Sothiswasmeanttotemptmeintofinishirials.Inoddedandasked,
“Then,whatisthesedtrial?”
“Thisosyourprehensionofacultivationteique.Insimpleterms:itgaugesyourtalentandperception.”
Ifroze.
Talent...?That’smyworsttrait.
Hetinued,pullingoutanoldpieceofpart.
“ThisisateiquecalledtheSorSparrowBattleTeique.Itwascreatedbyyourpre—cough,byaseniorcultivator.”
Itookalook.
Theso-called“teique”wasjustatattered,yellowedscrapofpaper,withall.
Yet,strangely,Ifeltasenseofdeepfamiliarity.Withoutthinking,Ireachedouttotouchthepaper.
Suddenly,afloodecharacterssurgedintomymind.Butjustasquickly,theytraomodern,readabletext:
"TheSorSparrowBattleTeique,createdbymyself,isaNinth-TierCultivationArt.
Sinceyoureadthesewords,fatehasbroughtustogether.
Fromnowon,thisteiqueshallbeeyourLife-BoundTeique."
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