Chosen: Beyond Fate

Ji Jue felt a surge of sympathy for Zhou Zhong, but he did not hesitate in the slightest. He promptly held out his hand and said, “Congratulations on reaching yet another new height, Master Zhou. Since today is such a happy occasion, perhaps you wouldn’t mind letting me share in a little of your good fortune?”

As he spoke, he rubbed his fingers together and gave him a pointed look.

An application form bearing Zhou Zhong’s signature appeared in Ji Jue’s hand at lightning speed, as though Zhou Zhong feared he would keep pestering him otherwise.

With that, Ji Jue had his third and final signature. He had seen what he wanted to see, learned what he could, and gotten everything he came for. Staying any longer after freeloading this thoroughly would just be rude. Besides, he could get beaten up.

He took a large step backward and cupped his hands in farewell. “I learned a great deal today. Thank you for your guidance, Master Zhou. When I have the chance, I’ll be sure to visit again!”

Don’t you fucking dare! What rotten luck!

Zhou Zhong’s expression darkened miserably, as though someone had just told him his horse was dead. He merely glanced at Ji Jue one last time and pointed toward the door. The message was clear: Get lost. Now.

But, before Ji Jue left, Zhou Zhong said one last thing, “I don’t owe her anymore.”

Back in Spring City, although Ji Jue had beaten the old man’s grandson half to death, Ye Xian had ultimately saved Zhou Zhong’s life when Duan Mu rebelled. After so many years of ups and downs, Zhou Zhong had suffered his share of losses and enjoyed his share of triumphs. He wasn’t the sort to let a momentary grudge interfere with his work, nor did he want to spend the rest of his life owing Ye Xian a favor and enduring that condescending look of hers.

But this time, he had taken a devastating loss. He’d tried to gain an advantage but ended up losing even more. He had only just stood up and started pedaling, and the damn bicycle had already ridden off with his luggage. What kind of nonsense was this?

Originally, he had figured he could teach Ji Jue a few scraps here and there, offer a little guidance, and call the old debt settled. It had seemed like the perfect arrangement. If Ji Jue failed to learn anything, that certainly wouldn’t be Zhou Zhong’s fault.

Who could have expected things to turn out like this?

It had happened in a brief moment, right when Zhou Zhong’s guard had slipped. When the furnace had been on the verge of exploding and Zhou Zhong had devoted everything to holding the Celestial Circuit together, that bastard Ji Jue had seized the opportunity.

He had taken one look. Just one. Yet by the final stages of the forging, Ji Jue’s methods and approach had changed completely. No longer merely reacting to instructions, he had begun actively coordinating with Zhou Zhong, and through that cooperation, had observed even more of the system’s structure and inner workings.

A true teaching could be conveyed in a single sentence, while empty instruction could fill ten thousand books.

There was no doubt about it. From that brief glimpse, Ji Jue had touched upon the very essence of Myriad Convergence. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he had drawn a parallel from something he already understood.

“Convergent Form?” Zhou Zhong ran his fingers over the traces left on the furnace, reading the patterns of Ji Jue’s movements and piecing together what he had done. The moment realization struck, his fingers twitched and slowly curled into a fist.

Convergent Form? That’s a technique once passed down by the South Cloud lineage in the Thousand Islands region of the Endless Sea.

And Ji Jue’s grasp of it was far from superficial. He had already reached a genuinely advanced level.

But didn’t the South Cloud lineage tear itself apart through internal strife more than forty years ago, with its main branch eventually falling into the Depths? Where did Ji Jue learn this? Surely Jian Yuan didn’t lock him up in his workshop and personally taught him, did he?

The thought that flashed through Zhou Zhong’s mind was so absurd that he almost laughed at himself. His face only grew darker as he sighed. One brief glimpse could never reveal the whole of Myriad Convergence. But once you knew, you knew. Sometimes, all that separated someone from a breakthrough was that single flash of insight.

Ye Xian no longer had any interest in prying into his legacy, but if Ji Jue continued to evolve, who was to say he couldn’t use what he had seen today to develop a school of his own someday?

“After struggling for so many years, I thought I’d finally taken another step forward today.” Zhou Zhong flashed a self-mocking smile. “I never expected I’d end up becoming someone else’s stepping stone again.”

Outside, Zhou Cheng watched Ji Jue leave before limping back into the workshop on his cast. Suppressing his irritation, he asked in confusion, “You really just gave it to him like that?”

Zhou Zhong turned to look at that innocent face, wearing that unmistakable college-kid look of pure, unfiltered cluelessness. The stupidity in those clear eyes was almost painfully obvious. He sighed again. Did this fool really think all he had given Ji Jue was a signature?

“What else was I supposed to do?” Zhou Zhong asked. “Years ago, when I had nowhere left to turn, Old Master Tong gave me a hand. Without him, there would never have been the workshop I built afterward, much less everything I have today. So when Old Master Tong needs something from me, naturally I give it everything I have. I wouldn’t dare cut corners in the slightest.

“But if Ji Jue hadn’t been here today, I’m afraid I would’ve ended up owing the Tong family far more. You’re always complaining that I refuse to teach you Myriad Convergence. But let me ask you this, if you had been standing in his place today, would you have shown even a third of his resolve and decisiveness?”

Zhou Cheng fell silent. Several times, he opened his mouth to speak, but in the end, nothing came out. “I just think... The craftsman examination isn’t like other exams. There’s too much riding on it. You’re staking your own reputation to vouch for him. What if something goes wrong and he fails?”

Zhou Zhong waved impatiently. “You’d better pray he passes. If even he can’t pass an exam at the current difficulty, then you might as well give up on ever passing one yourself.”

Zhou Cheng stared at him in disbelief. Blood rushed to his face, and he blurted out, “It’s just an exam! I can—”

“You can’t.” Zhou Zhong shook his head firmly, cutting him off. “This year is different.”

The Taiyi Ring’s craftsman examination was held once every three years. At its most lenient, sixty-one candidates had passed in a single sitting, which was almost a third of the participants.

The examination twenty-seven years ago had even become known among craftsmen as the “golden year.” Countless apprentices had crossed that crucial threshold, and people still spoke fondly of it to this day. But at its harshest, not a single person had passed. Twenty-one years ago, more than two hundred candidates had taken the examination. Not a single one had passed. Every last one had failed.

The result had sent shockwaves through the entire profession. Craftsmen everywhere had been stunned, and even the Taiyi Ring had come under enormous pressure that year. In the end, it had still chosen to publish the results exactly as they were.

The person who had presided over that examination was Gustav Schmidt, now one of the Taiyi Ring’s eight council members and the leader of the Lithogenesis School.

Under his leadership, the relatively small Lithogenesis School, once a middling faction within the association known for sitting on the fence, had completely changed course. It had pushed forward aggressively and, in just over forty years, it had risen to the top and secured a seat on the council. It had even grown powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe with the Proliferation School, the largest faction in the association by membership.

Its guiding principles were “better to have too few than too many” and “better to go without than settle for someone unqualified.” In Gustav’s view, the association had become as bloated as it was precisely because it had tolerated an influx of mediocrity and allowed the incompetent to make endless trouble. Ever since he took charge of oversight, the association’s rules had grown steadily stricter, leaving countless people bitterly complaining.

Rumor had it that he even wanted to introduce a periodic review system for craftsmen. Getting a craftsman license would no longer mean you could sit back and relax. Anyone who failed the assessments could be demoted or have their license revoked outright.

The proposal had been so aggressive that even Scavenger had been alarmed enough to step in and rein him back. Otherwise, Gustav could have turned the entire association upside down. According to the rumors circulating this year, he had once again applied to oversee and supervise the upcoming examination. Apparently, this time, he intended to come down hard on the increasingly restless and arrogant attitude among the apprentices and use the exam to straighten out the Association.

Any mediocre apprentice would be trying to stay as far away as possible. Who would willingly walk straight into the line of fire? What if Gustav took one look at them, declared them “beyond saving,” and ruined their chances of ever passing for the rest of their lives? That would be asking for trouble.

Gustav was said to despise so-called geniuses most of all, especially those who grew arrogant about their talent, ignored the rules, and assumed they deserved special treatment. In fact, he had been the one who proposed the rule barring apprentices with less than three years of training from applying.

Zhou Zhong was actually rather curious to see what would happen when Ye Xian sent her precious student directly under Gustav’s nose. Would Ji Jue manage to come out ahead? And would Gustav really have the nerve to apply that same uncompromising attitude when Ye Xian was involved?

Zhou Zhong had been looking forward to watching the spectacle from the sidelines. So why the hell was his idiot grandson trying to climb onto the chopping block and stick his own neck under the knife? Had he learned nothing at all?!

“Just keep limping for now.” Zhou Zhong turned back one last time and glanced at his dejected grandson before waving a hand dismissively. “It’s not often you suffer a real setback. Let’s see how long you remember the pain.”

As the saying went, humiliation could be the spur that drove a man forward. If he couldn’t let go of that pointless pride and arrogance, then he might spend the rest of his life as a useless good-for-nothing. Zhou Zhong could give him a few shares and keep him tucked away in the workshop.

With that, Zhou Zhong strode off without another word.

Zhou Cheng remained rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the old man. Only after a long while did he hurriedly hobble after his grandfather on his crutches.

Outside the workshop, the stars shone brightly beneath a cloudless sky. Under that same night sky, some drove with the evening breeze streaming past, singing contentedly as they looked forward to the future. Some tossed and turned in bed, their eyes bloodshot, until they finally made a painful decision. Others endured long, grueling hours beneath the lights of their workshops, surrounded by ancient texts and blazing furnaces. And others pushed open their doors brimming with confidence, waiting for the day of the trial to arrive.

Across the Northern Federation, the Eternal Empire, the Central Lands, and the Thousand Islands, the same vast night sky stretched overhead. Stars wheeled slowly across it, scattering their light. Whenever someone happened to look up, that distant glow illuminated eyes that were calm, uncertain, or lost.

From beginning to end, the stars remained silent. They simply kept moving forward.