kindness from the wealthy did not mean they lacked a sense of rank or status; even the poor could still see slaves as beneath them.

Their charity, of course, carried the air of condescending benevolence.

The Northern Spirit Elder could not help but laugh. “You know what kind of person I am. How could I go back on my word? But the difficulty truly lies in the complication... Let us do this instead. I will give you a chance. There are seven sect techniques—every disciple of our sect bears a black iron token marked with the technique they study. Now, you may choose for yourself. Even if you select a Divine or Royal Technique, I will teach you everything without reservation, and you need not swear any future allegiance to your two senior brothers.”

Bu Jingxian thought it over and could only nod in agreement, hoping that fate would not toy with him.

Ling Luo produced seven waist tokens, turning them over and spreading them out before Bu Jingxian. As he set them down, he gave a subtle sign toward the second token from the left, only withdrawing to the Northern Spirit Elder’s side when Bu Jingxian noticed.

“Choose!”

Bu Jingxian stared intently at the seven black iron tokens, their backs all identical. He had caught Ling Luo’s signal but hesitated, unsure whether to trust it. By now, he had grasped the deeper meaning behind the sect’s rules: each technique was assigned to a single branch, with the Divine and Royal Techniques belonging to two separate lines, Ling Luo and Chu Gaoge destined as their future leaders. The rules were set to prevent internal strife over the techniques and the bloodshed it would bring.

So how could Ling Luo possibly wish for him to learn the Divine Technique? They had met only this once... Thus, Bu Jingxian resolved to ignore the sign and reasoned that the indicated token could not possibly be the Divine one.

He hesitated for a long time, but no one hurried him.

Zheng Feixian, still sipping her tea, watched him with keen interest, as if deeply invested in the decision that would seal his fate.

Bu Jingxian racked his brains but could find no clue—other than the second token—on which to base his choice. He knew this decision would shape his destiny. His gaze roamed back and forth across the remaining six tokens, unable to decide, until he was drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

Yet he knew mere hesitation would not help.

In the end, Bu Jingxian chose the seventh token from the left, hoping the number seven—an echo of his meeting with July—might bring him luck.

He gripped the token and slowly turned it over.

All eyes focused on its face, where a single red character was clearly visible: “Soul.”

He had drawn a token engraved with the baffling character “Soul”!

Bu Jingxian’s face turned ashen; in anguish, he bowed his head.

“Ling Luo, put the tokens away,” the Northern Spirit Elder said flatly, unmoved. Ling Luo quickly stepped forward, picking up each token and keeping their faces hidden, except for the second one, which he turned just enough for Bu Jingxian to see.

Bu Jingxian, still numb with shock, caught sight of the “Divine” character on that token’s face. It felt as though someone had struck him hard in the chest. When he looked up at Ling Luo’s calm, untroubled eyes, waves of heat washed over his face.

He realized that his cleverness had backfired, that he had judged a gentleman by the standards of a petty mind.

Ling Luo’s sign had been full of goodwill—the token he indicated was the Divine Technique.

He had missed his chance, just as he had missed the opportunity to accept Zheng Feixian’s earlier kindness, and once again, had lost out to his own doubts.

“From this moment, you are officially the third disciple of the Northern Spirit Sect. Ling Luo is your eldest brother, Chu Gaoge your second brother. Our sect does not insist on excessive ceremony; you may pay your respects in the fashion of the Spirit and Soul Sect.”

Bu Jingxian collected himself, placed his palm to his forehead, and bowed slightly in solemn salute. Ling Luo and Chu Gaoge acknowledged him amiably, telling him not to stand on ceremony.

At that moment, Bu Jingxian remembered July; he dropped to his knees and begged the master to take her in as well.

But before the Northern Spirit Elder could reply, Zheng Feixian interjected, “Your master has already made an exception in accepting you; how could he take in July as well? Do you know what price nobles and princes across the land are willing to pay to join the Northern Spirit Sect? For a registered disciple to study here for a year, the fee is a thousand taels of gold. To live atop the mountain as a full sect disciple and study for a year, the price is three thousand taels! And if you want your master’s personal, daily instruction, it will cost ten thousand taels of gold each year!”

Bu Jingxian had never heard of martial training being sold like goods, nor at such staggering prices! He and July had not a coin to their names—how could they ever pay such fees? Yet he would never abandon July. Thinking of her appetite and the hardships they had endured, and the hope and promise he had given her, he resolved that if she could not stay, he would leave as well.

But Zheng Feixian, having said her piece, continued, “However, my sect has no such rules. I rather like July, so from now on, let her become my disciple and learn from me.”

The Northern Spirit Elder, for once, let out a laugh. “Little girl, aren’t you going to greet your master?”

July looked lost. She wanted to stay with Bu Jingxian, but was fond of Zheng Feixian too, knowing she could not remain on Northern Spirit Mountain. She glanced at Bu Jingxian, hoping for advice, but he knew nothing of Zheng Feixian—whether she was good or bad—so how could he decide?

The others all saw his hesitation. The Northern Spirit Elder addressed him sternly, “The grand master of the Feixian Sect wishes to take a disciple—who would dare refuse?”

Bu Jingxian was greatly shocked and quickly signaled July. She understood, dashed forward, dropped to her knees before Zheng Feixian, and kowtowed, calling out “Master” with proper form.

Zheng Feixian was delighted, bade her rise, and introduced the girl who had accompanied them, Zheng Linran, instructing July to address her as Senior Sister January. The Feixian Sect was divided into four seasonal halls and twelve monthly halls, each season overseen by an elder, the months below composed of disciples. July Hall was among them—perhaps the reason Zheng Feixian was so pleased with her new disciple’s name. Disciples were usually affiliated with one of these halls, and when meeting, would introduce themselves by their hall and the year and month they joined, just as in the Northern Spirit Sect, where rank was determined by order of entry.

When July obediently greeted her senior sister, Zheng Linran showed little interest, stepping away in disdain. Seeing her master’s stern gaze, she reluctantly called July “Junior Sister” and would not look at her again.

Zheng Feixian knew Zheng Linran came from a royal household. This was her first time away from the palace; while curious about the world, she carried her innate sense of superiority and would never regard a vagabond like July as her equal. She did not insist further, instead turning to Bu Jingxian. “Have you heard of my sect?”

“Only the deaf and those who read nothing but the Classics could fail to know the name of the Feixian Sect,” Bu Jingxian replied solemnly.

Zheng Feixian laughed softly and asked, “If so, why are you willing to let July join my sect? Are you not afraid it will hinder your quest for vengeance?”

All eyes turned to Bu Jingxian, waiting for his response. Calmly and gravely, he declared, “The destruction of the Spirit and Soul Sect is not a personal grudge, not a family feud, nor a sectarian dispute. It is the humiliation of my entire clan.”

“Well said!” Zheng Feixian applauded heartily. “May you one day have the power to avenge that humiliation.”

But Bu Jingxian could only look down gloomily at the token in his hand, upon which the character “Soul” was engraved...