Chapter Forty-Six: The Protagonist Always Appears Last

Inside the grand hall, silence reigned, broken only by the faint rustling of scrolls being turned. Wang Ran sat cross-legged, his gaze full of interest as he studied the paper in his hands. That long-lost sensation of taking an exam welled up from within him.

In his previous life, he had been the top scholar in the imperial entrance exams, gifted beyond compare in the realm of study—a prodigy destined for the highest academies. Even after arriving in this world, that talent had not faded. To him, this so-called Enforcement Hall’s written examination was child’s play compared to the convoluted and challenging tests of his past life.

So, when Zhao Xiaobai placed a hefty stack of scrolls before him three days ago, Wang Ran remained calm and unflustered. Over these past three days, amid his cultivation, he had found spare moments to thoroughly absorb and master all the contents written upon those scrolls.

Now, as he lifted the brush, he drew a sheet of fine rice paper and began to answer the questions.

Beside him, the others wrestled with the exam, tension clear upon their faces. The hall was long but narrow, arranged in a single row of four desks. Wang Ran, Yan Wanrou, Zhao Xiaobai, and Tony Mu, having placed first in the martial trial, were specially observed and occupied the front row.

Apart from Wang Ran, the others were equally composed. As the most promising prodigies of the Only Me Sect, their talents extended beyond cultivation to encompass extraordinary intelligence. They handled the questions with practiced ease.

At the rear of the hall, two elders stood upon a raised platform, hands clasped behind their backs, overseeing the examination room to prevent cheating. Their gaze lingered approvingly on the prodigies below.

“Heaven truly favors our Only Me Sect, blessing us with so many gifted disciples at once. This is cause for celebration,” the white-bearded elder on the left remarked. Though not the most renowned among the elders, few disciples knew him by name, he wielded great authority—his standing even above the outer sect elder Liu Ansheng.

Hearing this, his companion, a white-robed elder whose reputation far surpassed his, laughed and replied, “Master Huang, are you perhaps considering taking one of them as your disciple?”

This white-robed elder was the master of the Scripture Pavilion, one of the sect’s most powerful figures, entrusted with the safeguarding and management of the sect’s ancient tomes.

Elder Huang stroked his beard, his eyes full of emotion. “Should their talents prove worthy, I would not be opposed. But we shall see—just how lofty is the measure of their brilliance?”

The written examination differed from the martial trial. Martial accomplishments were measured by the Spirit Martial Stone, but here, what mattered was “literary spirit.” Legend held that the great hall itself was constructed by means of an array, harmless in purpose, but able to assess wisdom.

When the disciples completed their answers, the array would automatically judge their correctness, manifesting their literary spirit accordingly. The higher the literary spirit, the better the result: one zhang as the minimum, ten as the pinnacle.

Hearing Elder Huang’s words, the white-robed elder nodded. “Indeed. To be called a prodigy, one must excel not only in cultivation, but also in mind and character. Only with both can one hope to stand at the summit of the continent. Over three hundred years of Enforcement Hall’s history and more than seventy selection trials, many geniuses have emerged in the martial test, but few have shone so brightly in the written exam.”

“Twelve years ago, our sect’s prodigy Yao Jianjia entered the Enforcement Hall and astounded everyone. She finished all the questions in just half an hour, and as her brush left the paper, her literary spirit erupted to a height of nine zhang, the highest in that selection. She is now a personal disciple.”

The white-robed elder’s voice was tinged with recollection, lost in memories of the written exam’s former glory. Elder Huang shared the sentiment, sighing, “But if we speak of the most dazzling in our sect’s history, that title belongs to Ye Cang.”

“I recall that selection well. Not only did Ye Cang top the martial trial, but in the written exam, his wisdom was unmatched. With a single stroke, he wrote a poem that caused his literary spirit to soar to the very peak—ten zhang—a feat never before seen. The brilliance illuminated the entire Fifth Mountain.”

“I wonder if any among these young ones can recreate such splendor.”

The white-robed elder’s eyes filled with expectation. The two exchanged a glance and waited in silence.

Time slipped by, and the only sound in the tranquil hall was the turning of exam scrolls. After about half an hour, a disciple from the back row set down his brush. Suddenly, a beam of radiant light shot up from the earth, climbing higher and higher before halting at around three zhang.

Elder Huang stroked his beard in approval. “Excellent. Three zhang and three—definitely a promising seedling.”

Though three zhang and three fell far short of Yao Jianjia’s nine, among ordinary disciples, it was already outstanding.

After that, more and more bursts of literary spirit erupted throughout the hall, the highest reaching six zhang, which thoroughly impressed Elder Huang, who made a note of the disciple.

A short while later, all but the four in the first row had completed their exams. The remaining disciples did not disperse; they lingered, eager to see the results of the top four.

“Our best so far is six zhang. I wonder how high theirs will reach?”

“My bet’s on Zhao Xiaobai. He’s always been fond of the classics. His results should be excellent.”

“Besides him, Tony Mu and Yan Wanrou are both renowned prodigies. They surely won’t disappoint.”

“Don’t forget about Senior Brother Wang—the monster among us.”

“True. Wang Ran may seem careless most of the time, but he’s still a ten-star Foundation genius.”

“A true clash of dragons and tigers!”

The crowd buzzed with speculation, their eyes full of mixed emotions as they watched the four at the front. Though all were disciples of the Only Me Sect, these four were already far ahead, hailed as prodigies. The others could not help but feel a complex blend of admiration, envy, and longing.

At last, movement came from the group of four.

Tony Mu was the first to set down his brush. Instantly, literary spirit surged around him, sweeping to the ceiling.

Elder Huang rose to his feet in delight. “Wonderful! Seven zhang and two—a true prodigy!”

Even as the words left his lips, Zhao Xiaobai rose as well, bowing slightly to the two elders. Above his head, his literary spirit carried a hint of deadly intensity, roaring upward and smashing through Tony Mu’s record, reaching nine zhang—equal to Yao Jianjia’s achievement years before!

The two elders could not conceal their astonishment, leaping up in excitement. The disciples’ exclamations filled the hall.

“Nine zhang! As expected of Zhao Xiaobai!”

“His literary spirit even carries a trace of murderous intent. Is this the reincarnation of the God of Slaughter?”

“Senior Sister Yao’s record has been matched!”

“He’s incredible!”

Zhao Xiaobai’s potential was limitless; his literary spirit surpassed even his outstanding martial trial results. The two elders were nearly beside themselves with joy.

Next, Little Sister Yan Wanrou finished her paper. She leapt up in excitement, her literary spirit bursting forth and climbing rapidly, surpassing Tony Mu in the blink of an eye before settling at eight zhang and eight.

Gasps of amazement rippled through the crowd. Who would have thought the seemingly naïve girl could achieve such a result? The little sister blinked her large, curious eyes at the shining light above her.

The two proctors looked on with deep satisfaction.

“Heaven truly blesses our sect!”

With the talents of these three, regardless of where they went, they would stand out as extraordinary, destined to become pillars of the Only Me Sect and bring it to even greater glory.

As Zhao Xiaobai and the others completed their tests, the crowd’s awe shifted to the final disciple yet to finish—Wang Ran.

How high would his literary spirit soar?