Spiritual Root Test

Su Qing sat at Table 9, facing a plain black wooden desk, unremarkable in its dark sheen.

What stood out were the two people across from her.

One, a woman with black hair and eyes, her face strikingly delicate yet bold with a heroic air. Her lithe frame, like a crane in the clouds, exuded an ethereal grace despite her simple robe.

The man was a contrast, dressed to dazzle. His hair was braided with gold beads and jade stones, small braids merging into a single large one at his waist. His features were stunning—fine brows, rare pale-green eyes, a sharp nose, radiating the vivid allure of a Western Regions beauty. His clothes, at first glance elegant, were intricately embroidered with subtle patterns that shimmered like flowing water in the light. Most cunningly, his robe subtly revealed a sliver of his slender waist, not overtly but glimpsed in motion.

Su Qing was awed by his styling prowess.

She lowered her gaze to the desk, where a glossy black compass sat.

The woman spoke, her voice slightly husky but soothing. “Number 381, Su Qing. I’m Lin Hebai from the Body Gate. This is Hu Sang from the Beast Gate. We’re conducting your spiritual root test. Please place a drop of blood in the compass’s center.”

Su Qing took the bloodletting tool from Hu Sang, pricked her fingertip, and squeezed a round bead of blood onto the compass.

It landed slightly off-center, but no matter.

Her blood hit the compass and rapidly spread outward from the center. After about thirty seconds, it stopped, the paths it traced glowing faintly white, stark against the black surface.

Hu Sang glanced at it and chuckled.

Lin Hebai shot him a silent, reproving look.

He coughed, feigning seriousness, and adopted a grave expression.

Su Qing’s hairs stood on end at his laugh. She swore it wasn’t admiration but the kind of bemused chuckle a teacher gives a zero-scored exam.

Lin Hebai guided her to read the compass. “See, the compass has five vertical directions and four horizontal gold rings. The verticals represent the five spiritual roots: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth. The four gold rings indicate spiritual root development levels.”

“There are also variant roots like Wind, Thunder, and Ice, but you don’t have those, so ignore them. The four gold rings, from inner to outer, represent 25%, 50%, 75%, and 100% development. Do you understand percentages?”

Su Qing nodded. She got that much.

Lin Hebai continued, “The rings show 25%, 50%, 75%, and 100%. Fifty is average, 75 is excellent, 100 is heaven-blessed. Clear?”

Su Qing nodded.

It was simple. Too simple.

She wished she didn’t understand.

Because—

“Your Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth roots are all below 25%,” Lin Hebai said. “In short, your spiritual veins are blocked, your roots stunted—congenital underdevelopment.”

Hu Sang added lazily, propping his head, “You must come from a barren, spirit-scarce place to have such poor aptitude.”

Modern-world Su Qing: Well, in a way, he’s not wrong.

She tried to salvage hope. “What does this mean for me? Can I still cultivate?”

Hu Sang smirked, tapping a jade-like finger. “Simple. Normal people have 50% development. You’re at 25%. You absorb spiritual energy half as fast, convert it half as fast, and progress half as fast. In plain terms, a cultivation dud.”

Su Qing: I get that I’m a dud, but why are you so gleeful? Aren’t you a teacher?

Lin Hebai, silent till now, spoke softly. “When I joined the Sword Sect, I was worse off. The elder said my meridians were shattered, spiritual energy blocked—a total cripple with no cultivation potential.”

Hu Sang’s face paled. “That elder was blind, he didn’t—”

“He was right,” Lin Hebai cut in. “Normal methods didn’t work for me. Only body cultivation let me step onto the path.” She looked at Su Qing earnestly. “Your aptitude is already better than mine was. You’ll work harder, but you won’t be lesser than anyone.”

Hu Sang’s playful grin faded. Glancing warily at Lin Hebai, he muttered to Su Qing, “You’re young. The sect’s spiritual energy will nurture your roots over time. It’ll be tough early on, but cultivation’s never easy, as Hebai says. If all else fails, try body cultivation…”

Lin Hebai nodded approvingly. “Teacher Hu speaks wisely.”

Su Qing felt reassured. Being able to cultivate at all was a bonus. Hardship? She’d deal with it when it came.

Lin Hebai added, “Teacher Hu, please give her the test report.”

Hu Sang glumly handed over a few sheets.

Su Qing took them. “What’s this?”

“Aptitude analysis and cultivation path suggestions,” Lin Hebai said. “Use it as a reference for course selection. The final choice is yours.”

Course selection—a familiar term.

Su Qing’s competitive spirit flared. “When does it start?”

Lin Hebai smiled. “Back at the dorm, register via your disciple token. If you need help, ask a steward.”

Su Qing fiddled with her token later, discovering that activating it at the Sword-Testing Stone was like inserting a SIM card—it connected. She could send and receive messages.

Like a phone.

She was thrilled.

But the excitement faded fast. The token was more like a basic pager. It accessed internal systems and sent text messages, nothing more.

For instance, she found a message from Chen Yu, sent two hours ago, confirming her work-study approval.

Before the next academic year, besides a fixed stipend, she’d receive 1,500 spirit seeds monthly as a subsidy. No repayment needed, but she’d perform light tasks: serving in the cafeteria, cleaning classrooms, driving beasts from the back mountain, clearing secret chambers, gathering herbs, or taking sect missions. There was a task quota, but it was flexible and manageable.

With no skills yet, her first job was cafeteria duty, scheduled for Thursday and Friday lunch and dinner shifts, reporting to the rice vendor.

Su Qing hadn’t expected to become “colleagues” with the rice vendor and wine elder.

But they were permanent staff; she was just a temp.