This Luo Fu Sect has a long and storied history, and naturally, there are quite a few people within the sect. By the time of the current sect leader, Elder Logan, there are nineteen fellow disciples in this generation. However, the most famous among them are the Five Swords of Luo Fu, led by Elder Logan. The Floating Cloud Sword, James Carter, is one of them, while Henry Clark's master, known as the Drunken Sword, though his title also contains the word "sword," is not among the Five Swords.

Among his peers, only the Five Swords of Luo Fu have taken on formal disciples. If it weren't for the fact that he happened to encounter that tragic incident eight years ago when he descended the mountain, he probably wouldn't have a single formal disciple now, just like the other senior brothers.

The fire blazed fiercely, and the rabbit meat on the rack gave off an enticing aroma. Henry Clark skillfully took a small pouch from his robe, shook out a large pile of powdery substance, and carefully sprinkled it over the nearly roasted rabbit. Brian Foster managed to keep his composure, but Grace Carter couldn't help swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

"Fifth Senior Brother, I love eating your meat the most!"

As Henry Clark was sprinkling the seasoning on the rabbit, his hand involuntarily trembled. "What?"

Grace Carter also realized her slip of the tongue and stuck out her tongue. "Hehe, I mean, I love eating the meat you roast the most, Fifth Senior Brother!"

"That's more like it!" Henry Clark nodded. "This fat on me is sour and doesn't taste good!"

The three of them burst out laughing.

As night gradually fell, the three senior and junior disciples sat around the campfire, eating roasted meat and watching the full moon slowly rise in the west. A gentle breeze drifted by, adding a special flavor to the moment.

In the distance, a middle-aged man, holding a wine gourd and drinking as he walked, drew closer and closer. When he reached the edge of the forest and saw the three of them sitting together, chatting and laughing, he couldn't help but stop, the corners of his mouth curving up as he gently shook his head. As if afraid to disturb them, he turned and left.

Chapter Two: Quiet Thoughts on a Rainy Night

Another rainy night!

Henry Clark didn't like rainy nights, because eight years ago, on a night just like this, he and his parents were ambushed on their way home. Both his parents were killed. Although eight years have passed, the events of that night are still deeply etched in his mind, impossible to forget.

So, every rainy night, he can't sleep. Each time, just like now, he sits at the small table by the window in his little room, gazing out the window until dawn.

In Luo Fu, he is considered someone with a bit of privilege, because he is an inner disciple of the sect.

Nowadays, there are countless sects in the world, and those seeking cultivation and immortality are as numerous as fish in the river, coming in an endless stream. Almost every day, people come up the mountain, begging these sects to accept them as disciples, hoping to fulfill their dreams of cultivating for immortality.

But how could cultivation be as easy as they imagine? If it really were that easy, wouldn't the world be full of immortals flying everywhere, with not a single mortal left?

Cultivation is all about fate. What is fate? To put it plainly, it's luck. If you're lucky, you might ascend after just a year or two of cultivation. If you're unlucky, you could live as a mortal for a hundred years and never even meet a cultivator.

Moreover, although there are many cultivation sects, finding one is not easy. Take the Luo Fu Sect, for example—their mountain gate is built deep within Mount Luo Fu. For ordinary people to get close, they must cross several peaks and skirt around a few waterfalls, traveling at least several hundred li before they can reach it.

Still, every year, a few lucky people manage to find the mountain gate. But not all who find it are accepted—if their aptitude is too poor, the Luo Fu Sect will not take them. However, cultivators are not without compassion. Those who are turned away are not left to find their own way back; instead, a disciple is assigned to escort them home, which is quite considerate.

Even though this first hurdle is strict, there are just too many people. One year isn't much, two years isn't much, but what about ten or twenty years? A hundred or two hundred years?

The Luo Fu Sect has been established for four thousand years, and cultivators have extremely long lifespans. Living one or two hundred years is considered middle-aged; the longest record is a supercentenarian who lived for 1,358 years. Just think, after four thousand years, how many people must have accumulated in the sect?

Although these people are all of decent aptitude, the sect can't possibly pass on all its cultivation techniques to so many people. With too many people, things are bound to go wrong. Who knows if one day you'll get a wild idea and betray the sect? If I teach you the most advanced cultivation methods and you just leave, one or two might be manageable, but what if it's a dozen, twenty, a hundred, or two hundred? How could I possibly control that many?

So, the lucky ones are always the minority.

Most people are only taught some basic cultivation and breathing techniques, and do things like patrolling the mountains and maintaining the sect's prestige. Occasionally, out of kindness, a few inner disciples are selected and taught some sword techniques and skills. These people are the outer disciples. Most sects also have a time limit—for example, if an outer disciple hasn't been promoted to inner disciple within twenty years, they must leave the mountain and fend for themselves. No matter how big a sect is, it can't support so many idle people.

But inner disciples are different—they are the true cultivators.