When the twelve realms of morning, dusk, day, night; spring, summer, autumn, winter; overcast, clear, rain, and snow had been demonstrated in sequence, the system let out a long sigh: “Fellow Daoist, I truly can’t tell the difference between your sword techniques across these twelve realms.”

—If you could, that would be suspicious.

Evan Carter answered honestly, “There’s no difference.”

To tell the truth, he lacked a sense of aesthetics; after being reclusive for so long, he was insensitive to the outside world. Overcast, clear, rain, or snow—none of it meant much to him.

Since he didn’t even have any feelings about them, there was no way he could integrate any perception of the outside world into his swordsmanship. That was something he couldn’t do no matter how hard he tried.

That’s why he chose “Cang Hai Flow,” such a balanced and versatile sword technique, and forced himself to perform it twelve times, hoping to muddle through.

If he didn’t manage to muddle through, he’d just have to go home and memorize pill recipes, and apply to the Alchemy Institute next year.

He felt a bit uneasy, but unexpectedly, after the system sighed, it mused, “The way of heaven has its constants; you are not like others—indeed, with your Dao, you naturally don’t care about these external things.”

That’s not true, I didn’t say that.

Evan Carter kept a straight face, putting on an expression of “whatever you say is right.”

The system said, “Since that’s the case, you’d better hurry along! It’s hot outside, be careful not to get heatstroke.”

Evan Carter thought for a moment and asked, “Can I enter the Academy?”

The system replied, “Fellow Daoist, your fundamentals are quite solid. You must be a disciple from a reputable sect who has cultivated since childhood, and your Dao heart is rare—truly a genius seldom seen. There’s no need to worry.”

Looking at the system’s sincere gaze, Evan Carter felt a little embarrassed.

The system called him a rare genius, but only he knew that he wasn’t even sure if he could become an immortal. Only by entering the Academy did he have a slim chance to grasp that faint hope of changing his aptitude.

He asked, “Is there a fixed number of students admitted to the Academy each year?”

The system said, “There isn’t. As long as one has talent and can keep up with the Academy’s curriculum, no matter how many, the Academy will always accept them.”

Evan Carter let out a slight sigh of relief. This way, he wouldn’t be taking someone else’s spot, saving himself potential trouble in the future.

The system said, “The exit of the dream isn’t here. Follow me.”

Evan Carter obediently followed down the mountain, leaving the mountaintop login interface. At the foot of the mountain was a ferry crossing, separated by a river. On the other side, mountain ranges stretched into the distance, with faint outlines of buildings.

“Once you enter the Academy, you can go over there,” the system said gently, having somehow produced a bamboo raft. “Come aboard.”

Strangely enough, it was clearly morning at the mountaintop, but night at the foot of the mountain. The night was desolate, mist shrouded the river, and the system poled the raft downstream. In less than a moment, they drifted into a haze of white mist. Suddenly, Evan Carter felt the world spinning, all the lightness and comfort vanishing, replaced by the stifling, scorching air of the outside world.

He opened his eyes. It was nearly noon. This frail body had been here for half a day, leaving him dizzy and weak, feeling unbearably uncomfortable. He wanted to move to a shady spot—but annoyingly, his wrist was still tied by Samuel Thompson, with several dead knots that couldn’t be undone no matter what.

When Samuel Thompson woke from the illusion, he saw that Evan Carter beside him was barely breathing.

Samuel Thompson cried out, “My little ancestor!”

The little ancestor was panting slightly, not quite conscious.

Samuel Thompson dragged him into the shade, but for a while had no idea what to do. Fortunately, Henry Thompson soon woke up as well. Together, they dragged him outside the field and made him drink a big bowl of mung bean soup. Only then did Evan Carter slowly recover.

Evan Carter: “......”

This constitution was truly hateful—he almost died before even starting his journey.

The two brothers saw he was back to normal and breathed a sigh of relief. They brought out the donkey, ready to go home.

Samuel Thompson said, “Brother Ji, how did you do on the test?”

Henry Thompson shook his head. “The immortal who tested me advised me to just stay home and work honestly, and not to bother coming again.”

Samuel Thompson let out a “hey,” looking excited as he slapped the donkey’s head hard. “Guess what happened to me?”

Chapter 11: Immortal Dao Academy

Henry Thompson: “What happened?”

Samuel Thompson slapped the donkey’s head again. “That kind and gentle immortal said, ‘Fellow Daoist, you have great perception, but your fundamentals are too weak, and you barely know any characters. It’s embarrassing. Go home and diligently practice the Great Circulation, and learn more characters. Next year, I’ll come test you again.’ Brother, I’ve got a shot at this!”

The donkey brayed loudly from his slaps, but Samuel Thompson couldn’t contain his joy and slapped it again. “Even the donkey knows to congratulate me!”

“Nice!” Henry Thompson was genuinely happy for him. “Work hard for a year. I’ll stay home to take care of our parents, so you can go out without worries.”

Samuel Thompson grinned so wide his eyes disappeared. “I really hit the jackpot... Guess what else that immortal said?”

Henry Thompson: “What?”

“He said, ‘Fellow Daoist, your name is really a bit inelegant. When you go to the Academy, you’ll have to change it.’ I said, ‘I can’t read, so please give me a name.’ He agreed and wrote three characters for me. Then I said, ‘My brother’s name is Jimao, which isn’t very nice either. Please give him a name too.’ He was so good-natured, he gave you a name as well!”

Henry Thompson: “How so? Write it out for me to see.”