Chapter Twenty-Three: I Want Only the Ghost Tiger

Lin Bufan, dressed in a blue robe embroidered with golden patterns, strode confidently to the front of the stage. He was nothing like Zhu Qianqing—utterly shameless, completely at ease. As Shen Wan put it, this fellow was a blockhead, thick-skinned and unashamed.

He smiled down at the assembly of disciples below the stage. It had been years since he’d last experienced a moment like this—it felt wonderful.

The hall was so silent you could hear a pin drop. The crowd stared, dumbfounded, at the strikingly handsome young man on the stage, each beginning to question their own understanding of the world.

“Isn’t that the loser?”

“And from the Spell Pavilion, no less! What’s going on with the Spell Pavilion this year? Did a litter of kittens get out? How did another prodigy pop up?”

“Wait, he’s only at the fourth stage of Soul Gathering? Has the Tenfold Prison Tower become a walk in the park? One at the third stage, another at the fourth, and they’ve both cleared the tower so easily? I don’t buy it.”

“Is the world going mad, or is Calamity about to fall on our Xuan Sect? Someone tell me this isn’t real—I can’t believe it!”

“I’m convinced something’s off with this competition. The elders should investigate!”

Murmurs and protests rippled across the audience, shattering the previous calm. Of course, the elders had anticipated such a reaction. After all, Zhu Qianqing and Lin Bufan were both considered the weakest among the disciples, hardly outstanding in any way, and yet they had both conquered the Tenfold Prison Tower. Even they themselves could hardly believe it.

But the facts were indisputable. The rankings displayed on the tower’s board could not be faked.

Several elders turned to glance at the little senior brother beside them, lost in thought: “Who exactly is this little senior brother of ours?”

Wei Zhen furrowed his brow. Truth be told, no one but him could claim victory in this competition—first and second place were both disciples of his Spell Pavilion. Besides, Lin Bufan was his own direct disciple. As for Shen Wan, though he’d appeared out of nowhere, he was as close as a blood brother.

Listening to the wave of incredulous whispers from the crowd, Wei Zhen finally lost his composure.

“Enough with the noise—have you all forgotten your manners?” His voice boomed, echoing through the hall and making the disciples’ heads buzz. Instantly, silence returned. At last, the world was quiet again, and Wei Zhen’s smile returned.

Beside him, Shen Wan swallowed hard. “This old man, always with the double standards.”

After that brief interruption, the proceedings resumed as usual.

Third place went to Yun Shu of the Talisman Pavilion. When Elder Yu Yan announced her name, no one was surprised—she was the acknowledged genius of the sect. The only disappointment was that Yun Shu hadn’t cleared the final level of the Tenfold Prison Tower. Still, she wasn’t present to receive her prize—a fact that surprised no one. She was famous for being elusive, her presence as rare as a dragon’s sighting. If she actually appeared on stage today, that would have shocked everyone.

Next, fourth place: Gao Jinxi of the Forging Pavilion.

Fifth: Ye Lingfei of the Divine Pill Pavilion.

Sixth: Zhao Dongsheng of the Formation Pavilion.

One by one, the disciples called stepped onto the stage and took their positions. Soon, nine stood in a row, presented before the crowd.

The grand competition, held once every three years, had reached its moment of glory.

Whether on the stage or below, some rejoiced while others felt bitter. Apart from the first two, more than half of the remaining seven were dissatisfied with their rankings. Several forced smiles, masking deep-seated frustration.

But when it was announced that the nine would enter Cloudlistener Ravine for cultivation in half a month, they found some consolation.

At last, after Wei Zhen’s final words of encouragement, the competition came to a perfect close.

As the crowd dispersed, Shen Wan naturally followed Wei Zhen to the council chamber.

Not all eight elders were present. Yu Yan and Qu Fanghua were busy with preparations for the opening of Cloudlistener Ravine. Lian Qiuhan, unwilling to see Zhang Qi’s annoying face again, had returned to the Divine Pill Pavilion.

In the council chamber, Wei Zhen wore a broad, affable smile. “Junior brother, in half a month Cloudlistener Ravine will open. I’ve arranged a spot for you—join the others and enjoy the excitement.”

He spoke casually, as if this had been agreed upon with the other elders. Shen Wan smacked his lips—not because he was unwilling, but because he saw little point in going.

“But, senior brother, I’m not one of the top ten. Isn’t it a waste for me to tag along?”

“What’s the harm? You’re an elder. Who would dare object?” The Third Elder, Han Shan, chuckled. “Little senior brother, Cloudlistener Ravine is a sacred land where one can awaken their divine meridians. You, having no cultivation, might seize this opportunity and find your future path much easier.”

“Indeed, we old fellows have gathered plenty of resources for your cultivation. Don’t let us down,” added Fifth Elder, Ye Ping.

Shen Wan felt at a loss. “What do I need cultivation resources for? Couldn’t you just give me money instead?” he thought, but dared not say aloud. Looking at the kindly old men, he could only nod awkwardly.

“All right, I’ll give it a try. But let’s be clear—if I can’t even start cultivating, don’t come blaming me for it.”

He wore the look of a man with nothing to lose—since he was incapable of cultivating, he might as well state it upfront.

The elders exchanged glances. At last, Wei Zhen laughed. “A disciple chosen by our master is never ordinary. Don’t belittle yourself, junior brother. I have faith in you.”

“My God, this old man has no shame—he’s even praising himself! Does he not know what our master is like? Do I not know myself? ‘Never ordinary’—I’m as average as they come!” Shen Wan’s mind raced with retorts, but all he could do was give Wei Zhen a helpless “whatever you say” look.

With matters settled, Wei Zhen pulled a jade token from his storage pouch and handed it to Shen Wan. “This is your sect identification token. Imprint it with your spiritual sense and you’ll find many things in the sect much easier.”

The token was small, about half the size of a palm, and quite beautiful. Shen Wan took it and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Got it, senior brother. I’ll study it when I get back.”

Wei Zhen nodded cheerfully. With everything done, the elders chatted a while longer before dispersing to their own affairs.

Stepping outside, Shen Wan saw that the sun was high in the sky—noon had arrived. He ambled toward the Spell Pavilion, feeling exhausted after trekking over mountains and through woods.

Crossing the main grounds, he finally set foot on the stone path to the Spell Pavilion.

“This Xuan Sect is enormous—I’ve walked the equivalent of three bus stops just now,” he muttered, rubbing his calves.

“My senior brother could have at least given me a bicycle.”

At that, a thought struck Shen Wan. He looked up abruptly. “Wait a second, this is the Immortal Realm! I don’t know about bicycles, but surely there are mounts?”

The image of a dazzling ghost tiger mount from a game popped into his mind, and his spirits soared. If he couldn’t fly himself, he could find a pet to carry him. If he was slow, he could find a beast to run with him.

The more he thought about it, the more practical it seemed. His legs, tired moments before, suddenly brimmed with energy.

He broke into a jog, bypassed his own quarters, and headed straight to Lin Bufan’s residence.

He knocked enthusiastically for a good while before Lin Bufan finally opened the door. Seeing Shen Wan, he bowed respectfully. “Little Uncle Master.”

“All right, enough with the formalities. No need for that between us.” Shen Wan waved his hand and, without waiting to be invited in, walked straight into the house.

In the courtyard, he grabbed Lin Bufan’s arm impatiently. “Lin, tell me—does our sect provide mounts?”

“Mounts?” Lin Bufan was momentarily puzzled, then realized his uncle master wanted a beast companion.

“You mean a beast companion? The sect does have them, but they’re not given out lightly.”

Just hearing that such things existed made Shen Wan beam with delight. “Come on, take me to see them—I want to try one out.”

Without waiting for a reply, he dragged Lin Bufan out of the house.

Soon, Shen Wan was led to a place resembling a primeval forest, where strange animal cries echoed through the air.

“This is the Hundred Beasts Park, where our Xuan Sect raises its beast companions,” Lin Bufan explained.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Shen Wan’s eyes sparkled, making Lin Bufan sigh helplessly. He led him straight to a small wooden hut inside the park.

Elder Hong Zhichu, the eighth elder, sat at an ancient wooden table sipping spiritual tea. Hearing someone enter, he assumed it was someone from the Divine Pill Pavilion delivering feed. Without looking up, he slid a jade slip onto the table.

“Sign here and put the feed in storage room three.”

Shen Wan instantly recognized the man inside—it was one of the elders he’d just seen earlier. Familiarity made things easier; grinning, he approached the table.

“Senior brother, we meet again!” The sight of Shen Wan’s cheeky face almost made Hong Zhichu spit out his tea. He hastily wiped his mouth and finally recognized his visitor.

“Little senior brother? What brings you here?”

Shen Wan showed no embarrassment. At moments like these, shamelessness was a virtue.

He got straight to the point, grinning widely: “Got any ghost tigers? Give me one.”