Chapter 253: 幽阁拔灵

Spirit Trial Hall, Taisha Mountain, Gu Ling Sect.

Outside the hall's entrance, cultivators entered in an orderly procession.

The Gu Ling Sect had ten peaks and ten lineages. Each peak had two halls, and each hall comprised about a dozen young disciples, totaling over two hundred young cultivators in their generation.

Out of these two hundred-plus cultivators, only about twenty would truly be accepted into the main Gu Ling Sect. The remaining disciples would either return to the mortal dynasties or take up positions in the smaller affiliated sects established by the Gu Ling Sect.

Disciples who passed the Spirit Retrieval Assembly would then qualify to participate in the Spirit Valley Grand Competition.

The rules of the Spirit Retrieval Assembly were simple: a Netherworld General presided over the Nether Pavilion. Thousands of swords were embedded within the pavilion, each with a different disposition. Disciples had to draw any one sword within twenty breaths, or the Netherworld General would intervene and escort the disciple out of the Nether Pavilion.

This process involved two main elements. First, discernment and intuition: each person's method of cultivating spiritual energy was unique, and thus, the compatible sword also differed. At the same cultivation realm, some swords could be drawn effortlessly, while others might prove impossible even with maximum effort.

Second was cultivation realm: if one's realm was too low or their mental fortitude too weak, they would be powerless even if they chose the most suitable sword. Conversely, if one's cultivation was sufficient, any sword should be easy to draw.

Disciples from the twenty halls gathered outside the Nether Pavilion of the Spirit Trial Hall.

Yu Jin tugged gently on Ning Xiaoling's sleeve, worrying, "With my talent and realm, I'd just make a fool of myself by going in. I hear that Netherworld General is quite terrifying."

Ning Xiaoling thought for a moment, then said seriously, "It's fine. Just go in, close your eyes, stand for a bit, and come out."

Yu Jin made a bitter face. "Then I won't be able to accompany you to the Spirit Valley Grand Competition, will I?"

Ning Xiaoling was silent for a moment, then asked confusedly, "Did you ever actually expect to accompany me?"

Yu Jin was devastated. After a moment's thought, she lowered her voice and suggested, "How about you go in, draw two swords, hide one, and then I can go in and pick it up..."

Ning Xiaoling made a stopping gesture, sighing helplessly, "If I did that, I would indeed be able to stay outside with you."

Yu Jin sighed, finding cultivation truly uninteresting, seeing how many problems money couldn't solve.

It seems the saying 'money makes the mare go' only applies to low-level ghosts... How can these powerful ghosts be so honorable?

Disciples entered the Nether Pavilion one after another.

They all emerged quickly.

Those who drew swords were quick, and those who gave up were also quick. Only those with mediocre cultivation, neither high nor low, would try for the full twenty breaths before exiting.

On the high platform of the Spirit Trial Hall, an elder sat beside a precise copper water-drop timer, stroking his beard with a smile as he watched them enter one by one.

"This generation of young people is in no way inferior to the last," the elder remarked with genuine emotion.

"Is it because this generation produced a Ming Lang that you find them all more agreeable, Uncle?" a man beside him teased.

The elder replied, "Not exactly. It's simply a joy in my heart. For hundreds of years, I've watched as each generation surpassed the one before."

The man smiled and asked, "Then, with your insight, Uncle, can you predict whether each disciple will succeed in drawing a sword?"

The elder counted on his fingers, chuckling, "Not only can I, but I can also tell you how many breaths it will take."

The man knew the elder possessed immense mystical powers and had no doubt.

A sudden stir arose in the Spirit Trial Hall.

A man in a white robe with a sash, as refined as jade, calmly walked out of the crowd and headed towards the Nether Pavilion.

"That's Ming Lang," the man stated.

The elder nodded slightly. "Entering the Purple Court Realm at twenty-two is rare even in the history of the Gu Ling Sect. This young man is formidable, though I wonder what his future cultivation path will hold."

The man chuckled, "In the long run, things are unpredictable, but there's no suspense left for this Spirit Valley Grand Competition."

The elder smiled faintly and nodded slightly.

Ming Lang walked into the Nether Pavilion.

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

The water droplets behind him sounded four times.

Ming Lang had already emerged with a drawn sword.

The sword had faint traces of rust, yet its gleam was profound, as if it hadn't been drawn in many years.

Ming Lang's expression was calm; he showed no surprise.

He had merely done four things:

Entered the door, glanced deeply at the Netherworld General who sat like a Buddha statue on the high platform, drew a sword, and exited.

It was all smooth and flowing.

His only regret was that when he saw the Netherworld General, he still felt a slight sense of oppression.

However, this wasn't due to his lack of mental cultivation.

Across the entire Gu Ling Sect, there were only three ancient Netherworld Generals enshrined and nurtured.

They were located in the Nether Pavilion, Nine Capital Manor, and Heavenly Nether Hall respectively.

Thousands of years ago, they were all great generals under the Nether Lord, having slain millions of beings. They bore the Ghost Mound Sword personally bestowed by the Nether Lord and wore divine helmets and battle armor woven by the Spirit Mother and quenched in red lotuses. Though their divine blades were now chipped and their iron armor broken, they were no longer what they once were, merely lingering on. Yet, the ancientness and murderous intent emanating from them still made one's heart tremble.

Most disciples who entered didn't even dare to glance at the Nether General.

If Ming Lang hadn't looked at him, he could have emerged one breath sooner.

After him, the expectations of the others greatly diminished.

Although some highly talented disciples also drew swords within five breaths, the quality of their swords simply could not compare to Ming Lang's.

Roughly one out of every ten disciples managed to emerge with a drawn sword.

The disciples of the Netherworld lineage were the strongest; in one group of twenty, five succeeded.

Yu Jin sighed, "If the total number of disciples remains constant, then one group's gain surely means another's loss."

Her words were ruthlessly proven true.

Another group from the Spirit Controlling lineage went through, and not a single one could draw a sword.

Their Spirit Instructor's face turned grim.

Soon, it was their turn.

Their own Spirit Instructor also wore a solemn expression.

She knew her disciples well. Among them, even Xiaoling might not succeed in drawing a sword, because the Spirit Retrieval assessment tested not only one's realm but also the proficiency with the Gu Ling Sect's core cultivation methods.

After all, she had only been there for half a year, arriving over a year later than several other disciples from the Heavenly Sword Sect.

The elder standing by the water-drop timer watched the disciples of the Spirit Controlling lineage emerge empty-handed one after another, sighing with a smile, "Poor youngsters."

The man's gaze swept over them lightly. "Indeed, there's no need to watch anymore."

The elder on the high platform nodded gently. Just as he turned to leave, a trembling young girl emerged empty-handed. She hugged the arm of another girl in a white dress, sobbing a few words. After comforting her, the white-dressed girl calmly walked towards the Nether Pavilion.

The elder commented, "This girl is good. Reaching the Longevity Realm, Upper Stage at such a young age is truly remarkable. I wonder how solid her cultivation foundation is."

"Longevity Realm, Upper Stage?" The man was slightly surprised. "If she gets the right opportunities, she might be another Ming Lang."

The elder chuckled, "There's a reason why the Longevity Realm and Purple Court Realm are called the Heaven-Earth Chasm. Think about how long it took you to break through back then."

The man said shyly, "It took seven years."

That was already considered fast.

As Ning Xiaoling walked in, the elder confidently declared, "This girl will be out in seven breaths at most."

The man, of course, had no doubts.

Tick, tock, tick...

After seven breaths, the Nether Pavilion's door remained quiet.

The man let out a soft 'huh,' and even the elder, who was at the peak of the Purple Court Realm, frowned.

What was going on?

In the blink of an eye, ten breaths had passed.

The Spirit Instructor also grew increasingly nervous. She didn't know what was happening with Xiaoling. With her realm, even if she didn't pick the best sword immediately, she should have been able to try a few more and emerge with some effort. What was this? Was she stubbornly fixated on one sword?

Inside the Nether Pavilion, a scene unfolded that surpassed everyone's expectations.

Ning Xiaoling walked into the pavilion.

The Nether Pavilion was like a small world, far larger than it appeared from the outside. Upon entering, thousands of swords came into view, looking like an iron plate studded with nails.

Lead-gray mist permeated the Nether Pavilion, its nature ambiguous, neither tangible nor intangible.

Ning Xiaoling felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if she were back in Linhe City at that time.

However, the oppressive feeling of that ancient city's eternal night and the red moon overhead had vanished without a trace.

At the very center of the thousands of spiritual swords, a Netherworld General, seemingly formed from gray mist, with broken limbs, clad in ancient, damaged heavy armor, and bearing a heavy Netherworld Sword, sat in the middle. The swirling mist around him seemed to breathe.

The Netherworld General appeared to be just a gaunt old man adorned with iron armor and a heavy sword, yet he gave off the illusion that he could still preside there, immortal, for another thousand years.

Ning Xiaoling glanced at him, and just as she was about to avert her gaze and draw her own sword, the heavy, grating sound of a sword being drawn echoed first.

Within the thick mist, the Netherworld General opened his eyes.

They gazed at each other through the gray mist.

Ning Xiaoling's heart was struck with dread.

Fortunately, the Netherworld General's gaze conveyed no hostility. Instead, it held a certain... benevolence, as if looking upon a junior. Soon, even this benevolence dissipated, transforming into reverence.

Then, she realized the Netherworld General had not only opened his eyes, but he also raised his withered, muscular arm, reached behind him, and slowly drew the sword that the Nether Lord had personally bestowed, a blade that had been dormant for a thousand years.

The Spirit Retrieval Assembly was held annually, and every sword here had been drawn many times. But only the Netherworld General's sword had remained sheathed for a millennium.

It had always been there, like a statue, seemingly one with the Netherworld General.

Even the most arrogant disciples over hundreds of years had never dared to consider drawing it.

But today, the Netherworld General awoke and personally drew this ancient sword.

As he moved, the mist in the Nether Pavilion parted like waves, cleaving a clear path between her and the Netherworld General.

"Ghost Mound," the Netherworld General said slowly.

This was the sword's name.

He drew the sword, supporting the hilt with one hand and the blade with the other, presenting it to Ning Xiaoling.

Ning Xiaoling felt she should have been frightened or shocked at that moment, but after a brief moment of dread, her heart settled into calm.

She looked at the sword, not understanding why the Netherworld General was doing this.

"Ghost Mound," the Netherworld General repeated.

His voice was heavy and sincere, as if he wished her to accept this sword.

Ning Xiaoling instinctively reached out her hand, but recoiled slightly as if shocked when she touched the sword. Her expression showed struggle, and she finally shook her head, politely declining, "Senior, I cannot accept it."

She could sense that, in her current realm, she was utterly incapable of wielding this sword.

Moreover, if she walked out with this sword, she wouldn't know how to deal with the consequences. It would be too much trouble.

She hated trouble.

The Netherworld General understood her thoughts and regretfully withdrew the sword.

Ning Xiaoling bowed, performing a solemn salute.

The thousands of swords in the pavilion vibrated simultaneously.

They all seemed eager to leave their stone slots and be taken by Ning Xiaoling.

Ning Xiaoling felt a bit embarrassed. She carefully chose one, finally settling on a sword with a jet-black blade.

After drawing it, Ning Xiaoling felt a pang of regret.

This sword, it turned out, was broken.

This was the sword she was supposed to bring to the Spirit Valley Grand Competition...

She felt a little disheartened.

Outside the Nether Pavilion, the timer had ticked eighteen times, and the elder's brow was deeply furrowed.

Below the wooden hall, the Spirit Instructor's palms were slick with sweat.

Yu Jin also held her breath, her heart tense and conflicted. She hoped Ning Xiaoling would emerge with a sword, but also wished she would come out empty-handed, so they could go shopping together...

Finally, at the twentieth breath, the girl's figure emerged.

The Spirit Instructor looked at her hand and breathed a sigh of relief.

In her hand was a broken sword.

It took so long... and the sword looked of ordinary quality.

But at least she came out with a sword, which was better than the one who didn't even try from the neighboring group. The Spirit Instructor sighed inwardly, feeling neither satisfied nor dissatisfied with the result.

On the high platform, the man looked at the young girl and chuckled, "Who would have thought even you, Venerable Elder, could be mistaken?"

The elder was famously good-tempered and didn't get angry at the jokes of younger generations.

The elder rubbed his deeply furrowed brow, sighing with a smile, "I'm getting old; my eyes must indeed be failing me."

The man glanced at the broken sword in Ning Xiaoling's hand, his expression one of disappointment.

The sword was truly unremarkable. It was surprising that someone in the Longevity Realm, Upper Stage, would choose such a blade.

"Don't blame the elder," he said. "If anything, blame this young girl whose cultivation realm is too superficial. Building castles in the air like this, it might look good, but it's rotten inside. In the long run, it's more harmful than beneficial. I imagine she'll just be making up the numbers at the Spirit Valley Grand Competition next month."

The elder stroked his beard and smiled, still brooding over his failing eyesight, offering no comment.