Han Zhanjian stood stiffly among the gathered crowd, the noise of the great hall fading into a dull hum in his ears. His eyes never left his elder brother, Han Zukong, who stood at the center of attention.

The Sword Shandian Sect's envoys were preparing the test once again, and the Han Family elders were whispering excitedly among themselves. But Han Zhanjian's heart was heavy, and his thoughts were anything but calm.

He studied Han Zukong carefully. Every movement. Every breath. Something was wrong. The man standing there looked like his brother, sounded like his brother, but there was something missing—or perhaps something added—that he couldn't quite understand.

Earlier, before all of this, Han Zukong had been arrogant. Loud. Overconfident to the point of being unbearable.

He had carried himself with the pride of someone who had never been humbled. Yet now, as Han Zhanjian watched him, that same arrogance seemed… quieter. It was still there, yes, lingering in the way he held his chin high and smirked faintly at the whispers around him. But beneath it, there was something new—an ease that shouldn't have existed.

His elder brother looked calm. Relaxed. Even confident in a way that didn't come from ignorance, but from certainty.

Han Zhanjian's chest tightened. No. That's impossible.

He remembered vividly the moment before he lost consciousness. He had been arguing with Han Ji—his eldest brother. Wei Ji, the man wearing the face of Han Ji, had looked at him with those calm, unreadable eyes and said something he couldn't quite recall.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the main hall, his head throbbing and his mind foggy.

And now, his elder brother, Han Zukong, who could barely win a friendly spar against him before, was being praised by the Sword Shandian Sect for slaying a demonic cultivator?

It made no sense. None at all.

Did he do something to him? Han Zhanjian's thoughts spun wildly. Did elder brother Han Ji interfere? Did he use some strange art or formation?

He bit his lip, his nails digging into his palm as he tried to recall every detail. The dead Sword Shandian disciples. The smell of burnt Qi in the air. The faint marks of formation energy around the courtyard. He knew Han Ji had done something—but what?

He glanced again at Han Zukong. His brother stood silently in front of the massive testing sword, the crowd parting to give him space. The atmosphere shifted as the Sword Shandian elders gestured toward the glowing blade.

"Step forward, young master Han Zukong," said one of the envoys, his voice echoing through the hall. "Let us see your true talent."

Han Zukong smirked faintly, brushing off invisible dust from his sleeve before walking forward. Each step echoed across the polished floor, and with every sound, the air seemed to grow heavier.

Han Zhanjian's eyes followed him, narrowing slightly. Even the way he walks feels different… slower, more deliberate.

Around them, the Han Family disciples began to whisper.

"Do you think he'll pass?" one asked.

"I heard he killed a demonic cultivator!" another said.

"No way! Zukong couldn't even beat me last year in the family tournament!"

The murmurs spread like wildfire. Some voices carried disbelief, others excitement, but none of them noticed what Han Zhanjian saw—that small, chilling difference in posture, that distant gleam in Han Zukong's eyes.

When Han Zukong finally reached the sword, the hall fell into complete silence.

The massive sword stood upright in its stone pedestal, the runes along its length pulsing faintly with light.

The Sword Shandian Sect's elders exchanged a few curious glances before one of them nodded.

"Place your hand on the sword," he said.

Han Zukong gave a small bow and pressed his palm against the blade. For a moment, nothing happened. The hall was so quiet that the sound of faint breathing could be heard from every direction. Then—

Hummm.

A deep vibration spread through the floor, and the sword began to glow. Slowly at first, then brighter and brighter until its silver surface was blazing with radiant light. The air trembled. The faint hum grew into a sharp, resonating tone that filled the entire hall.

Han Zhanjian's breath caught. "No… no way."

The runes on the sword flared one after another, climbing higher up the blade until the entire weapon shone like a beacon. The energy that surged out was powerful—too powerful for someone like Han Zukong.

Cries of shock erupted all around him.

"What… what is happening?"

"Look at the light! It's brighter than before!"

"Impossible! That's the glow of a High Class Talent!"

Han Zhanjian's mind was spinning. The last time he saw that sword glow like this was him. Yet there it was—his brother, Han Zukong, standing tall before the blazing sword, his expression calm and unbothered, as if this result had been expected all along.

The crowd erupted in chaos.

"This can't be real!"

"Han Zukong? A High Class Talent?"

"Didn't they say he barely passed the last test?"

"This must be a mistake!"

But the sword's glow refused to fade. The light only intensified, spilling across the floor and reflecting off the faces of everyone present. Han Cui, the patriarch, rose slowly from his seat, his eyes wide. The faint tremor in his hands betrayed his attempt to remain composed.

Beside him, the family elders stared in disbelief. Elder Han Yu's mouth hung open slightly, while Elder Han Bei rubbed his eyes as if to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Even the Sword Shandian envoys were struck silent. The bearded envoy who had spoken earlier blinked several times before whispering, "A High Class Talent… confirmed."

The entire hall exploded into an uproar.

Han Zukong slowly lowered his hand from the sword, his eyes gleaming faintly in the light. He turned to face the crowd, a small, confident smile on his lips.

Han Cui finally found his voice. "Zukong… you…" His words faltered, emotion cracking through his usually steady tone. "You've done well. The Han Family… the Han Family is proud of you."

"High Class Talent in our family?" Elder Han Yu gasped, gripping the armrest of his chair. "The heavens are finally smiling on us!"

"Unbelievable," another elder muttered. "How did this happen?"

Han Zhanjian's jaw tightened. How indeed…

The noise was deafening. Laughter. Cheers. Cries of disbelief. The disciples were practically bouncing with excitement, talking over each other.

"Did you see that? The sword almost broke!"

"No way! Han Zukong, a High Class Talent? That's even higher than some Sword Shandian disciples!"

"Maybe he was hiding his power all along?"

Amid the storm of voices, Han Zhanjian's thoughts were a whirlpool of doubt. It's impossible. He couldn't have hidden something like that. He didn't even have the spiritual reserves for it. Unless… unless someone changed him.

His gaze darkened as he recalled Han Ji's calm, expressionless face.

What did you do, eldest brother?

The Sword Shandian envoys exchanged whispers of their own, their eyes gleaming with new interest. The bearded envoy stepped forward once again and raised his hand, silencing the crowd.

"This result," he said slowly, "is something worth celebrating. The Han Family has proven that their bloodline still carries strength." He paused, then added with a small, knowing smile, "However, there is one more thing we wish to confirm."

Han Cui frowned slightly. "Another test?"

"Yes," the envoy said, his tone almost teasing. "Talent is one thing. But potential… potential lies in what is unseen. We wish to see if young master Han Zukong possesses something truly rare. Something we call—Special Eyes."

The hall fell silent once again, tension returning like a blade drawn from its sheath.

Han Zukong tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Special Eyes?" he repeated.

The envoy nodded. "Yes. The ability to perceive the will of the sword itself. A gift only a handful of geniuses across the continent ever awaken."

The light from the great sword dimmed slowly, casting long shadows across the hall.

Han Zhanjian's heart pounded. His nails dug into his palms again as he whispered to himself, "Special Eyes… could it be, they are searching for my eyes?"

The envoy's voice echoed through the silence. "Let us begin."

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