Within the hallowed halls of Hengyue Sect, stood more than forty disciples, their garb a tapestry of black, white, and crimson, yet devoid of the coveted purple. Each face was etched with solemn respect, an air of earnest anticipation hung heavy. Wang Lin, among them, recognized several faces from his past – Wang Zhuo, a maiden surnamed Xu, the sister Zhou, and the stalwart Brother Zhang.

Before them, seated at either end of a long, imposing table, sat a dozen elders, their expressions as unforgiving as winter’s frost. In the center sat a man of perhaps forty years, his countenance serene and noble, clad in flowing azure robes that spoke of scholarly pursuits and a life dedicated to the Dao. His voice, when it came, was calm and resonant, “Junior Brother Sun, is this then your disciple?”

Sun Dazhu, his frame stout and his face flushed, bowed quickly. “Honored Senior Brother, this whelp is Wang Lin, my apprentice. His tardiness was born of ignorance, for he understands not the import of the Fivefold Bell.”

A grizzled, red-faced elder on the right scoffed. “Indeed, like master, like disciple. Junior Brother Sun’s disciple is as witless as his master once was!”

Another elder, leaning back with a sly smile, added, “Nay, Senior Brother, you are too harsh. Junior Brother Sun possessed a talent, however rough-hewn, far exceeding that of his slow-witted apprentice!”

Sun Dazhu’s complexion shifted from crimson to ashen. He shot a venomous glare at Wang Lin, snorted, and without a word, retreated to an empty seat to the left of the table, seething with frustrated anger.

The azure-robed man frowned, his gaze a shard of ice upon Wang Lin before dismissing him entirely. His voice, regaining its commanding authority, boomed through the hall, “I have made it clear: this trial must bear fruit. In the coming contest with the Xuandao Sect, four years hence, we must not taste defeat! From this day forth, you shall all enter the Back Mountain. Each will find their own place of cultivation. I shall retire into seclusion, seeking to deepen my understanding and seize the spiritual pill. The Sect has seen fit to bestow ten thousand pills for your use. During your time in the Back Mountain, none shall leave. Is that understood?”

A chorus of voices, strong and unified, echoed their assent.

The man in azure nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I trust that in four years, some among you will bear the purple robes of our Sect’s core disciples. A distinction that sets you leagues above the common inner disciple. The advantages, the tribulations… you will discover them yourselves. Now, I shall transport you to the Back Mountain. There, you will find your allotted spaces for cultivation.”

With a flourish of his sleeve, a pulse of blinding white light erupted from his cuff, weaving through the air, encircling all the inner disciples. “Open!” he commanded.

The light blossomed into a shimmering curtain, enveloping the hall in its ethereal glow.

“Go!” The man in azure spoke softly, and with a flicker, the curtain vanished, taking the disciples with it.

Wang Lin felt a surge of warmth, a blurring of his senses. When his vision returned, he stood within a tranquil valley. The air hummed with spiritual energy, far richer than any he had known. The murmur of flowing water teased his ears. Looking around, he saw his fellow disciples, their faces alight with surprise and wonder.

The valley was barren of vegetation, save for a colossal, sheer cliff face. Upon its surface were countless holes, like the cells of a giant honeycomb, some sealed off by hefty stones.

Suddenly, Wang Lin felt the weight of another’s gaze. Turning, he met the sneering eyes of Wang Zhuo, filled with palpable contempt.

From one of the caves in the cliff, a young man emerged, draped in the purple robes of a core disciple. His eyes, cold and discerning, swept over the assembled aspirants. “Junior Brothers,” he began, his voice resonant with authority, “This is the Back Mountain of Hengyue Sect. Know that it is not merely a place behind Hengyue Mountain, but a sanctum consecrated by our Ancestors of the Nascent Soul Stage, five centuries past. A place where inner disciples may cultivate in an environment of unparalleled spiritual energy. Now that you are here, seize the moment! Devote yourselves to constant practice. Should you falter, be assured that your Senior Brother will not hesitate to cast you from these hallowed grounds!”

Wang Lin recognized the speaker: Zhang Kuang, the Second Senior Brother, the one who had stolen his spiritual energy spring water. Rumor had it that he had already reached the sixth level of Qi Condensation, a realm that seemed impossibly distant.

Wang Lin lowered his head, a shadow of bitterness crossing his face. He knew well Zhang Kuang’s capacity for manipulation, the cunning with which he had orchestrated Wang Lin’s fall from grace.

“I possess all the mantras below the seventh level of Qi Condensation. Those of you who have reached the corresponding level, but lack the necessary incantations, may request them here. I will review your request, and if found worthy, grant you the knowledge. As for your places of cultivation, any of the sealed caves on this cliff are open for your choosing. Here, also, is the Pill of Soul-Slaying. Each vial contains fifty pills, to be replenished once each year!” Zhang Kuang gestured, and fifty milky white vials materialized upon the ground.

One by one, the inner disciples approached, silently taking a vial before seeking out a suitable cave to begin their training.

Wang Lin drew a deep breath. Remembering the transformation and sound pill, and confident the other would not recognize him, Wang Lin stepped forward and claimed a vial. Zhang Kuang watched the disciples pass. When his eyes fell upon Wang Lin, his expression twisted with surprise. “What is your name?” he demanded. “How have you even reached the first level of Qi Condensation? And who is your Master?”

Wang Lin paused, turned, and bowed respectfully. “Senior Brother, I am Wang Lin, apprentice to Sun Dazhu. Perhaps it is due to my lack of talent that I have yet to reach the first level.”

Zhang Kuang stared, then chuckled. “So you are Wang Lin? I have heard of you. Talent is important, yes, but perseverance is the true key to cultivating immortality. If you lack natural gifts, you must strive all the harder!”

Wang Lin nodded in earnest agreement.

“Alas, this cliff is far too high for one so weak. You could never climb it. I will lend you a hand!” Zhang Kuang waved his sleeve, and a surge of power lifted Wang Lin towards a cave entrance, then dissipated, leaving him at the threshold.

Wang Lin bowed his thanks, then turned and entered the cave. As soon as he was alone, his face darkened. If he did not know the truth, he might have been fooled by the cordial act. But he had long seen past Zhang Kuang’s facade and would not be deceived by this false gesture of kindness.

The cave was small, containing only a stone bed. Next to it on the wall was a handle. Wang Lin pulled it and with a resounding rumble, a massive stone slab descended from above, sealing the entrance with a final, solid thud.

After carefully examining the cave, Wang Lin was satisfied. His intention had been to ask Sun Dazhu for a reason to leave the Sect and find a secluded place to cultivate. Though he was rejected in this endeavor, he had come to nearly the same result.

His only concern was the lack of water within the cave. Wang Lin’s cultivation relied heavily on spiritual fluids, yet he had stored a substantial amount of snow and water within his pouch, sufficient for some time.

Moreover, he had heard the sound of running water in the valley. With caution, he believed he could resolve the issue of fresh water.