Tianque City

Su Qing followed the procedure, showing her teeth and wrists.

She briefly stated she was Li Xiu Fu’s distant cousin, her maternal grandfather once a scholar.

This was prearranged with the elder’s family.

The steward didn’t suspect Su Qing’s slight overage.

Noting her refined speech and manners, unlike a village child, he probed her background.

Learning her grandfather was a scholar, he asked: “Have you studied?”

Su Qing instinctively replied: “Only a year, know a few characters.”

She meant it humbly, but it was the plain truth.

The steward encouraged: “A towering tree grows from a tiny sprout; a thousand-mile journey begins with one step. Knowing a few characters is good—you’ll learn more in time.”

Su Qing passed.

She stole a glance at the steward’s waist badge.

His name was Chen Yu.

Relieved Su Qing passed, Xiu Fu’s eyes lit up with joy. “Great, I wouldn’t dare go alone.”

The steward didn’t notice Su Qing’s age but pointed out a few scrawny children under 14.

“These are too young—how’d they get listed? Whose kids are they? Parents, take them back.”

Some parents pleaded: “Our family’s poor, so the kids are small. They look frail but are well over 14!”

The steward sneered: “Think I’m blind?”

They stammered, not daring to argue.

The village clerk scolded: “Fools, stuffing such young kids in?!”

The farmers slunk forward, about to kneel, but sword-bearing disciples stopped them.

“Why are your knees so weak?” a disciple glared. “The Sword Sect isn’t a place where groveling solves everything.”

“Immortal Elders,” the parents clutched their children, begging. “Selection happens once every sixty years. If my boy misses this, when’s the next? He’s good—when he was born, my mother dreamed the courtyard’s locust tree bloomed, fragrant all over. Surely he’s got some immortal fate! He’s small but works like half an adult. Elders, take pity and accept him!”

Others chimed in: “Yes, Elders, take them!”

“My child’s sensible, sharp, and hardworking!”

“Nonsense!” the steward glared. “If they were half a year or eight months shy, I’d turn a blind eye. But these kids aren’t even ten—some are nine! You’re not wishing them well; you’re pushing them into a fire pit!”

He declared sternly: “Immortal fate is elusive. Cultivation is a battle against heaven—full of opportunities, but also dangers! Don’t underestimate this selection. Even with us elders guarding, not all these children will return whole!”

Su Qing thought this was true.

In ancient times, with sparse populations and harsh nature, trips over a month meant families prepared for funerals.

Accidents were too common on long treks through mountains and rivers, eating and sleeping in the open.

And who knew how this selection worked?

If it involved sparring, blades were merciless…

Hearing the steward, some parents wavered, and some children showed fear.

Su Qing had no choice—however tough the path, she had to forge ahead.

Xiu Fu’s mother grew anxious, leaning on her husband’s shoulder, waving urgently at Xiu Fu.

Xiu Fu, stubborn, refused to look.

She was determined to find elixirs to cure her mother and grandmother.

She wanted them healthy, by her side longer—much longer.

The unqualified children were led away, along with a few who grew fearful.

The stewards redrafted the list, finalizing the group.

Su Qing knew they were about to set off.

The stewards clasped their fists to the crowd: “Good villagers, we’re taking the children. The journey is long, over a month. We, the Tianxia Sword Sect, swear by our sword hearts: we’ll guard them fully, unharmed by illness! If we break this oath, our sword hearts shatter, our bodies fall, our paths end!”

The village head stirred—children cried for mothers, parents called for children, some wept in embraces.

Su Qing recalled her college send-off, local parents tearfully reluctant, much like this.

Xiu Fu, sentimental, had tears gleaming in her eyes, lingering on the brink.

Su Qing asked: “Won’t you say a word? Your parents, the old lady, and the elder keep looking your way.”

Xiu Fu shook her head. “No, I might regret it.”

Su Qing understood, gently squeezing her hand.

Xiu Fu, holding back tears, gritted her teeth. “I’ll bring back life-saving medicine!”

They had to move.

The stewards mounted horses: “Depart! Disciples, form ranks, keep spacing, don’t stray!”

Su Qing had hoped, like in novels, the elders would summon treasures—small boats turning grand, carrying students over mountains to the sect.

But their travel was mundane: stewards rode horses, mules pulled carts, children followed on foot or rode if too weak.

Sword-bearing disciples guarded the edges, calm and sweat-free, showing no fatigue as cultivators.

Su Qing and Li Xiu Fu, older, were expected to walk.

A 14-year-old girl, Zhu Xing’er, was assigned to their group.

Daughter of a town grain shop owner, she’d come to visit the village and joined the selection.

Her family was well-off; she didn’t do rough work, only embroidery or bookkeeping, moving delicately, easily tired.

The stewards tasked Su Qing and Xiu Fu to look after her.

Xiu Fu, warm-hearted, constantly checked on her—thirsty, hungry, tired, need a rest?

But Zhu Xing’er, impatient, only spoke to ask for water or help with her pack, otherwise staying silent.

She looked down on these village girls.

Her goal in the selection wasn’t like these country kids, merely seeking a meal with immortals.

At night, to fend off beasts, they lit fires and slept huddled under tents.

Zhu Xing’er refused to join them, wrapping herself in fine cloth and sleeping against a tree stump.

Su Qing, feeling like an older sister with a stubborn younger one, teased: “Sleeping alone like that, careful a wolf snatches you at midnight.”

Zhu Xing’er scoffed: “Wolves? My grandfather made me a wolfskin mattress!”

Xiu Fu urged: “Come sleep with us—it’s cold at night, don’t catch a fever.”

Zhu Xing’er refused, muttering: “How long’s it been since you two bathed?”

Su Qing didn’t catch it. “What?”

She pouted: “Nothing.”

At midnight, the wind grew fierce, chilling her to shivers.

Sure to fall ill, Zhu Xing’er, red-faced, dragged her cloth over. “I’m cold.”

Xiu Fu lifted the blanket, pulling her in.

Su Qing, rubbing sleepy eyes, chuckled softly.

The three slept squeezed together.

Zhu Xing’er wasn’t a bad girl.

When Su Qing got blisters, she casually offered a silver-rimmed porcelain jar of herbal cream.

After Xiu Fu pricked the blisters, she applied it.

Xiu Fu used it sparingly; Zhu Xing’er teased: “So stingy. The apothecary sends tons to our house—we don’t even care for it.”

Her tone was haughty, less so with tears in her eyes—Xiu Fu had pricked her blisters too.

Su Qing thought their blisters made sense: one a modern slacker, the other a pampered town girl.

The journey was relentless—eat, rest, march.

The wilderness was monotonous: mountains, rivers, flat roads, nothing to see.

Bored, Su Qing chatted, asking Zhu Xing’er why she joined the selection.

Zhu Xing’er huffed, refusing to answer, sometimes snapping: “None of your business!”

But after long, exhausting marches, her guard slipped, and she hinted vaguely.

Village kids stayed home longer to help with chores, but towns favored early marriages.

Though only 14, Zhu Xing’er’s parents were arranging her betrothal.

She despised all prospects: “The scholar’s son reeks of sourness, his family barely surviving on water, yet he scorns our money’s stench. The butcher’s son is coarse, stinking of pig—can’t stand near him. The cloth merchant’s son looks decent but is a sickly consumptive—probably die before I’d marry!”

Scholar, butcher, cloth merchant—these were prime town matches.

But to Zhu Xing’er, they were nothing; she rejected them all.

Her parents pressed; desperate, she threw tantrums, insisting on joining the selection, refusing mortal life.

Xiu Fu asked: “What kind do you want?”

Zhu Xing’er declared: “No one’s worthy. If I choose, it’ll be the best!”

Su Qing realized: she wasn’t here for discipleship—she was husband-hunting.

Whether feasible or not, Su Qing admired her courage.

At 14, Su Qing hadn’t dared leave home for a month or two’s adventure.

After nearly a month of stops and starts, their group reached the main caravan at the foot of Tianxia Mountain, the bustling mortal city.

They could finally catch their breath.

By now, Su Qing was a wildling.

Even Zhu Xing’er, once pristine, was just as rugged.

Despite a month of rough travel, the stewards’ experience kept things orderly.

They paused regularly for water, rest, or cooking.

Sick children were promptly treated with pills or herbs.

At night, they huddled together, surrounded by campfires, with sword disciples patrolling.

Though travel-worn, everyone’s spirits held up.

Su Qing gradually relaxed.

The disciples’ and stewards’ conduct suggested Tianxia Sword was a righteous sect.

She likely wouldn’t end up in a pill furnace.

Looking up at the city gate’s ancient plaque, she made out three characters.

The mortal city nearest Tianxia Sword Sect, the boundary of mortal and immortal—Tianque City.