Chapter Fifty-One: Epilogue

The first other plant Liu Ru tried was the orchid.

Its slender, jade-green stems felt cool to the touch as she held them in her hand. The first time she’d attempted to channel the orchid’s power, Liu Ru had only sensed an unusual resilience. But now, concentrating deeply, she realized the sensation was utterly different from the piercing cold of the plum blossom.

Within the orchid was a gentle, harmonious energy—like a spring breeze brushing across her body, like a skilled masseuse’s delicate fingers tracing every meridian and bone, subtly adjusting and soothing. It was a caress that seemed capable of realigning her body to a more optimal state. Yet, as this current of spring wind passed from head to toe, it made no actual changes. Instead, it returned to the orchid, circled once, and transformed into a warm stream that poured into Liu Ru’s body—like sweet rain nourishing the earth.

Liu Ru opened her eyes, surprised to feel that the power had reached its limit. She instinctively raised her hand, and sure enough, the orchid in her grip responded, standing upright.

This meant she had passed the orchid’s trial.

Compared to the fierce confrontation with the plum blossom, the orchid’s test was as gentle as drifting clouds, refined and gracious.

Liu Ru couldn’t help but show a hint of surprise.

She didn’t know that the plum blossom tested one’s will, while the orchid assessed one’s talent. Yet, for someone qualified to practice the Vermilion Bird’s Blood Ignition Art and who had already perfected the Art of Investigation, her own aptitude was already faultless—beyond reproach, even beyond improvement.

Thus, every orchid would open the way for her without resistance.

If Liu Ru hadn’t stubbornly focused on the plum blossom but had instead chosen the safer route and attempted the orchid, she might have progressed even faster.

But there were no “ifs” in her world, and Liu Ru would not rely on luck.

She tried several more orchids, all with the same smooth process. The energy, after confirming her flawless talent, would always turn into a nourishing force that flowed into her body, quietly strengthening her meridians. Though the effect was mild, even a drop of such silent spring rain was precious.

Still, Liu Ru did not linger with the orchids. If she had more time, perhaps she would have absorbed all their power. But time was short, so she turned her attention to the green bamboo.

Those sturdy stalks grew upright, emerald and unyielding. Liu Ru calmed herself, closed her eyes, and grasped a stalk. Almost instantly, she felt as if a heavy hammer had struck her spine.

She collapsed to her knees.

A tremendous force battered her muscles and bones, threatening to crush her to dust. Gritting her teeth, Liu Ru tensed every muscle, enduring the relentless pounding. Physical strength had never been her forte, and the Vermilion Bird’s Blood Ignition Art didn’t specialize in fortifying the body. Each blow left her vomiting blood, but she never surrendered.

At last, with the final strike, the assault ceased. Liu Ru opened her eyes to find her white robes soaked in blood. She managed a wry smile.

Fortunately, the hall was empty now. If she’d tried the bamboo in front of others, she would have been mortified.

Indeed, there are two sides to every situation. By fixating on the plum blossom—the stable choice—she’d missed the easier experience the orchid offered. But she had also dodged the bamboo, which would have been her nemesis.

Though she ultimately passed the bamboo’s trial, she’d been battered senseless. For those specializing in physical prowess, this would have tempered their bodies. For Liu Ru, it was simply grueling.

So she didn’t attempt the bamboo again, but instead turned to the final flower—the chrysanthemum.

She hadn’t watched others challenge the flowers, having spent almost all her time locked in battle with the plum blossom. But now, recalling it, she realized Yang Mei had ultimately passed through with the chrysanthemum.

She reached out and touched a chrysanthemum, closing her eyes.

The energy the chrysanthemum conveyed was unlike any other.

At that instant, Liu Ru felt her mind empty entirely, as though she were floating, weightless, among the clouds.

She seemed to lose the ability to think.

Yet, at the same time, a flood of emotions surged into her mind. Memories from the past echoed within her: the fleeting images of learning herbs with her father in the mountains, scenes of playing with village children, her family sitting together at a meal—moments she thought long forgotten now all returned, crowding her thoughts. Then came the darker memories: terrifying soldiers storming the village, a curtain of endless blood, the agony and despair in the darkness, and at last, the shadow of a boy appearing before her eyes.

All of this seemed to last an eternity—and yet only a moment.

Liu Ru opened her eyes to find her face wet with tears.

It had been a long time since she had cried. The last time was when Su Ziye rescued her and gave her beef soup; since then, she hadn’t shed a tear.

But now, unconsciously, tears streamed down her cheeks.

She bit her lip gently, realizing she was not nearly as strong as she imagined.

She pulled the chrysanthemum from the earth; it yielded at her touch.

“Time is almost up, miss. You should think about leaving,” came Su Ziye’s voice behind her.

Liu Ru turned to see Su Ziye, who had been absent the entire trial, standing at her side.

She hadn’t even managed to wipe her tears.

Su Ziye stepped forward without a word and, with his sleeve, gently brushed the tears from Liu Ru’s face. She looked at him, his expression as impassive as ever.

That refined, handsome face was always as calm as a still lake.

Yet, with that expressionless face, he performed such a gentle act.

But Liu Ru remembered the performance wasn’t over. She made no unnecessary move, only nodded. After Su Ziye had wiped away her tears, she took the white chrysanthemum and quietly walked toward the final exit.

...

“Eye of Skadi.”

When they returned to the Third Prince’s residence, Su Ziye spoke these words to Liu Ru.

It was only then that Liu Ru realized how invaluable the safety of the Third Prince’s house was.

“How did I do today?” she asked.

“How do you think you did?” Su Ziye replied with a question.

“Not bad, I think? The third trial was truly extraordinary,” Liu Ru said, marveling.

The first trial alone had given her an unimaginable benefit, all within the span of only eight hours. If time had allowed, she would have gladly spent a month in that hall, experiencing every power each flower and plant contained—she was certain she would have gained greatly.

“You have no idea how much you scared them,” Su Ziye said with a smile. “Guess what your final score was?”

“There was a score?” Liu Ru was clueless.

“What’s the highest score?” she asked.

“Nine,” Su Ziye replied succinctly.

Liu Ru considered her own performance and guessed high: “Maybe a seven?”

“If you got a seven, what do you think the others in the Xuan Hall would have scored?” Su Ziye asked, expressionless.

“Well…” Liu Ru was at a loss for words.

Although she hadn’t closely observed the others, she had a sense that she was the most dazzling among them.

If she only scored seven, the others must have scored at most five.

“It can’t be nine, can it?” Liu Ru ventured.

She couldn’t believe she could have earned a perfect score. Who was she to deserve such?

“No,” Su Ziye said quietly.

“I thought so,” Liu Ru sighed with relief. “Eight would be good, right?”

Eight was already an unimaginably high score for Liu Ru, and she felt happy. At least she hadn’t embarrassed Su Ziye.

After all, her original goal had simply been to avoid elimination, never dreaming she might earn the second-highest score.

“Eight was my score,” Su Ziye said, looking at her.

Not nine, not eight—seven was out too.

Liu Ru immediately felt a surge of panic.

“Six?” she asked.

After all, perhaps the scoring was much stricter at Ye Ye Academy. If Su Ziye only got eight, how could she possibly surpass him?

“Ten,” Su Ziye replied simply.

“Ten?” Liu Ru’s eyes widened. She pointed at Su Ziye. “Didn’t you say nine was the highest?”

“Your Highness, please tell her the highest score,” Su Ziye said, looking back at the Third Prince, who had been quietly watching.

In fact, the Third Prince had checked in on Liu Ru’s performance several times during the examination, though few had noticed.

She seemed well aware of how not to trouble others.

“Nine,” the Third Prince wrote on a slate.

The Third Prince never lied.

Liu Ru was left confused.

“What’s going on?” she asked Su Ziye.

“Nine is the full score, but there is a theoretical ten,” Su Ziye explained calmly. “Your performance this time was a ten.”

“But I don’t feel like I did anything,” Liu Ru said anxiously.

Looking back, it seemed as if she had done little. She nearly froze to death with the plum blossom—if not for the remnants of Su Ziye’s power, she might have failed outright. With the orchid, she sailed through, but then the bamboo pounded her mercilessly, and the chrysanthemum left her in tears. If more people had witnessed it, she’d have been mortified.

So, in her view, her overall performance was middling at best.

Was that really worth a ten?

Liu Ru herself was the first to protest.

“In the plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum trials: the plum tested willpower, the orchid talent, the bamboo physical strength, and the chrysanthemum state of mind,” Su Ziye explained softly. “All are vital qualities at the Investigation stage. In fact, excelling in any one is enough to cross the threshold.”

Whether willpower, talent, physique, or state of mind—surpassing one’s peers in any is to be called a genius.

Liu Ru stared at Su Ziye, speechless.

Though two of her trials were messy, she had, in fact, passed every one.

What was this if not a “hexagonal warrior,” or at least a well-rounded one?

“Isn’t there some mistake?” Liu Ru whispered, lacking confidence, especially faced with Su Ziye’s praise.

“You also managed, single-handedly, to send almost half the candidates to the next round. That kind of large-scale occurrence hasn’t happened in centuries,” Su Ziye added. “Of course, that was due to a massive loophole in the Carlotus trial. I doubt such an opportunity will appear in the second round.”

“A candidate with perfect, comprehensive aptitude and seemingly flawless character—if not you, then who deserves a ten?” Su Ziye looked at her.

“Well, perhaps that means you taught me well?” Liu Ru said to Su Ziye.

Indeed, she had been trained by him.

“But did I tell you what to do?” Su Ziye asked.

Liu Ru shook her head.

It was true; while Su Ziye had always planned her actions in detail, especially when she had to act alone, this time, for such a crucial trial, he had left nothing specific.

Well, not quite nothing—he had, after all, left her with the golden blood, and there had been special training beforehand. At the time, Liu Ru hadn’t noticed anything special about it, but after the experience, she realized just how much she’d benefited unconsciously.

“One must first acknowledge their own excellence before learning humility,” Su Ziye said. “You are indeed remarkable, and I am proud of you.”

Liu Ru nearly blushed.

She had never heard such praise from him.

Others had complimented her often enough, but never him.

“Oh, by the way,” Liu Ru recalled something. “During the exam, I was wreathed in golden flames. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Su Ziye shook his head, smiling. “I expected that.”