That night, back in the city district of Leiguang, Mark Carter and Jason Bolton really got drunk, and the chubby guy didn’t say much. As a best friend, he knew that Mark Carter had aspired to enter the Sanctuary since childhood and worked harder than anyone else. But sometimes fate just loves to play tricks—he ended up with only four layers of Fate Mark. If he could, the chubby guy truly wished he could swap places with Mark Carter.

In the middle of the night, the two of them staggered back to Jason Bolton’s house, arms around each other’s shoulders. This house was a gift from Jason Bolton’s father, a reward for the chubby guy’s admission to the Sanctuary. It was said that there had been several grand banquets just to celebrate. For the wealthy, having a cultivator in the family brought even more prestige and status.

To ordinary people, the Sanctuary was first-class; everything else was second-rate.

Almost as soon as he hit the bed, the chubby guy started snoring thunderously. He was very happy—he felt that life was great as it was: peeking at pretty girls bathing with Mark Carter, getting into fights together, being chased all over the streets. It was all so much fun.

Thinking about how he got into the Sanctuary while Mark Carter didn’t, the chubby guy, in his dreams, clenched his pudgy little fist and mumbled, “Meng-ge, you said you’d take me to dominate the Sanctuary and get all the pretty girls. Boohoo~ Hu Jing’s legs are so beautiful, I really want to touch them.”

Right after, the chubby guy’s drool soaked the pillow.

Mark Carter lay there with his eyes open, unable to sleep. Tomorrow would decide his fate, and deep down, he was never one to admit defeat.

Early the next morning, the two of them arrived at the Leiguang branch of the Sanctuary. Seeing the disciples in their distinctive white Sanctuary robes, Mark Carter felt a surge of envy.

Outside, hundreds of people were still lined up waiting for the retest. The wait was long, and neither Mark Carter nor the chubby guy spoke—the atmosphere was too oppressive. It wasn’t just them; everyone felt the same.

Watching one retest candidate after another come out with their heads down—some even bursting into tears on the spot—the chubby guy grew even more anxious. In contrast, Mark Carter was fine; the more critical the moment, the calmer he became.

Mark Carter had thought it through and had a clear goal. Even if he didn’t make it this year, he’d train on his own for three years. After all, he had the chubby guy as an inside man.

“Number one hundred and thirty, Mark Carter.”

Mark Carter steadied his breathing, lifted his head, straightened his back, and walked in.

Inside the room sat two Sanctuary elders, clearly of higher rank than those at the initial test, as each wore four golden sword star badges on their chests—a mark only those with ten full layers of Fate Mark could possess.

The bearded elder on the left glanced at Mark Carter indifferently. “Throw a punch.”

At Mark Carter’s second-layer Fate Mark level, his strength was obvious to these experts.

Mark Carter didn’t hesitate. He walked steadily to the testing wall and slammed his bandaged hand hard against it. He had done his utmost over the past month—no anxiety, no regrets.

The two elders exchanged a glance, a faint smile appearing on their faces. “How did you spend this past month?”

“I practiced the Foundation Cultivation Technique repeatedly. I want to join the Sanctuary Sword Sect!”

The Sword Sect was undoubtedly the pride of the Sanctuary.

Mark Carter lifted his head and spoke his goal loudly, feeling there was nothing shameful about it.

Both elders’ gazes fell on Mark Carter’s bandaged hand.

The elder on the right, whose sharp eyes marked him as a bow cultivator, asked coldly, “Oh? That’s quite a tone. My question is: in cultivation, what is the most important thing?”

“Talent,” Mark Carter answered crisply.

“Then what talent do you have to show?” the bearded elder on the left asked with interest.

A second-layer Fate Mark was all too common in the Sanctuary—fit only for menial work.

“Perseverance!” Mark Carter replied resolutely.

The two examiners exchanged a glance and smiled lightly. The bearded elder waved his hand casually. “You may go.”

Mark Carter clenched his hand tightly, took a deep breath, and bowed. He knew that without obvious improvement, shouting slogans was useless. But in three years, he would definitely be back!

Just as Mark Carter was about to leave, the bearded elder suddenly said, “Kid, don’t forget to report to the Sword Sect in three days.”

Mark Carter’s body froze. He turned around in disbelief, mouth agape, pointing at himself. He thought it was normal to be eliminated—after all, he’d gotten the technique, trained hard for a month, and made no progress.

The other Arrow Sect elder waved impatiently. “Don’t block the way, there are plenty of people behind you.”

“Sword Sect, here I come!!!!”

With a roar, Mark Carter dashed out. There were still many people waiting outside. Seeing the elated Mark Carter, a variety of expressions appeared on their faces—envy, jealousy, anxiety, worry...

The chubby guy was pacing at the door, even more nervous than Mark Carter, his back soaked with sweat. Before he could react, Mark Carter had already grabbed him and sent him flying.

“S-Sword Sect, you really got in???” The chubby guy was still in a daze, as if dreaming.

“If I’m going in, it’s only the Sword Sect!” Mark Carter struck a super cool pose.

Before he could finish, the chubby guy hoisted him up. “Damn, Meng-ge, I admire you even more now! If someone with a second-layer Fate Mark can get into the Sword Sect, pigs can climb trees!”

Sam Bolton immediately got a knock on the forehead. “Damn, so you always thought I had no chance?”

“Ahem, well, I just let it slip, didn’t I? Meng-ge, we’re brothers—tell me the truth, what did the two elders get from you? Was it a beauty? No, that can’t be, even if it was a beauty, she wouldn’t go for you.”