Survival
Not long after the sparring evaluations concluded, the day of the third promotion examination arrived.
As instructed beforehand, the candidates gathered at the training grounds—yet, curiously, not a single novice disciple had come to watch.
They told us no one would be allowed to spectate this time, and that all other novice disciples were to wait in their lodgings. What kind of test needs that kind of secrecy?
Cheonhwa was not alone in the thought. He could easily pick out the low, murmuring conversations of other candidates turning over the same question among themselves.
Before long, Muwol appeared and announced the content of the examination.
"The third examination is this: survive within the Qinling Mountains."
For a moment, the novice disciples were struck speechless.
It was nothing like what they had expected—and it had nothing whatever to do with martial arts. That bewilderment quickly swelled into a restless murmur that filled the training grounds.
"Survive in the Qinling Mountains? What kind of exam is that?"
"Even so, something with zero connection to martial skill is a bit much, isn't it?"
"I'd understand if it were sparring matches. Survival? We've never even been taught that!"
As the complaints rose toward a roar—
Crack.
A sharp clap of hands wiped the noise clean away.
Muwol had poured inner force into the sound, and every gaze snapped toward him.
"I understand that you're unsettled. But there is a reason we chose this for the final examination."
In truth, second-generation disciples could not set examination content on their own. It required formal approval from the Council of Elders—which meant this trial, too, had the sanction of the Sect Leader and the elders.
"The growth of this Hua-generation cohort of novice disciples has been truly outstanding. It would be no exaggeration to call it the finest in our history."
And the content chosen for this examination was bound up with that very rapid growth.
"Your skill has long since surpassed what can be called a novice disciple's level."
Even if they became formal disciples tomorrow, every one of them could already pull more than their weight. Their foundations were solid; the only thing they still lacked was experience.
"That is why this examination was prepared not to measure martial arts, but judgment."
Part of the purpose was to see how they would respond in unfamiliar circumstances. Another part was simply to make them live through a situation of this kind.
"Of course, we do not mean to dump you bare-handed into the mountains."
They would be given certain supplies, and precautions for their safety had been arranged as well.
"Every candidate will be issued one of these signal fireworks. If you can no longer hold out, set one off."
Muwol produced a firework and demonstrated it himself. He held the fuse downward and pulled.
Fweeeee—BANG!
A trail of fire streaked skyward and burst, leaving a clear mark hanging in the air.
"When a firework detonates like that, second-generation disciples will follow the residual trail and come to your rescue."
Even so, there might be crises in which a candidate could not use the firework at all. Second-generation disciples would therefore patrol the examination grounds at regular intervals to check on their condition.
"In addition, some among the second-generation disciples will target the cloths you carry and launch ambushes."
Each candidate would receive a strip of blue cloth to bind around the upper arm. The attacking second-generation disciples would aim primarily to seize that cloth—and losing it meant immediate elimination from the examination.
There was only one way to drive off an attacker: endure for thirty exchanges. Past thirty exchanges, the ambusher would break off and withdraw on the spot.
The examination period was ten days in total. With each passing day, the frequency of second-generation ambushes would increase. Lasting three days without losing one's cloth would count as a pass.
"You are not required to overcome this examination alone."
Forming a group and surviving together was acceptable. Surviving completely alone, bound to no one, was equally fine.
"What is forbidden is injuring a fellow disciple. Anyone caught doing so will be eliminated at once, and will face punishment after the examination ends."
This trial was meant to test survival and response—not competition. Muwol stressed the point several times, making certain they would remember it.
A few further explanations followed, and then the examination began in earnest.
One by one, the candidates were blindfolded and ear-muffled and carried off by second-generation disciples. Anxiety sat plain on every face. Being thrust into the examination without even a moment to prepare clearly weighed on them. Their complexions were so poor it was almost surprising no one had given up before the start.
The number gathered at the training grounds dwindled little by little, until at last Cheonhwa's turn arrived.
Blind and deaf, he could not tell where he was being taken. Only the wind brushing past him said that he was moving at all. They seemed to be using light-body arts; the headwind was strong. The one mercy was that whoever was carrying him had taken care with their footwork—there was no jarring bounce.
Before long the motion stopped, and the blindfold and ear covers came away.
His darkened sight flooded with light. He stood in the middle of a mountain forest—somewhere, true to their word, in the Qinling Mountains.
"Here are your supplies and your marker cloth."
The instructor who had carried him handed over a pack from his back. It was heavy enough that Cheonhwa knew at once it held a fair assortment of things. Next the man drew out the strip of blue cloth and bound it around Cheonhwa's upper arm.
"The examination begins the moment I leave. Fight well."
With that brief word of encouragement, the instructor departed. He must have unleashed his light-body arts to their utmost—within a breath he had vanished from sight.
First, check the pack.
Cheonhwa calmly sorted through its contents. Inside were a wooden sword, a bamboo water flask filled to the brim, three days' worth of fasting pills, and a signal firework for calling help.
Just as they said beforehand. They told us we'd have to find the rest ourselves.
Rationing only what was in the pack, he could probably stretch food and water for five days—but he doubted that was what the instructors wanted to see.
Water first, then.
Cheonhwa slung the wooden sword over his shoulder, settled the pack on his back, and set out along the mountain path in search of water.
About one ke after he started walking, he found the water source he had been hoping for—a small stream, murmuring as it ran.
Lucky that a spring was this close.
Having ranged all over the Qinling Mountains before, Cheonhwa had little trouble reading the terrain; starting near water, though, was pure fortune.
The water's cold, but it should be fine to drink.
Winter's chill had not fully left the land, and he had braced himself for ice—yet luck was with him on that score as well.
First I'll put up a temporary shelter nearby.
Using the wooden sword as a staff, he prodded the ground as he scouted the area. When he found a suitable spot, he began digging a burrow with the blade.
Having a tool makes this so much easier.
A reasonably sturdy wooden sword was far better for the work than bare hands. Once he had hollowed out a decent depth, he lined the inside with dry leaves and covered the entrance with a lid woven from branches in a lattice.
That finishes the temporary shelter.
Having completed the work in short order with nothing but the wooden sword, Cheonhwa decided to reconnoiter the surrounding terrain. Against the chance he might need it later, he also stacked stones from the stream into a small cairn as a marker.
With the essentials done, he knocked the dirt from the wooden sword—
They're not going to scold me later for getting dirt on it, are they?
—and only then did he worry that he had handled the weapon too carelessly. Had the second-generation disciples ever imagined that the defensive weapon they had issued him would be used for digging holes?
Even so, he could not deny that it was better for his stamina than wearing himself out hunting for a suitable branch.
If I explain the circumstances later, they'll probably let it go.
There was a chance they would not—but Cheonhwa chose to think positively. Right now, scouting the area came first.
He set the thought aside, sharpened his senses, and began to examine the surroundings—and found traces left by people.
Marks from the second-generation martial uncles?
Human footprints and bloodstains from beasts. Given what he had been told beforehand, he guessed they were signs of the area being cleared for use as the examination grounds.
They said they'd leave the smaller animals like deer and rabbits, and deal with as many predators as they could.
Such beasts could also harm nearby villages, so clearing them out raised no problems. Following the traces further, Cheonhwa discovered two sacks—one cleverly tucked among the branches, the other buried in the earth. Inside them were food and water respectively.
So these are the hidden supplies.
In weather that still clung to winter, children of only about ten years would have a hard time finding food or water on their own. Accounting for that, supplies had been concealed throughout the mountains.
Finding the caches doubles as training in surveying one's surroundings.
For Cheonhwa it was nothing new; he had done this sort of thing as a matter of course long before entering the Zhongnan Sect. When he had lived by climbing mountains, it had simply been how one survived.
There's bound to be more than just food and water. I should look for the rest.
A smile touched his face, and his eyes brightened. The treasure hunt under the name of "find the hidden supplies" had begun.
On the third day of the survival examination, Cheonhwa had already weathered several ambushes from second-generation disciples—and had driven them all off alone.
For an ordinary novice disciple, lasting thirty exchanges against a second-generation opponent was no easy feat. But Cheonhwa had a particular gift for enduring, and he handled it without great difficulty.
Between attacks, he ranged about in search of the hidden supplies. With the power of the Six Harmony Sensory Path, he had little trouble locating every cache nearby. Some held tents and blankets that made resting far more comfortable; others held practical tools—fire starters, a short blade, rope.
And today I was lucky enough to find a deer as well.
Before he had learned martial arts, it might have been another matter. Now that he had reached the fourth stage of the foundational arts, dropping a deer with a surprise strike was simple enough. At present the carcass hung upside down from a tree by a rope, draining.
Near the water, Cheonhwa had piled dry branches, kindled a fire with a fire starter, and sat warming himself by it. Using his bamboo flask as a pot, he sipped boiled water and watched the stream trickle past.
Comfortable.
With tools assembled one by one, life had become surprisingly easy. He had reinforced his temporary shelter with the tent and blankets, so he no longer shivered through the cold, and with the deer hanging nearby he had more than enough food. Short of a natural disaster—a sudden blizzard, say—he could hold out for the full ten days without trouble.
It's nice being comfortable… but is this all right?
He had only been living the way he always had before entering the Zhongnan Sect. It felt almost too easy, and that made him uneasy.
Maybe I should train with the spare time.
Time was the one thing he had in abundance, so he decided to start with light physical conditioning.
Watching from a distance, the second-generation disciples were left speechless.
Is he really training right now?
Yes. Looks that way to me too.
The others can barely hang on, and he's out here looking completely at ease by himself.
Wary that sound might carry and give away their positions, the instructors spoke only through transmitted voice. In all their patrols so far, they had never seen a novice disciple living this comfortably.
Most of the others moved in groups, fending off second-generation ambushes with sparring exchanges and scrambling for hidden supplies just to stay alive. And here was one with so much spare capacity he was training.
Even granting that as an orphan of the streets he was used to sleeping rough—I never expected him to settle in this easily.
Even without the hidden supplies, he looks like he could have lasted the full ten days alone, doesn't he?
Agreed.
On this much, at least, they were certain. Barring some major upheaval, Cheonhwa would take the highest mark in this promotion examination.
A dark night settled over the Qinling Mountains.
Shadows moved through a blackness where one could not see a single step ahead, and at length they gathered in one place. One of them lowered his voice.
"Report."
"Confirmed. The intelligence was accurate."
What followed concerned the promotion examination currently underway at the Zhongnan Sect.
"Then security will be relatively thin, just as we heard. Good."
The man who seemed to lead the shadows issued his orders.
"The Thousand Unit will deal with the novice disciples."
"Yes."
"If the second-generation disciples catch wind of us, the Hundred Unit will move to buy time."
"Understood."
"Very well. As commissioned—tonight we crush the sprouts of the Zhongnan Sect."
Those who worked in the dark. The assassins began to move.