The grand outer sect plaza of the Tianshang Holy Land was a breathtaking spectacle, a vast expanse paved with polished white jade that seemed to drink in the nascent sunlight, reflecting it in a soft, pearlescent glow. Immense, intricately carved pillars, each depicting legendary beasts and celestial events from the Holy Land's storied history, rose towards the heavens at the plaza's periphery, silent sentinels guarding this sacred ground. The air itself thrummed with an almost palpable spiritual energy, a rich elixir that even ordinary mortals could feel as a refreshing coolness against their skin, a subtle quickening in their veins. For those with even a sliver of cultivation aptitude, it was like being immersed in a gentle, invigorating spring.
Thousands upon thousands of aspirants, a veritable sea of hopeful faces, filled the plaza. They had come from all corners of the Eastern Region, from bustling cities and remote villages, from minor cultivation families and humble peasant stock. Their robes were a motley collection of styles and qualities, from simple homespun cotton to brocades that spoke of modest wealth, yet all were united by a shared dream: to step onto the path of cultivation, to become a disciple of the revered Tianshang Holy Land, a beacon of power and prestige.
The collective emotion was a tangible force – a potent cocktail of fervent hope, gnawing anxiety, hushed awe, and the fierce, burning ambition of youth. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through a field of wheat, voices filled with nervous chatter, last-minute reassurances, and fervent prayers to ancestors and deities alike. The sheer scale of the Holy Land, the towering peaks that pierced the clouds in the distance, the subtle yet immense pressure emanating from the sect's core – it was enough to intimidate even the most confident among them.
Standing amidst this teeming throng, a young man named Ye Fan presented an image of unassuming humility. His clothes were simple, clean but visibly worn, suggesting a background of modest means and perhaps some hardship. He offered gentle smiles to those nearby who accidentally brushed against him, his apologies soft-spoken, his eyes seemingly holding a friendly light. He nodded politely when others spoke, appearing to listen intently, a perfect picture of a well-mannered, earnest youth hoping for a chance.
Yet, beneath this carefully constructed veneer, within the depths of Ye Fan's dark eyes, a starkly different reality resided. As his gaze swept over the densely packed crowd, a profound, almost visceral disdain coiled within him. These… ants. These mud-crawling mortals, chattering like magpies, their faces alight with foolish, naive hope. What did they know of true power, of the vastness of the cultivation world? They were specks of dust, insignificant obstacles or, at best, background scenery for his grand destiny. The young women, their faces flushed with excitement or apprehension, their figures varied – some delicate, some robust – he scanned them with a fleeting, predatory interest, cataloging and dismissing most in an instant. They were, in his mind, largely unremarkable, unworthy of his sustained attention unless they possessed some exceptional beauty or utility. The young men, puffed up with unwarranted confidence or trembling with fear, were even less than nothing to him – future stepping stones, rivals to be crushed, or sycophants to be briefly used and discarded.
His gaze, seemingly casual, drifted upwards towards the elevated platforms that overlooked the plaza. These were reserved for the established members of the Holy Land – Inner Sect Elders, distinguished Inner Disciples, and, most prominently, the True Disciples from the various peaks. A flicker, so quick it was almost imperceptible, passed through Ye Fan's eyes, a spark of cold calculation and burgeoning desire. Those were the echelons he would soon join, and then, swiftly surpass.
His eyes, sharp and discerning despite his lowered cultivation, began to wander deliberately among the figures on the platforms, particularly drawn to the clusters of female disciples. His gaze lingered for a fraction longer on the group from Fairy Peak. He didn't know them by name yet, but the cluster of exceptional beauties was impossible to miss. He saw a tall, graceful young woman with an air of cool authority – Fang Xin. Near her, a breathtakingly beautiful girl whose aura seemed particularly vibrant, almost innocently alluring, even from this distance – Ning Youxi. His heart, or rather, the ancient soul residing within his ring, gave a subtle thrum of recognition and anticipation. Then there were others, disciples from Sword Peak, their expressions sharp and focused, carrying an inherent martial grace. Disciples from Ice Lotus Peak, exuding a faint chill, their beauty often austere. Each one, if possessing noteworthy looks or a powerful aura, was mentally bookmarked by Ye Fan.
A possessive heat began to smolder deep within him. These women, these celestial fairies of the Holy Land, were destined to be his. The thought of their proud, unattainable demeanors eventually crumbling under his power, of their exquisite bodies yielding to his desires, sent a thrill of dark anticipation through him. He imagined them looking at him with adoration, with fear, with desperate longing – it mattered little, as long as they were his.
He quickly reined in the intensity of his gaze, afraid that some powerful expert might notice his untoward interest. He forced his expression back into one of humble aspiration, his eyes sweeping over the other figures on the stage – the stern-faced male disciples, the aloof elders – before returning his attention to the crowd, his mind, however, still replaying the images of the beauties above. He pictured a future where he stood at the pinnacle, all these so-called geniuses and proud fairies prostrating at his feet, the world itself his playground. The thought was so intoxicating that a faint, almost predatory smile touched his lips before he quickly smoothed it away.
On one of the viewing platforms, Su Chan stood with his fellow disciples from Fairy Peak. His Chaos Divine Body, though its transformation was still in its nascent stages, subtly enhanced his senses. He watched Ye Fan, observing the carefully crafted humility, the way his eyes lingered a moment too long on the female disciples, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when looking at other male aspirants. He's good, Su Chan thought, a grim acknowledgment. The act is almost flawless. But the disdain is there, just beneath the surface. And the hunger. Su Chan's gaze drifted to Ning Youxi, who stood beside him, her nervousness palpable. He felt a fresh wave of determination to protect her, to protect them all .
Fang Xin, her senses sharp as a True Disciple, also noted the youth in the crowd who seemed to stand out, not by any overt display, but by a certain subtle intensity that his humble demeanor couldn't entirely conceal. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him felt… off. Ning Youxi, meanwhile, was mostly trying to look for ye fan so later she can beat him to death at anyone, her heart still fill with anger from Su Chan's diary entries and the activation of the information panels.