Chapter 373: First Grade
Mo Hua was awakened by the tolling bell of Cangyun Sect.
He blinked sleepily, then realized—he was taking the First-Grade Formation Master Appraisal, and there was only the time for one cup of tea left before the exam ended.
Mo Hua checked his paper once more. Finding no mistakes, he laid his head back down on the desk, waiting for time to be called.
The desk surface was smooth and cool—quite comfortable to nap on, actually.
Only that examiner kept staring at him, which made Mo Hua a little uneasy.
Still, the man was the examiner, so it wasn’t exactly out of line.
After another toll of the bell, the exam was over.
Formation masters began sealing their papers and handing them in.
Mo Hua followed suit, blending into the crowd to submit his own.
He thought he was keeping a low profile, yet many other formation masters kept glancing his way.
Even that stern-faced examiner continued to watch him—expression serious, lips moving as though he wanted to say something but stopped himself.
Mo Hua was baffled.
He hadn’t done anything…
Was it because he fell asleep during the exam?
Once he handed in his paper and left the Wenxian Hall, Mo Hua felt a wave of relief wash over him.
The test itself hadn’t been tiring—he’d finished it easily enough.
It was the constant staring that had worn him out.
Mo Hua’s Divine-Sense was strong. Anyone who looked at him, he could feel it.
And when he felt it, his Divine-Sense would instinctively stir in response. That, over time, was quite exhausting.
After the exam, Mo Hua was required to stay at Cangyun Sect for three more days.
During these days, examiners from the Heavenly Pivot Pavilion would review the answer sheets, inspect the formations, and finalize the names of those awarded the First-Grade Formation Master title.
With time to kill, Mo Hua practiced a few formations on his own or accompanied his father, Mo Shan, to explore Qingshan City. Whenever they found something interesting, Mo Hua would buy a few items to bring back as gifts for his mother.
Two days later, the reviewing process was complete.
Inside the sealed grand hall, the proposed First-Grade answer sheets were gathered together.
Each examination hall had its own examiner, and now these examiners were meeting to finalize the grades.
“This Zhao Cheng from Qingxuan City—one hundred ninety-six years old, mature brushwork. I’d say he qualifies for First Grade.”
“Too conservative, lacking flexibility. Not particularly outstanding.”
“Yang Xu from Qingshan City, eighty-six years old—solid formation foundation, quite promising for his age.”
“The Yang family does have deep roots. But eighty-six is a bit young; perhaps we should give more slots to senior formation masters…”
“How many slots remain?”
“Not many. Several great clans have called in favors to claim a few, and the sects have reserved theirs. Two more were bought by Golden Core cultivators donating spirit stones for their juniors.”
“So… less than five left.”
“Ah… this is troublesome.”
“Troublesome or not, we can’t refuse the ones from above. Orders are orders,” another examiner sighed.
They continued their deliberations.
One examiner with a stiff, serious face said nothing, merely staring at one of the answer sheets with disbelief.
“Brother Zhao, what are you looking at?” someone asked curiously.
Examiner Zhao snapped out of it, spreading out the paper before him.
“Look at this formation.”
Everyone gathered around—then froze in surprise.
“What fine brushwork!”
“Profound skill indeed!”
“Fluid and unbroken, full of mastery!”
“Truly excellent!”
But soon someone frowned.
“How did we miss such a paper?”
“This formation isn’t even listed among the proposed First-Grade ones?”
A middle-aged examiner smiled wryly. “I removed it.”
The others frowned. “Why?”
He pointed to the name on the top of the scroll. “Guess the age of this formation master.”
The name written there was Mo Hua.
They exchanged puzzled glances.
“With such a deep foundation, at least one or two hundred years old?”
“I’d say over two hundred.”
“Under a hundred isn’t impossible—there are prodigies among formation masters…”
The middle-aged man shook his head. “Thirteen.”
Everyone froze.
“…How much?”
“Thirteen.”
“You’re joking.”
“At thirteen, how many formations could he have drawn? How many books could he have read?”
“Maybe a hundred and thirty, sure…”
Examiner Zhao sighed. “It’s true. Thirteen.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Truly thirteen?”
“Impossible.”
“Someone must be pulling a trick.”
“He didn’t have someone else write it for him?”
“There was proctoring—how could he cheat?”
“Who was the proctor?”
Zhao said simply, “I was.”
That shut everyone up.
“Brother Zhao, you’re certain this formation was his own work?”
Zhao gave a bitter smile. “Yes.”
He hadn’t wanted to believe it either, but the formation before him left no doubt.
At first, he’d only pulled Mo Hua’s paper aside out of curiosity, expecting to see nonsense. If it had been gibberish, he would’ve reported Tōngxiān City’s Dao Court Division for negligence.
He hadn’t expected instead to find something that made even him sweat with shame.
Another examiner asked, “Then why did you remove his name?”
“Too young,” the middle-aged examiner sighed. “Even for under-a-hundred-year-olds, we hesitate to grant First Grade. And he’s thirteen…”
“If we give him First Grade, people will definitely accuse us of corruption.”
Another nodded. “Honestly, I’d accuse us too.”
“A shame, really. This formation is exceptional—better than anything I could draw.”
Regret filled the room.
But Zhao spoke solemnly: “We must give him First Grade.”
The others were startled.
“That would draw criticism! The Heavenly Pivot Pavilion could censure us.”
“And he’s still so young—he’ll have plenty of chances later.”
Zhao shook his head. “If we don’t give it, we’ll face even bigger trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
He explained slowly, “Everyone knows formation arts require a teacher. Without a master’s guidance, one can hardly progress.”
“For him to reach First Grade at thirteen, his teacher must be an extraordinary figure. Whoever that person is, their background and skill are surely unfathomable. We can’t afford to offend them.”
“That’s one reason.” He raised one finger.
“Second,” he said, raising another, “we can’t afford to offend the boy himself.”
The others were silent, but comprehension dawned.
Thirteen years old—and already First Grade.
When he advanced to Second Grade or higher, if he bore a grudge against them for denying him today… who could withstand that?
“And one more thing,” Zhao added. “His talent is far more terrifying than you imagine.”
The others frowned, puzzled.
After a pause, Zhao sighed. “He spent most of the exam asleep.”
Everyone stared blankly.
“Asleep?”
“How outrageous!”
Zhao, exasperated, clarified: “Meaning he completed the entire First-Grade formation in only a short time, then, bored, fell asleep until the end.”
The room fell into a stunned silence.
They all thought about it—then felt a chill crawl down their spines.
What kind of monster child was this?
Just where had such a little fiend come from…?
Zhao looked around and said firmly, “Therefore, we must grant him First Grade!”
No one objected.
At that point, whether they wanted to or not, they had no choice.
One examiner sighed softly:
“Thirteen years old… probably the youngest First-Grade Formation Master in Black Mountain Prefecture for nearly a thousand years.”
The next day, the results were posted.
Mo Hua found his name on the First-Grade list.
His heart leapt in delight.
“Tōngxiān City — Mo Hua — First-Grade Formation Master.”
The list showed only name and origin—no further details.
Mo Hua didn’t shout or make a scene, so no one around him realized he’d passed the appraisal.
After the joy faded, Mo Hua felt a mix of surprise and calm.
Surprise that there really hadn’t been any corruption involved.
And calm because, honestly, the test had been easy. Becoming a First-Grade Formation Master wasn’t all that hard for him anymore.
His father, Mo Shan, however, was overjoyed from the bottom of his heart.
Even though he’d long known his son had the skill, getting officially certified by the Dao Court carried an entirely different weight.
To celebrate, Mo Shan hosted a banquet at a restaurant in Qingshan City, inviting several Dao Court officers—both in gratitude and celebration.
Everyone was proud and pleased.
The trip had been a full success—good food, good company, and a First-Grade Formation Master title to boot.
After tidying up at Cangyun Sect, they were ready to head home.
Before leaving, Mo Hua happened to meet the examiner who had proctored him.
He stepped forward and bowed. Before he could speak, the man said,
“My surname is Zhao. I am an Academic Rector of the Heavenly Pivot Pavilion.”
Mo Hua had no idea what that rank meant, but still greeted him respectfully: “Rector Zhao.”
Zhao said, “I have a personal request.”
“Please, speak.”
“Come with me.”
He led Mo Hua to a spacious hall, laid out formation paper and ink, then said, “Would you draw another Molten Fire Array for me?”
Mo Hua blinked. “Is this part of the follow-up assessment for First Grade?”
Zhao shook his head. “No. A personal favor.”
Relieved, Mo Hua nodded, picked up the brush with his small hand, and began drawing with smooth, flowing ease.
In no time, the Molten Fire Array was complete.
Even expecting it, Zhao still felt deeply shaken.
That day during the exam, the boy’s hand had moved like a dragon and snake—and it truly had been formation work.
His strokes had been too fluid, too effortless. Because of his young age, it had looked like a child’s random doodles.
Yet that casual, unrestrained flow was exactly what marked mastery at the pinnacle of First-Grade formation art.
Just how high was this child’s comprehension? How many arrays had he practiced to reach this point?
Zhao’s emotions surged, and at last he could only sigh in his heart—
“There is always a higher sky, always someone beyond oneself…”
His attitude suddenly grew solemn, tinged with genuine respect. He cupped his hands and said,
“Thank you, little friend.”
Mo Hua didn’t really understand what he was being thanked for, so he just waved his hand out of habit. “Rector Zhao, you’re too polite.”
Zhao nodded slightly, his eyes full of admiration.
“This parting, I hope fate lets us meet again.”
Mo Hua bowed in return, then left with his father, boarding the Dao Court’s carriage that carried them gently away from Cangyun Sect and toward home.
Zhao remained standing atop the mountain peak, watching the carriage disappear into the green hills, lost in thought.
After a while, a disciple of the Heavenly Pivot Pavilion arrived, bowing. “Rector Zhao, the council is waiting in Wenxian Hall.”
Zhao nodded but didn’t move.
The disciple followed his gaze toward the distant carriage and asked curiously,
“Rector Zhao… is that young formation master named Mo truly that amazing?”
This disciple, also surnamed Zhao, was from the same clan—brought along for experience.
Rector Zhao nodded. “He’s the most gifted formation master I’ve ever seen.”
The disciple frowned. “Surely not more gifted than our clan’s Seventh Young Master?”
Unconvinced, he added, “The Seventh Young Master became First-Grade at twenty, but if the Patriarch hadn’t asked him to hold back, he could’ve passed at fifteen! Thirteen isn’t that far off.”
“Besides, our Zhao family’s formation arts are renowned—his broader studies only slowed his progress. In terms of true talent and potential, that Mo boy might not surpass him.”
“You don’t understand.” Zhao shook his head.
The disciple blinked. “Understand what?”
Zhao looked toward the horizon, sighed deeply, and said:
“Your Seventh Young Master became First-Grade because that was all he could achieve.
But that child… became First-Grade because we could only grant up to First-Grade…”
(End of Chapter)