"Recruit disciples!" "We **must** recruit disciples!!" "Today, we'll accept anyone—regardless of talent!!!" Zhang Yang swore inwardly, clutching the sect's genealogy registry as he marched toward the mountain gate. In the Qingyun Sect, recruiting disciples was called "Opening the Mountain Gate." Today marked this solemn ritual. Before descending, Third Uncle had ordered him: *"The sect is too poor. Reject every candidate!"* But Zhang Yang had other plans.
At the mountain gate, dozens of hopeful youths—boys and girls—stood waiting.
They had heard rumors: Qingyun's trials were merciless. Only three had passed in a century.
*What impossible test awaits us?*
Zhang Yang smiled at their eager faces. "Do you all wish to join Qingyun?"
The crowd nodded fervently.
"To join, sincerity alone suffices. You've all passed!"
He raised the jade registry. "Pledge by blood to this disc. Henceforth, you are Qingyun disciples. I am Zhang Yang, your eldest brother. Seek me if needed."
"**What?!**" The crowd froze. Had the sect's standards vanished entirely?
"Or do you refuse?" Zhang Yang pressed.
"I'll join!" A desperate chubby boy stepped forward.
He bit his finger, smearing blood on the jade. A glow flashed—his image etched onto the disc.
Others surged forward, repeating the ritual.
The registry's awakening vibrations alerted Sect Master Qingyun Zi. His divine sense swept the mountain.
"**Zhang Yang!**" A thunderous voice boomed across the peaks. "Get here **now!**"
Zhang Yang stalled. "Master, a few remain unregistered!"
To the crowd: "Hurry! Miss this chance, and it's gone!"
Despite unease, the last candidates rushed to pledge.
"Your first task," Zhang Yang declared, "Climb to the main hall!"
He soared toward the summit, disciples scrambling up the path.
In the hall, Qingyun Zi berated Third Uncle: "I entrusted **you** with the ritual! Why send that lunatic?!"
Third Uncle whimpered, "I was refining pills… I told him to reject everyone!"
Zhang Yang entered, clutching the glowing registry.
Qingyun Zi trembled. "Show them!"
"Just a few recruits…" Zhang Yang activated the disc.
Eighty images materialized. The elders recoiled.
Third Uncle collapsed under their fury: "**You fool!** Your alchemy doomed us all!"
Qingyun Zi lamented, "Three centuries yielded eight disciples. Now eighty in one day! The heavens curse us!"
"Master," Zhang Yang countered, "Qingyun once thrived with thousands! Our decline? **No disciples!** Reform begins **now**—starting with these recruits!"
The elders stared, dazed by his fervor.
"**Reform?**"
"Yes! With numbers, we'll reclaim glory!" Zhang Yang's eyes blazed. "Qingyun **will** rise again!"