Chapter 7: Verdant City
The journey down from the mountain took three days, though it might have been three lifetimes for how much Zhi Fan's world expanded with each step. Villages he had only glimpsed as distant smoke became bustling communities filled with people who had never known the harsh solitude of mountain peaks. Markets overflowed with goods from across the province, their merchants hawking everything from spirit-enhanced rice to minor cultivation pills.
Zhou Ming maintained the pretense of a traveling merchant, his spatial ring filled with common herbs and minor spiritual stones that would justify their presence on the roads. To any casual observer, they were simply another pair of traders heading to Verdant City for the seasonal markets that coincided with the Sect Recruitment.
But Zhi Fan noticed how other travelers gave them a wide berth on the road. How conversations died when Zhou Ming approached inns for lodging. How even the horses seemed nervous in his guardian's presence, despite his careful suppression of spiritual energy.
"They sense the blood on your hands," Zhi Fan observed on their second night, as they made camp beside a stream rather than risk another uncomfortable inn.
Zhou Ming looked up from the fire he was tending, his weathered face impassive. "Fifty-eight years of violence leaves marks that cannot be washed away, no matter how deeply one buries the past. The innocent feel it instinctively—death clings to those who have dealt it freely."
"Do I carry the same marks now?"
"Not yet. The bandits you killed were your first, and they died in straightforward combat. But that will change." Zhou Ming's eyes reflected the firelight like a predator's. "The cultivation world will stain your hands with blood you never intended to spill. The question is whether you can retain your humanity in the process."
On the third morning, they crested a hill and saw Verdant City spread before them like a jewel in the valley below. The city was enormous—larger than all the villages they had passed combined—with walls of white stone that gleamed in the morning sun. Towers rose from within those walls, their peaks disappearing into low-hanging clouds, and even from this distance, Zhi Fan could sense the spiritual energy that saturated the air above the city.
"Impressive," Zhou Ming said, though his tone carried more wariness than admiration. "Verdant City has grown since my last visit. They've expanded the cultivation districts and built new arrays to concentrate spiritual energy. The sects are clearly taking this year's recruitment more seriously than usual."
As they drew closer, the scale of the gathering became apparent. Hundreds of young cultivators had descended on the city from across the province, their colorful robes and gleaming weapons marking them as the rising generation of the cultivation world. Some traveled alone, their confidence suggesting hidden depths of power. Others moved in groups, their synchronized movements indicating shared training from the same schools or families.
All of them radiated an intensity that Zhi Fan had never encountered before—the focused ambition of those who had devoted their entire lives to the pursuit of power.
"Remember," Zhou Ming murmured as they approached the city gates, "you are Zhi Fan, an independent cultivator from the northern mountains. Your master died recently, leaving you to seek formal sect training. Keep your background simple and your abilities modest until you understand the political landscape."
The gates themselves were a marvel of spiritual engineering. Arrays carved into the stone pillars scanned each visitor, checking for hostile intent, concealed weapons, and cultivation level. Zhi Fan felt the formation's probing touch like fingers of light examining his spiritual energy, and he carefully suppressed the chaotic power that had awakened with his Mark of Calamity.
To the gate guards, he registered as a mid-stage Qi Gathering cultivator—respectable for his age, but nothing exceptional. The jade pendant his mother had left him helped mask the true depth of his spiritual reserves, ensuring he would attract no unwanted attention.
"Purpose of visit?" asked the guard, his bored tone suggesting he had asked this question hundreds of times already today.
"Sect Recruitment," Zhou Ming replied, producing documentation that identified him as a merchant from the mountain regions. "The boy seeks to test his qualifications."
The guard's eyes lingered on Zhi Fan for a moment longer than necessary. Something in the young cultivator's bearing—the stillness that came from absolute confidence in one's abilities—marked him as more than he appeared. But the formation showed only what it was meant to show, and the guard waved them through without further questions.
The city beyond the gates was chaos given form. Vendors crowded every street corner, selling everything from cultivation manuals to spiritual beast eggs. Restaurants advertised meals prepared from rare spiritual herbs that could enhance one's cultivation. Weapon smiths displayed swords that hummed with barely contained power, their prices enough to bankrupt entire villages.
And everywhere, young cultivators gathered in groups, sizing each other up with the predatory instincts of those who knew they would soon be competing for limited positions in the great sects.
"The recruitment doesn't begin for another week," Zhou Ming explained as they navigated the crowded streets. "But the real selection process starts now. The sects send representatives to observe the candidates, noting who shows promise and who fails to adapt to the political pressures. By the time formal testing begins, many decisions will have already been made."
They secured lodging at an inn called the Floating Leaf, its name chosen to appeal to cultivators who valued the imagery of transcendence. The rooms were small but clean, with basic spiritual energy-gathering arrays built into the walls. More importantly, the inn catered specifically to independent cultivators and younger disciples from minor sects—exactly the sort of place where Zhi Fan could observe his competition without attracting attention from the major powers.
That evening, the inn's common room buzzed with conversation as dozens of young cultivators shared meals and exchanged information about the upcoming trials. Zhi Fan sat in a corner, nursing a cup of spirit-enhanced tea while listening to the fragments of conversation that drifted his way.
"...heard the Azure Sky Sect is only accepting disciples with lightning or wind spiritual roots this year..."
"...my cousin tried for the Iron Mountain Sect last year and failed the endurance trial. They made him carry a thousand-pound stone up a cliff face..."
"...don't bother with the Crimson Flame Sect unless you're prepared to kill. Their selection process involves actual combat to the death..."
The casual mention of death in the selection process sent a chill down Zhi Fan's spine. Zhou Ming had prepared him for violence, but the idea that some sects would deliberately pit candidates against each other in mortal combat was sobering.
His contemplation was interrupted by a commotion near the inn's entrance. A group of young cultivators had entered, their fine robes and arrogant bearing immediately marking them as disciples from one of the major sects. They moved with the casual confidence of those who had never known true hardship, their spiritual energy perfectly controlled and subtly displayed.
"Clear the common room," announced their leader, a young man perhaps nineteen years old with the sort of classical features that suggested a noble bloodline. "The Silver Moon Sect requires privacy for our meal."
The inn's other patrons began to rise reluctantly, unwilling to risk conflict with representatives of a major sect. But one young woman near the center of the room remained seated, her dark eyes fixed on the Silver Moon disciples with obvious disdain.
"The common room is for all guests," she said, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent space. "If you require privacy, rent a private dining chamber."
The Silver Moon leader's expression darkened. "You dare—"
His words were cut off as the woman's spiritual energy flared briefly, revealing cultivation at the peak of Qi Gathering with foundations so solid they seemed carved from stone. Her spiritual roots were exceptional, and the arrays woven into her simple gray robes suggested backing from a powerful organization.
"I am Lin Yue of the Thousand Peaks Academy," she continued calmly. "Unless the Silver Moon Sect wishes to explain to my instructors why their disciples are bullying independent cultivators, I suggest you conduct yourselves with appropriate dignity."
The tension in the room was palpable. The Thousand Peaks Academy was not a sect in the traditional sense, but rather a neutral institution that trained cultivators from across the continent. Their graduates were highly sought after as advisors, formation masters, and diplomatic envoys. Offending one of their students could have far-reaching consequences.
After a long moment, the Silver Moon leader forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. My apologies for the misunderstanding. We shall take our meal elsewhere."
As the Silver Moon disciples withdrew, the woman—Lin Yue—caught Zhi Fan's eye across the room. For a moment, their gazes met, and he saw in her dark eyes the same calculating intelligence that Zhou Ming displayed when assessing potential threats.
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, a gesture that somehow conveyed both respect and warning. Then she returned to her meal, leaving Zhi Fan to wonder what exactly she had seen in him that merited such attention.
"Interesting," Zhou Ming murmured from beside him. "The Thousand Peaks Academy rarely sends students to provincial sect recruitments. Her presence here suggests something unusual is happening."
Before Zhi Fan could respond, another voice spoke from the shadows near their table.
"Perhaps the Academy has heard rumors of unusual talents appearing in this region."
Zhou Ming's hand moved instinctively toward his weapon before stopping as a figure emerged from the darkness. It was an elderly man in scholarly robes, his long white beard and gentle demeanor marking him as someone who had chosen the path of knowledge over martial power.
"Master Chen," Zhou Ming said carefully, recognizing the newcomer. "It has been many years."
"Indeed, old friend. I wondered if I might encounter you here, given the... unique circumstances surrounding this year's recruitment." Master Chen's eyes settled on Zhi Fan with unmistakable interest. "The boy's spiritual energy is well-concealed, but certain signs are difficult to hide entirely."
Zhi Fan felt his blood turn to ice. If this scholarly-looking man could see through his disguise so easily, how many others had already identified him as something more than he appeared?
"Relax," Master Chen said with a gentle smile. "I represent certain interests that would prefer to see talented young cultivators reach their full potential rather than fall victim to political machinations. Perhaps we might discuss the boy's... educational opportunities... in a more private setting?"
Zhou Ming considered the offer for a long moment, his weathered face revealing nothing. Finally, he nodded.
"Tomorrow morning. The Jade Garden tea house on Scholar's Street. Come alone."
Master Chen bowed politely. "Until tomorrow, then, and young master Zhi Fan—be cautious whom you trust in the coming days. Not all who offer guidance have your best interests at heart."
With that cryptic warning, he melted back into the shadows, leaving Zhi Fan to wonder how many other watchers lurked in the darkness, cataloging arrivals and assessing threats.
"Who was that?" he asked Zhou Ming quietly.
"Someone who knew your parents," came the carefully neutral reply. "Whether that makes him friend or foe remains to be seen."
As the evening wore on and the common room gradually emptied, Zhi Fan found himself staring out the window at the city beyond. Verdant City sprawled beneath the stars, its spiritual energy visible as shimmering aurora dancing between the towers. Somewhere in that maze of streets and districts, representatives of dozens of sects were making their own preparations for the recruitment trials.
All of them sought the same thing—young cultivators with the potential to bring glory to their organizations. But how many of them knew that among this year's candidates walked someone marked by fate itself? Someone whose very existence challenged the established order of the cultivation world?
The Mark of Calamity pulsed gently against his chest, responding to his turbulent thoughts. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities, and new dangers. But tonight, for the first time since leaving the mountain, Zhi Fan felt truly alive.
The game was beginning, and he intended to win.