The Grand Hall of the 1-Star Master Teacher Pavilion was an exercise in uninhibited high-born decadence.
Spanning three hundred feet of polished white marble, the vaulted ceiling was supported by twenty-four snake-like pillars wrapped in beaten gold leaf.
Incense burners shaped like mythical bronze cranes puffed sweet sandalwood smoke into the cool air, while crystal chandeliers suspended from sky-steel chains cast dancing prisms across the floor.
Dozens of examinees milled about the registration desks, dressed in shimmering five-colored silks stitched with golden crests of Great Da-Qi’s tributary clans.
Every tester held jade fans or silver tokens, with retinues of bowed servants carrying lacquered chests of healing herbs and velvet presentation cases.
Frank stood in the center of the marble floor, hands buried in his denim jacket pockets. He looked at the ceiling with a checker’s critical glare.
“Suspended chandeliers without backup safety tethers,” Frank muttered under his breath. “If a ground-shaking tremor hits, forty pounds of leaded crystal drops directly onto the reception desk. Pure fault.”
Behind him, Shen Shitou, Jiang Ling’er, and Niu Mang stood in a disciplined triangle. She held their trade implements at ease.
Around them, examinees backed away, sneering behind their silk fans.
“Where did these beggars crawl out from?” a young noble in lavender brocade whispered, clutching his jade pendant. “Carrying an iron spade and a sledgehammer into the Sacred Hall of Teachers? Do they think this is a livestock auction?”
“Look at their wooden medallion,” another scoffed. “Hongwu Lower Academy. That old and worn-out border school hasn’t produced a passing teacher in forty years. The guards must have fallen asleep at the gate.”
Frank ignored the murmurs and walked up to the main registration counter.
Behind a curved desk carved from single slab of bloodstone sat Registry Clerk Han.
Clerk Han was a slender, sharp-featured man with long droopy moustaches, wearing the midnight-blue robes of a Senior Office Scribe. He was languidly dipping a badger-hair brush into vermilion ink, calculating exam applicant quotas on a counting frame.
Frank rested his battered wooden Hongwu Academy teaching license on the polished stone desk.
Thump.
The dry pine wood of the small medallion rattled against the bloodstone.
Clerk Han didn’t look up right away. He slid three brass counting frame beads with his pinky finger, dipped his brush. Then he finally glanced down at the battered signboard.
His thin eyebrows arched so high they nearly touched his silk cap.
“Hongwu Lower Academy?” Han said, his voice dripping with condescending amusement. “Teacher Lu Zhen?”
“That’s me,” Frank said flatly. “Checking in for the 1-Star Master Teacher Test. Need the written packet, the seat assignment, and the builder tax exemption endorsement form.”
Clerk Han stared at Frank. Then he pushed the wooden medallion away with the wooden tip of his brush like he was flicking aside a dead fly.
“Application rejected,” Han said, dipping his brush back into the ink. “Next in line.”
Frank didn’t move. “Reason for rejection?”
Han sighed loudly, rolling his eyes toward the gold-trimmed ceiling like a clerk explaining simple arithmetic to a child.
“According to Ministerial Regulation Eight, Hongwu Academy’s testing official badge lapsed seventeen years ago due to nonstop non-performance. Your school has had zero passing testers in four decades. We don’t waste Pavilion testing resources on regional dead weight.”
Han leaned forward, resting his bony elbows on the desk, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
“However,” Han whispered, tapping two fingers against the bloodstone, “the Pavilion understands that country educators often travel great distances out of misguided ambition. If you wish to submit an ‘Expedited Discretionary Review Application,’ the office fee is five hundred middle-grade spirit stones. Cash upfront. Non-refundable.”
A low chuckle rippled through the nearby noble examinees.
“Five hundred spirit stones for an expedited review!” a noble youth laughed. “That bumpkin couldn’t gather five hundred copper coins if he sold his cart and his students!”
Frank didn’t get angry. He didn’t raise his voice.
He simply turned his head toward the eastern wall of the grand hall.
Towering thirty feet into the air stood a massive monolith of black granite, carved with the complete founding charter and exam bylaws of the Master Teacher Pavilion.
Frank tapped his temple with his pencil. His eyes pulsed amber.
Frank looked at the amber readout, closed his eyes for three seconds. Then he let out a small, satisfied breath.
“Five hundred spirit stones expedited fee?” Frank asked, turning back to Clerk Han. “Cite the rule-book code.”
Clerk Han frowned, his brush pausing. “What?”
“Give me the statute number,” Frank said. He pulled out his yellow carpenter’s pencil and tapping the bloodstone desk. “You cited Ministerial Regulation Eight. But Regulation Eight was an office decree passed by the Country Governor’s office forty years ago to manage grain transport, not academic licensing.”
Frank pointed his pencil straight at the towering black monolith across the hall.
“Article Four, Clause Nineteen of the Founding Charter explicitly states: ‘The Master Teacher Pavilion operates under autonomous sovereign mandate, fully independent of country civil decrees.’ Your Ministerial Regulation Eight is ultra vires—legally null and void within these walls.”
Clerk Han’s face twitched. A bead of sweat formed at his hairline.
“Also,” Frank continued in a calm, relentless builder flat voice, “Article Twelve, Section Three clearly specifies that exam registration fees for accredited mortal instructors shall not exceed two silver ounces. You quoted five hundred spirit stones. That’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-percent markup. In town construction, that’s called fraudulent bid rigging and extortion.”
The lobby fell into an eerie, choking silence.
The noble examinees stopped fanning themselves.
The scribes at neighboring counters froze, brushes suspended in mid-air.
Clerk Han’s moustache quivered with anger. “You insolent country dog! You dare lecture me on the Pavilion’s laws?! Even if Regulation Eight doesn’t apply, your school lacks the minimum student official badge! You can’t register without a sponsor clan!”
Frank leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the desk.
“Check your unpatched legacy bylaws, Clerk Han,” Frank said coldly. “Grandfather Clause Fourteen-B. Added three hundred and twenty years ago during the Second Beast Tide.”
Frank recited the ancient text verbatim from his system scan:
“‘Should an unranked teacher present himself at the Grand Pavilion with three fully bonded students who have achieved Mortal Tier Two within ninety days of enrollment, said teacher possesses the sovereign right to demand total immediate entry into the testing chambers, exempt from all fees, queues, and country sponsorships.’”
Frank pulled three brass-bound bamboo scrolls from his leather tool pouch and slammed them down beside his wooden medallion.
BAM!
“Shen Shitou. Jiang Ling’er. Niu Mang,” Frank stated flatly. “Three registered students. Enrolled thirty-five days ago. All three approved Mortal Tier Two baseline. Paperwork fully notarized by Dean Shang of Hongwu Academy.”
Frank stared directly into Clerk Han’s bulging eyes.
“Clause Fourteen-B. The Sovereign Challenge Mandate. Stamp the paperwork, Clerk. Or do I need to file an office non-rule-following audit with your Grand Elders?”
Clerk Han slumped backward in his chair, his face fully drained of blood.
The badger-hair brush slipped from his fingers, rolling across the desk and splattering red ink across his clean blue silk robes.
In three hundred years, no one had invoked Clause Fourteen-B.
It wasn’t a hidden secret—it was carved directly onto the massive stone in the lobby! But it was regarded as an ancient myth, a relic from the First Epoch when legendary wandering hermits dropped from mountain peaks to challenge corrupt empires!
To invoke Clause Fourteen-B was to declare the Pinnacle Challenge Mandate. An all-or-nothing trial where a teacher staked his entire soul and the lives of his students against the Pavilion’s harshest trial!
“He... He invoked the Pinnacle Challenge?!” a high-born examinee stammered, his jade fan slipping from his trembling hand.
“That clause needs the judge to right away seal the testing hall and summon the Grand Elder!” another cried in terror.
“Is he mad?! If his students fail to prove their Tier Two baseline under the ancient formation, all four of them will have their spiritual roots burned and be banished to the barren northern wastes!”
Shen Shitou took a half-step forward, his twenty-pound sledgehammer planted firmly against the marble floor.
“Our Master’s Dao is pure and rock-steady,” Shitou declared, his voice echoing through the vaulted hall like rolling thunder. “We fear no trial of mortal ink and stone!”
Princess Ling’er stood tall, her hands folded gracefully inside her sleeves, a faint wisp of dragon-steam coiling around her wrists.
Niu Mang simply leaned on his spade, casually picking his teeth with a splinter of bamboo.
Clerk Han’s hands shook wildly as he reached for the brass registration stamp.
“You... You madman...” Han whispered, his voice cracking. “You think you can bully the Master Teacher Pavilion with forgotten legal technicalities?!”
Before Han’s trembling fingers could touch the inkpad, a deep, ringing voice echoed from the grand spiraling stairs of white jade.
“Hold your hand, Clerk Han.”
The voice cut through the cavernous marble hall like a slab of falling slate.
The entire lobby instantly fell dead silent. Examinees, scribes, and guards dropped to their knees in respectful panic.
“Grand Elder Mo!”
Dropping the spiraling stairs was an elderly man clad in flowing robes of pure silver silk, trimmed with gold embroidery depicting nine soaring cranes.
His beard was snow-white, cascading down to his belt. His eyes were as cold and sharp as twin ice-slow needles.
Pinned to his left breast was an emblem forged from deep-sea purple gold, adorned with two brilliant silver stars.
Elder Mo. The Chief Test Judge of the 1-Star Master Teacher Pavilion.
Elder Mo floated down the last three steps without his boots making a single sound against the marble. He stopped ten paces from Frank. His piercing gaze swept over Frank’s denim jacket, Shitou’s sledgehammer, Ling’er’s steaming hands, and Niu Mang’s hard dark metal spade.
“A youth from the borderlands,” Elder Mo spoke. His voice shook with subtle spiritual pressure that caused the air in the hall to grow cold. “Armed with an unpatched clause from our founding ancestors, daring to demand the Pinnacle Challenge.”
Frank met the Grand Elder’s gaze without blinking. He didn’t even shift his weight.
“Building codes are building codes,” Frank said, shrugging slightly. “If your founding fathers left the loophole open for three hundred years, that’s a documentation bug, not my fault. Either fix the charter or honor the terms.”
The examinees gasped at Frank’s casual disrespect.
Elder Mo’s eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. A faint, frosty smile crept across his wrinkled lips.
“Very well, Teacher Lu Zhen,” Elder Mo said softly, his voice echoing with total finality. “The Master Teacher Pavilion honors its founding charter. The Pinnacle Challenge is granted.”
Elder Mo raised his silver sleeve. He pointed a long, bony finger toward the arched iron doorway at the far end of the grand hall.
“Step into the Heart of Innocence Trial Tower. Where ancient mirrors weigh the purity of the teacher’s soul. If your mind harbors a single drop of greed, trick, or false pride, the mirror will shatter your sea of mind and leave you a drooling idiot on the floor.”
Elder Mo took a slow step backward, his silver robes billowing without wind.
“Enter, Lu Zhen. Let’s see if your tongue is as sharp when standing before the Judgment of the Ancients.”