The courtyard instantly fell silent, everyone looking at each other in surprise. This was the first time in over a decade that someone had claimed to be able to write, to be skilled in the literary arts—would it have any effect?

The five masters shot Samuel Bennett a cold glance, their eyes as if looking at an ant making a feeble cry. In unison, they marked a cross after Samuel Bennett's name and raised the black placard.

"Not passed!" the steward announced expressionlessly.

Samuel Bennett sighed inwardly. The old Daoist had been right—literary arts were in decline, martial arts were flourishing, and there was no future in studying literature.

He slowly walked down from the selection platform, heading toward the main gate like the other children who had failed, where another round of selection was taking place.

James Foster came up to him and whispered, "I was chosen by Jingyue Palace."

Samuel Bennett nodded and smiled, "Congratulations!"

"Ah! What's there to congratulate? I was picked by a wild sect. You should give it a try too!"

When Samuel Bennett reached the gate, dozens of Daoist priests all shook their heads and stepped back. It wasn't that every temple looked down on the literary path, but rather that Samuel Bennett was simply too frail—he would surely be a burden if admitted.

After weighing their options, the Daoists decided to give up on him.

Samuel Bennett walked heavily out the main gate, wondering if that old Daoist was still around. Would he look down on him for only seeking him out after failing?

With a nervous heart, he stepped outside the gate, only to see the old Daoist smiling at him under a pine tree. Samuel Bennett's nose tingled with emotion, and he hurried forward, bowing deeply. "Samuel Bennett is willing to follow Master up the mountain!"

……

Kongtong Mountain is located in Pingliang County, Yuanzhou, as a branch of the Liupan Mountains, spanning over a hundred li. To the west, it connects with the Liupan Mountains; to the east, it overlooks the vast Qin Plain; to the south, it leans against Guanshan; to the north, it stands opposite Xiaoguan. The Jing River and Yanzhi River embrace it from north and south, converging before Wangjia Mountain. It is a strategic gateway from the northwest into Guanzhong.

Here, the mountains are majestic, peaks rise in layers, cliffs tower dangerously as if carved by supernatural hands, and the forests are vast and shrouded in mist all year round, resembling a celestial realm. Since ancient times, it has been known as the "First Mountain of the West."

Samuel Bennett had visited Kongtong Mountain in his previous life, so he knew this famous Taoist mountain covered a vast area, with dozens of peaks, the highest over two thousand meters. Even the most famous Wutai Peak required a climb of over a thousand meters. He wondered where the old Daoist's temple was located.

He walked slowly, and the old Daoist was patient, stopping and starting without urging him on. There were no stone steps or plank paths like in later times—only steep, slippery mountain trails, making the journey extremely difficult, sometimes even requiring them to climb vines.

After nearly half an hour, Samuel Bennett truly couldn't go any further.

Panting, he asked, "Master, is your temple... on Wutai Peak?"

The old Daoist shook his head. "Wutai is a place supported by the imperial court; there's no place for us there. The Qingxu Temple I'm taking you to is on Cuiping Peak, on the western slope of Xiangshan."

Samuel Bennett's heart sank. Xiangshan was the highest peak of Kongtong Mountain! It was actually on Xiangshan—could he really make it up there?

"What's wrong, regretting it?" the old Daoist asked calmly.

Samuel Bennett shook his head. "Not regret, but Xiangshan is so high and far, I'm afraid I won't be able to climb it."

"You have to climb it even if you can't. I won't help you—this is your first trial. Even if it takes you ten days, you must climb into the temple."

The old Daoist took out a piece of bean cake and handed it to him. "Eat something, rest a bit before we go on."

For the past three years, Samuel Bennett had only eaten one meal a day, so his body was long accustomed to hunger. He didn't feel especially hungry now, but having something to eat would surely help restore his strength.

He took the bean cake and sat silently on a rock, gnawing at it. The old Daoist handed him a water flask and smiled, "I can see you have a belly full of confusion, but you're very quiet. Are you puzzled that, despite your calligraphy skills and knowledge of the Analects, you can't find a foothold on Kongtong Mountain?"

Samuel Bennett nodded. "Has the literary path really declined?"

The old Daoist smiled. "To be precise, it's that children from poor families have no future in studying literature. The imperial exams have been suspended for over a decade, and the aristocratic families control officialdom. They study literature to become officials and govern the world. The sons of the wealthy can still become advisers or use connections to get a clerical job in the government, but what about poor children? At best, they can be bookkeepers or set up a stall to write letters for others—it's hard even to feed their families."

After a moment of silence, Samuel Bennett said, "This is only temporary. In the end, the Tang Dynasty will have to rely on scholars to restore order. Throughout history, scholars have always been on top. You can conquer the world on horseback, but you can't rule it that way!"

"You're not wrong. Maybe the status of scholars will be restored in the future, but not for at least twenty or thirty years. Especially in the north of the Tang, countless commoners have learned one thing with their lives: only a strong fist can keep you alive. So if you want to survive, there's no other way but to practice martial arts."

"Master, do you mean I should practice martial arts too?"

The old Daoist glanced at him and said calmly, "Do you think I came down the mountain just to find a Daoist boy who only knows how to eat?"

Chapter 0003: The Art of Immortal Cultivation

Samuel Bennett struggled as if fighting for his life, climbing for three whole days before finally reaching the temple at the western foot of Xiangshan. It was a very dilapidated little temple, with only five mud-brick rooms, and behind it was a sheer cliff dropping thousands of feet.