Thirtieth Scene: The Physical Skills Test Is Underestimated
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[End of the third watch. Please recommend and bookmark.]
As of today, there are a total of one thousand and three candidates, most of whom are over fifty years old. Forty percent come from outstanding students within the Seminary, thirty percent are elite geniuses recommended from industries related to the Temple, and twenty-five percent are young prodigies selected from various civilizations under the Temple's jurisdiction. Of the remaining fifty, ten are seeded candidates whose results are not a concern, while the other forty are wild talents brought back by high-ranking Temple officials like Sang Sang.
The Arena is vast; a thousand contestants are scattered across it, sparse as a canola field ravaged by flocks of ducks. Each candidate occupies a one-way transparent, independent space, preventing interference from outsiders during testing, though spectators can choose to follow any or several testing spaces until the space dissolves after the test is complete.
As time passes, more independent spaces rise on the Arena, and the number of spectators who arrive through one-time teleportation tickets continues to grow. Based on their ethnic attire and styles, they form distinct formations, deliberately releasing their domains.
All sorts of domains vie for attention: ethereal fairylands, blood-soaked demonic realms, ghostly netherworlds, beautiful mortal scenes, bustling star cityscapes; demonic dances, celestial maidens in feathered gowns, exquisite demonesses, elegant elves... Men and women with wings, long fish tails, one foot, two feet, three feet, four feet, and countless legs—dazzling and bewildering. Then there are domains of world-creation, primordial chaos, myriad heavens, seas of stars, joining the spectacle.
Space barriers between seats prevent domains from colliding, but some who have grasped spatial origins tear open space to battle, only to be thrown out of the arena and directly into the starry dueling grounds at the first sign of disturbance.
The main brain announces a ten-minute countdown. The colorful domains on the stands begin to contract, and spectators shift their attention to today's protagonists. Sound waves, infrasonic, ultrasonic, and all manner of transmissions crisscross above the stands, discussing which child is most outstanding, supporting their own candidates, disparaging others, and—most popularly—opening bets on how many will pass and the specific rankings.
Sang Sang's name is occasionally mentioned among these waves, mostly with little confidence.
“The Temple is as corrupt as ever; the human race holds the advantage in numbers again. At least half the cosmic races have never produced a Holy Son or Daughter. Can’t the minority races get a chance...”
“Where did that envious voice come from? Oh, it’s the Reptilian baby. A word of advice—might makes right, survival of the fittest is the cosmic law.”
“The betting is open! Last ten minutes, place your wagers now!”
“Who’s expected to be chosen this year?”
“Leaving aside the seeded candidates, among today’s arrivals, Princess Bai Shu of the Wood Elves is impressive. Born with the Law of Life, she has more healing potential than the Water Elf candidate. Heard the seed slot was meant for her, but she refused. Her pride at such a young age surpasses even the Elf King.”
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“The weakest among the seeds is the young Mermaid girl. Lord Anthony descended from the main branch of the Divine Court nearly five thousand years ago. Everyone says he’s destined to be the next Archbishop. This early selection seems aimed at him.”
“Lord Anthony favors investing in human prodigies. Unfortunately, at this critical moment, the former Chief Holy Daughter resigned, costing him a large following. While he was away seeking a replacement, the high council convinced the Archbishop to compress the selection timeline, forcing him to bring back a native girl from a secondary civilization. Bronwyn has no obvious advantage. I think Anthony’s faction will lose ground this time.”
“People who said the same thing last time got their faces slapped. Whatever else you say, Lord Anthony has a keen eye. Sang Hongye, that native from a secondary civilization, is the top purifier in two hundred years. Some predict she’s the next Aslan.”
“What’s the use of being the top purifier? Can she pass today’s test? Which child down there isn’t called a genius? Trying to catch up with decades of progress in just half a year, unless you’re a Holy Child! If she fails, she’ll be too old for the next selection according to human standards, and at best will become a High Priest—however talented, she won’t attract followers like a Holy Daughter. In the Temple, the foundation of followers is everything.”
“True. Secondary civilizations haven’t developed genetic serum resistance, their children are psychologically more mature, so purification results are naturally better. But their cultivation levels and law accumulation lag far behind the average.”
“I glanced at the stats: the highest level among the candidates is Sky Level, Stage Six; the lowest is Heaven Level, Stage Seven. Over eighty percent are Star Level. The Heaven Level Seven is Sang Hongye.”
“In a secondary civilization, a Heaven Level Seven minor is already an unparalleled prodigy.”
“Ha, but this is a Level Seven civilization.”
“Isn’t it possible that a child with exceptional insight could master all basic physical arts and priest skills within a year?”
“Are you kidding? The law origins are so thin in those wild lands, only accessible through leveling up. Even if their insight is good, can it compare to our geniuses who have grown up soaking in the origins of various laws since birth?”
“Exactly. Talent can’t defeat time.”
“Coming from a small place, seeing so many peers, I wonder if she’ll feel inferior. She hasn’t experienced the preliminary selection, and if nerves make her perform poorly, that would be interesting.”
“Why not bet? If Sang Hongye passes the test, each of us will send her a fitting congratulatory gift—consider it support for a child from the wilds. If she fails, I’ll treat everyone to star beast meat, Level Five and above.”
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“Who are you to Sang Hongye?”
“Me? I suppose you could call me her follower.”
“I see. If the star beast is Level Five or higher, we’re in. If she passes, we’ll not only send her gifts, but when she comes to our star sector for her Holy Daughter internship, we’ll give her a civilization-class promotional campaign.”
“By the Law of Justice, it’s settled.”
Senna chuckled, sealing another wager, changed his form, switched formations, steering the topic to Sang Sang and provoking others into betting.
Even a mosquito’s leg is meat; Little Hongye’s resources are thin, and as her temporary guardian, he must help her accumulate more.
Aslan glanced at Senna, who posed as an ordinary spectator, and lifted his hand from Little Gold’s head. “Don’t act impulsively.”
Little Gold silently noted down several loud-mouthed media personalities among the distant press formation, intending to settle accounts when the Heavenly Emperor arrived.
Senna’s betting was a purposeful private affair, but among the media, a jellyfish person—being a public figure—was unforgivably disparaging Sang Sang live on air.
“…In summary, candidate Sang Hongye may have some merits in endurance, willpower, and soul toughness, but those alone won’t let her stand out among so many geniuses. Those hoping for an upset to make big money, don’t indulge such fantasies. If Sang Hongye passes, I’ll chew up and swallow the seat under me.”
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