Chapter Twenty-One: Winning the Admiration of the Master (Extra Chapter for the Cover!)

Those who align with the chaotic evil camp—such people are truly formidable. Frequently, their tempers are fierce, their dispositions venomous, domineering, and arbitrary; their methods are brutish, and they plunder without remorse or restraint. They are often feared by others, who wish nothing more than to see them eliminated.

Fortunately, such individuals rarely bother to make plans. The groups they join are notoriously disorganized, governed only by coercion and violence. Only the truly strong can subdue them, and only genuine power earns their respect. Yet, should that strength falter, they may well desire to usurp it. They are rather like wolves, or perhaps other wild creatures.

Zhang Ning considered them perhaps the most impressive of all; society may owe its progress to their driving force. Typically, their names are immortalized in the annals of history.

Yet, for the Grand Heavenly Demon Sect, such people could prove a double-edged sword. Still, the master is so formidable that he fears neither ambition nor those who possess it.

Zhang Ning actually wished to witness such a character firsthand, but alas, not a single one appeared in this round of testing—he didn’t even need to deliberate over admissions. What one cannot have is always the most alluring, and Zhang Ning felt a trace of regret.

Each person’s examination papers bore faint patterns of clouds, concealed symbols forming the background. Zhang Ning had paid for these himself, treasures from the storage pouch once gifted by the Inner Affairs Bureau—he had a mountain of talismans of every kind, though he never knew who was so extravagantly generous. Among them, he used a type of communication talisman, renowned for transmitting information rapidly and efficiently. It compelled the recipient to relay their thoughts instantly, making it indispensable in moments of crisis.

Thus, as the test paper, it recorded the first impression answers directly from the examinees’ minds. Zhang Ning envied those who could complete the test without writing, merely by thinking. Yet, for psychological assessments, such a method was terrifyingly precise.

The combination was perfect.

The questions were all in his mind; he hadn’t used the “library” function. Was he proud? Perhaps. Even if given more time, Zhang Ning doubted he could have done better. It was, after all, a collision between the brilliance of modernity and the strangeness of another world.

Interestingly, the senior brother had never disseminated anything resembling entertainment culture. Thus, there was much to exploit in this domain. With none before, the fan circles might develop blindly and fervently—a testament to the entertainment industry’s power to sway minds and subtly brainwash. In this light, Zhang Ning’s future foray into entertainment might invite conspiracy theories.

When Zhang Ning submitted the papers for Zhuge Yi to review and casually mentioned his future plans, Zhuge Yi’s maternal smile seemed almost as if he were imagining too much.

Finally, Zhang Ning explained the answers to the sect members, receiving countless admiring gazes in return—perhaps his very first fans.

Lost in his own satisfaction, Zhang Ning was wholly unaware that his every move was being watched.

The Netherworld Demon Lord—Xing Qiluo—watched Zhang Ning’s live broadcast and, for once, smiled. It had been ages since he had smiled like this. He was surprised this child saw so deeply into the human heart and yet remained so optimistic.

After Xing Qiluo sent Chu Hanyu back to his place of recovery, the formations Chu had arranged were triggered by his grave injuries. Even the slightest disturbance activated the highest level of alert. Moments ago, something flickered at Chu Hanyu’s fingertips, summoning Xing Qiluo’s attention. The room’s arrays flared and sounded alarms, launching attacks at every empty corner, narrowly sparing Chu Hanyu himself. Xing Qiluo deftly evaded them and searched the room warily, finding nothing.

Unlike Chu Hanyu, Xing Qiluo lacked mastery in every art and resorted to the most basic method—he touched Chu Hanyu’s fingertip. Unexpectedly, a translucent, panel-like object flew out.

The object hovered in midair and spoke: “Welcome to the host’s first broadcast! This is a one-way stream. You may watch, but there is no interaction, no likes, subscriptions, or rewards. We apologize for any inconvenience caused by this broadcast.”

Having seen countless bizarre phenomena, Xing Qiluo refrained from smashing it outright. His feet were already encircled by the cosmic principles he had comprehended—a level beyond spatial techniques—ready to step into surrounding space and contend with the object.

At that moment, a child walked out of the room, speaking in the language used for internal communication within the Grand Heavenly Demon Sect, capturing Xing Qiluo’s full attention.

The surroundings grew increasingly familiar—wasn’t this the Fat-Belly Ark? He had offered advice when Chu Hanyu forged this artifact.

Recognizing the scene, he realized this was the exam setting. So this child was the disciple his friend had taken in without informing him, likely the fifth in rank.

As for the translucent panel, it was probably crafted by Chu Hanyu for his disciple, or perhaps for close communication between master and apprentice. For a moment, Xing Qiluo felt uneasy, as though he were intruding upon someone’s privacy—especially Chu Hanyu’s.

Yet, his gaze was swiftly drawn to Zhang Ning’s exam paper. He was astonished—this child…

Even hastily composed, the test cut straight to the heart, presaging a fate where genius might invite calamity.

Moreover, every question bore the hallmarks of the secrets Chu Hanyu had divulged to him—each pointed and meaningful. Clearly, Chu Hanyu valued his little disciple greatly.

After that, Xing Qiluo watched the broadcast with growing concern. Unable to interact, he remained unseen by Zhang Ning, who was oblivious to being watched.

When Zhang Ning teased the examinees, Xing Qiluo found himself captivated by the child’s lively and adorable nature.

To Xing Qiluo, children ought to be carefree—climbing roofs, causing mischief. His only disciple was precocious, perpetually burdened with a grave expression and stubborn to a fault. He had no idea how to manage him.

Hmm?

Perhaps he should send his disciple to Chu Hanyu’s, let him be bullied a little—anything to coax a few more smiles from him.

Of course, he’d need to inform Chu Hanyu first.

At that moment, Xing Qiluo’s attention shifted to Chu Hanyu. He saw Chu’s finger move lightly, delicate as a butterfly, yet imbued with a strange power, as if a thousand ages flowed from his fingertip, the cycle of life and death, the eternal seasons unfolding.