Chapter 108: The Confession Letter, the Question-and-Answer Paper

Early in the morning, as the sky brightened and the mountain mist thinned, Ji Ming packed his belongings and, without disturbing anyone else in the temple, walked all the way to the Fayan Branch.

At the mountain gate, after verifying his identity with a few patrolling Taoist laypeople and paying a dozen or so talisman coins, he was politely guided to the assessment site. Following his guide, he ascended a winding mountain path, which reminded Ji Ming of the Bald Brush Peak at Hengshan.

Looking at the floating clouds beyond the peak, Ji Ming brushed his long sleeves and chuckled to himself, reflecting that he was now nothing more than a member of the heterodox, miscellaneous crowd. Back then, he had slaughtered the rogue practitioners on Bald Brush Peak, sending them tumbling down the mountain path; he wondered if this might be the "karmic retribution" from his previous life.

On the path, many figures were already present, dressed in a variety of attire—some like Taoists, others like laypeople, and some even wore the traditional clothing of the Shiba people from the Li Ridge. Lanyin District was, after all, a frontier region where barbarians lived among others, though Ji Ming found it somewhat unusual.

He noticed one group of people who kept themselves distinct from the rogue practitioners; the disdain in their demeanor was barely concealed. These were members of local cultivation families—not grand, prestigious clans, but families that had accumulated some influence within the Fayan Branch over several generations.

Passing the mountain path and crossing a suspension bridge, the rogue practitioners arrived at a clearing in the woods where many small huts had been built, each stocked with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.

"Quiet Huts," Ji Ming murmured to himself. Such huts were common in the Central Plains; the local populace would often invite Taoists to write "Confession Scrolls" within them to atone for sins, dispel disasters, or pray for blessings. It appeared the first part of the assessment was the "Confession Scroll for Dispelling Disasters and Resolving Calamities" from the Taoist classics.

An old Taoist was already waiting in the grove. He wore a stern expression, held a horsetail whisk upright, and kept his hair in a meticulously tied bun. His aged eyes struggled to suppress his hostility toward the rogue practitioners. Seeing them arrive in twos and threes, lacking any aura of immortality or refinement, he couldn't help but snort. He knew he was merely a low-level Taoist who had reached the limit of his potential at the second stage of Qi Refining, and he had no power to oppose the Taiping Mountain’s policy of absorbing these rogues. For now, he could only suppress his temper and say, "For the first test, you are to write three copies of a confession scroll for yourselves."

Writing these scrolls required a calm mind, but there were only a few huts available, so many people rushed to claim them. Ji Ming chose one nearby. He expected someone to try and snatch it, but to his surprise, no one bothered him—it seemed everyone understood the fundamental rule of the world: never provoke an old man, a child, or a woman.

Standing in the hut, he bent over the desk, infused his brush with internal energy, and dipped it into the ink. He hesitated for a moment before beginning. The test of these scrolls rested not just on calligraphy, but on their efficacy. As the saying went: "One is burned to reach the underworld and absolve sins; one is submerged in water to traverse the mountains and rivers to dispel calamities; one is cast to the heavens to communicate with the celestial officials and stars to grant blessings."

As a being of heaven, whenever he touched upon Taoist arts, there seemed to be an inherent efficacy. For example, when he had performed the "Sealed Earth Offering," it had attracted an Yin demon to test his heart. He wondered if these scrolls would do the same.

To avoid making his scrolls too potent, Ji Ming intentionally smudged the edges of all three copies with a bit of ink after finishing them. Gauging the time and listening to the footsteps outside, he realized many others had finished. He gathered his three scrolls and went to submit them to the old Taoist.

Basins of water and fire had been set up in front of the old man. Ji Ming approached with his scrolls, but before he could speak, the Taoist’s attendants took them. The old man glanced at them and nodded slightly. Though the edges were smudged, the calligraphy was fluid and possessed a coherent spirit—a rarity among the rogues. Looking at the others, whose writing was crooked and barely contained on the paper, he didn't even bother to check for efficacy.

"You have put in the work," the old Taoist praised him without hesitation, then placed the "atonement" and "disaster-relief" scrolls into the water and fire basins.

"I call upon the Mountain Spirit and the River Lord of the Fayan Branch at Little West Mountain," the old man chanted, flicking his whisk. Two arms reached out from the water and fire, grasping at the basins. Two tattered, intangible, veil-like papers were pulled out from the water and fire respectively. This was the manifestation of efficacy; the folk tradition of burning paper on the seventh day after a death to convey mourning originated from this practice. The more efficacious the scroll, the more complete the intangible result.

"Qualified," the old Taoist nodded at Ji Ming. The third scroll, intended to be sent to the heavens for blessings, did not need to be tested, as the Fayan Branch lacked the authority to summon celestial officials.

Before Ji Ming could even rejoice, he was shoved aside by an old man. He didn't take offense, merely noting the man's age and reflecting on the appeal of Taiping Mountain to the rogues. Before his thoughts could settle, he heard the old man being declared "qualified." He glanced at the old man, only to find the old man secretly watching him as well.

"Does he know me?" Ji Ming’s eyelid twitched. He tried to recall the portraits of the "Poison-Hand Boy" from his records, but to no avail. As he watched the old man leave, he thought, "He definitely knows me."

"Unqualified!" "The confession scroll does not meet the standards!" "The paper is damaged, unqualified."

The second test followed: another Taoist scripture exam, this one on the "Azure Heaven Taoist Qi Commentary." It was a written Q&A, the easiest part, requiring only rote memorization. The old Taoist asked a question, and they wrote the answer.

Q: What is the essence of the Divine Flower?
A: Detachment and lack of fixation; when the spirit is full, one does not yearn for sleep, remaining ever clear and ever awake.

Q: When did the ancestor of the Taiping Mountain lineage enter Earth Lung Mountain, and who was his first master?
A: He entered Earth Lung Mountain at thirteen and first studied under the Sage of the Apricot Grove, Cen Dongzi.

Q: What was the predecessor to the Taiping Dharma?
A: The "Green Bag Book" written by the True Lord of Taiping, Gan Xiong.

Q: Who created Alchemy under the Azure Heaven?
Ji Ming hesitated. He erased the name of the master from the Great Pure Yang Palace he had initially written down; while universally recognized as the ancestor of alchemy, that person was a descendant of the Central Heavens. The old Taoist’s question was shameless, attempting to claim another’s achievement for their own lineage. After a long pause, Ji Ming wrote down Lady Fire Virtue of Nanhua; her "Yellow Court Inner Landscape Scripture" could be considered the sprout of alchemy and could barely be acknowledged as the origin.

The rest of the questions drifted outside the scope of the commentary, and Ji Ming answered them haltingly. When the test ended, he breathed a sigh of relief and observed his surroundings. Many others were in worse shape, sweating profusely; even the family descendants were wiping their brows, looking anxious. He noticed the old man watching him again with a strange expression. "Could he be disguised like me?" Ji Ming wondered.

At that moment, the monk Fawen walked into the grove, accompanied by the Tiger-Horse Zen Master and other demonic figures. They arrived with a roar, like bandits of the woods. Fawen saw Ji Ming, nodded slightly, and began to grade the papers himself.

"Oh no," Ji Ming realized. He had answered questions that were far beyond the standard for a rogue. If he had performed too well, he would surely be exposing himself. As he grew tense, Fawen pulled out his paper, glanced at it briefly, and let out a laugh.