Hall Master He took the file, poring over it carefully.
After reading, he eyed the second-turn Tribulation realm champ, “What’s your name?”
“Hall Master He, I’m Dong Bin, Yanching Prefecture champ,” the second-turn bloke said.
“Dong Bin, give it your all—you’ve got a real shot at the crown,” Hall Master He encouraged.
The other champs looked on, green with envy—personal pep from Hall Master He? None of them got that!
The first-turn Tribulation realm lot soured— a second-turn popping up jacked the crown’s difficulty big time.
The white-haired envoy joined the judges’ stand.
“Old Jiang, nice one—bringing a second-turn Tribulation realm back, crown’s his for the taking, you’ll bag some merit points too,” the envoys chimed in.
“Ha, luck, pure luck!” the white-haired envoy grinned.
Now, all 18 Fire Cloud Empire prefecture champs were here.
Center field.
Hall Master He faced the 18 candidates, saying slowly, “Everyone’s here, the national round can start—head to the right-side candidates’ seats, when your name’s called, enter through that front gate, challenges await inside, can’t hack it, bow out, most stages cleared wins.”
“Yes, sir!”
The 18 replied in unison.
They shuffled to the right-side seats, waiting for the trials.
Hall Master He took the judges’ stand, plonking down in the middle spot.
“Yanching Prefecture, Dong Bin—enter!” he called post-seating.
First up— that second-turn Tribulation realm champ, per tradition: highest realm goes first.
Dong Bin stood, brimming with confidence, striding toward the dark entrance.
Soon, he zipped inside.
Hall Master He flicked his hand, tossing out a mirror.
A projection flared up before them.
It showed Dong Bin’s run—judges only, Lin Yun and the candidates couldn’t see.
What was inside? No clue—they just waited.
Twenty-odd minutes later, Dong Bin popped back in the plaza, pale, breathing heavy.
His run was done.
Judges’ stand.
“35 stages—pretty solid, last year’s champ hit 27, barring shocks, Dong Bin’s got the crown in the bag,” the judges buzzed.
Hall Master He nodded, “Not bad—best in fifteen years.”
He announced, “Yanching Prefecture, Dong Bin—35 stages!”
“Next, Guangping Prefecture, Zhang Chong!”
Zhang Chong, a first-turn Tribulation realm bloke, stood and bolted for the entrance.
“Thirty-five stages? Wonder if that’s tough?”
“Probably a stretch, eh?”
The candidates murmured, clueless about the stages’ difficulty.
Twenty minutes later, Zhang Chong reappeared, run over.
“26 stages—decent for first-turn Tribulation realm, with four of them this year, second place’ll be a scrap, wonder who’ll top them,” the envoys mused.
Hall Master He called the score, then the next name.
One by one, the gauntlet rolled on.
Next first-turn Tribulation realm up—Jintian’s red-haired bruiser, clocking 27 stages.
Third got 28, fourth hit 24.
All Tribulation realm scores were in.
The leftover third-rank Mahayana lot? Most envoys lost interest—just ticking boxes for rankings.
So far, the top third-rank Mahayana hit 18 stages.
Lin Yun mentally logged the rankings.
“Hanteng Prefecture, Qian Qi—17 stages!”
“Next, Dongyuan Prefecture, Lin Yun!”
Finally, Hall Master He hit Lin Yun’s name.
“My turn at last!”
Lin Yun stood, eyes blazing.
What challenges inside? No idea.
How many stages? No clue.
But strength was his ace!
“Fellow Lin Yun, go for it,” Chu Libai, sat beside him, said.
“Do my best,” Lin Yun smiled, then shot toward the black entrance.
Judges’ stand.
“Lin Yun’s up,” Liang Yuan buzzed, tense yet eager.
As Dongyuan’s envoy, he’d seen Lin Yun thrash Cao Zheng—confidence in spades!
But these stages weren’t your average ring bout—different beast entirely.
He reckoned Lin Yun could score decently, but topping 35? Uncertain.
“Old Liang, your genius pick’s on—let’s see how ace he is, enough to brother up with you,” Old Cheng grinned.
“He’ll hit 30-plus, watch!” Liang Yuan said, firm.
“Thirty stages?”
The 17 envoys and Hall Master He jolted.
“No way!”
“Old Liang, that’s mental!”
“Yeah, third-rank Mahayana hitting 30? Joke, innit!”
The envoys yapped, finding it laughable.
Old Cheng chuckled, “30? First-turn Tribulation realm blokes struggle for 30—a third-rank Mahayana, how? Old Liang, brag with some sense!”
“Old Cheng, fancy a bet? Lin Yun hits 30, you owe me 10,000 Tribulation Pills, he doesn’t, I owe you—deal?” Liang Yuan threw down.
He was banking on this to shine—extra cash wouldn’t hurt.
“Ha, Old Liang, you’re gifting me coin—how could I say no?” Old Cheng laughed.
“Old Liang, think twice—10,000 Tribulation Pills ain’t pocket change!” the envoys cautioned.
“Yeah, Old Liang, if memory serves, best third-rank Mahayana in the empire’s 10,000-year exam history hit 27—usually, they can’t crack 20.”
“No worries, I won’t lose!” Liang Yuan oozed confidence.
“Oi, Old Liang’s gone daft—years of dud candidates broke him, eh?”
Seeing him stick to it, they shook their heads—he’d lost it!
Hall Master He shook his too—third-rank Mahayana in the top 30? What a lark!
Never happened in the empire’s exam history!
