Narrator]
Ladies, gents, and immortal-failed-beggar-warrior fans… it's time.
Brace yourself. This one's got blood, trauma, food dreams, and mystery brain fog.
Welcome to:
---
The trial was over.
The mist had cleared. The screams had stopped. Five figures stood at the edge of the blood-red field, soaked, shaking… and somehow alive.
Four of them were on the verge of collapsing.
Yun Wao included.
Bleeding from his shoulder, limping from both legs, and leaking spiritual energy like a broken teapot, he still managed to stay on his feet. Barely.
Beside him, three others were coughing out blood like it was a daily routine. And then…
There was Han Yu.
Standing there. Not a scratch. Not a smudge.
His robe still clean. His expression calm. Like the trial had just been a casual morning jog.
[Narrator]
If perfection had a face, Han Yu was already on its third poster deal.
Anyway,
Out of the 13 cultivator-eligible folks, only five passed.
Two had low-grade spiritual roots
Two had mid-grade (Yun Wao being one of them)
And of course, one was high-grade — Han freaking Yu
(Not "high" like herbs, stop smiling.)
---
The Selection Elder finally stepped forward, arms crossed, expression like a bored lion.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Five. You've survived. Good."
He clapped once. Loudly.
Servants arrived and handed each survivor a crimson-colored token and a dull-looking pouch.
"Five spirit stones per month," he explained. "You've earned your outer sect disciple status."
Behind him, some of the other mortals looked away in disappointment. Some whispered. Others left silently.
Then the elder turned to them.
"Those without spiritual roots," he announced, "you may leave now. Unless… you wish to stay and serve the sect. There is no shame in becoming a servant. We are cultivators. We rise together."
A few nodded, uncertainly. Most walked away. And with that, the crowd began to split.
---
Later that evening, the five new disciples were taken to a small row of crooked little houses. Each was plain, wooden, and barely big enough to lie down without kicking the wall.
But to Yun Wao? It was paradise.
[Narrator]
Five spirit stones. A roof. And maybe — just maybe — food.
This man didn't join the sect to become immortal.
He joined because he was starving.
---
The next morning, they were told to report for their first cultivation lecture.
An early-stage Golden Core realm elder was coming. Big deal. Very scary. Probably old.
Yun Wao walked down the dirt path with a bandaged leg and a stomach that still hadn't seen food.
He looked around.
Peaceful sect grounds. Clear skies. Fresh air.
And yet...
Boom.
Out of nowhere, a sharp pain stabbed through his skull.
He stumbled. Clutched his head.
Then — memories. Shattered pieces.
Fire.
Screaming.
His dynasty.
His mother's voice.
Ashes.
More ashes.
His father's eyes — lifeless.
Burning gates. Collapsing towers.
Gone. All of it.
He gasped. Fell to his knees.
The other disciples kept walking. No one noticed.
Yun Wao's breathing grew heavy, shaking.
What… what was all that?
Why now?
Why did he forget?
His vision blurred. The path swam. The sky above twisted.
---
[Narrator]
And real talk?
What even was that weird thing?
Like—what kinda force made him join the sect in the first place…
…but now he doesn't even remember why he did?
He remembered his family once, for like two seconds… and then it just vanished.
There's something off here.
Something big.
And if Yun Wao ever finds out what it is…
hoo boy — we're all doomed.
---
[End of Chapter 8]