Qingyun Sect, outer sword pavilion.
The morning bell had just rang three times, and Chen Xianghao had been standing by the sword washing pool for two hours. The late autumn pool water was bone-chillingly cold, and the hand holding the Black Iron Sword turned purple from the cold, but he did not dare to stop.
"Hurry up! If you can't wash these three hundred swords today, forget about dinner!"
The supervisor, Wang Hu, leaned against the pillar with his arms folded, a grass root in his mouth, and his eyes were contemptuous.
Chen Xianghao gritted his teeth and said nothing. Three months ago, he was a young man who had just traveled through time and thought he could change his destiny like in the novel. As a result, on the day of the spiritual root test, the five elements mixed spiritual roots were the lowest qualification in the world of immortality.
"You still want to wield a sword? Just wait in the sword washing pool!"
The words of the deacon and elder at that time are still engraved in my heart.
"Senior Brother Wang," a thin disciple next to him whispered, "I heard that Senior Brother Zhang from the inner sect broke through the foundation yesterday and cut off the sword test stone with one sword..."
"Foundation building?" Wang Hu sneered, "It would be great for us outer doormen like us to reach the third level of Qi refining." He deliberately raised his voice, "Unlike some people, it has been three months and we haven't even touched the threshold of Qi!"
The disciples by the pool secretly looked at Chen Xianghao with different expressions.
Chen Xianghao lowered his head and dug his nails into his palms. It's not that he didn't work hard, he meditated until dawn every night, but the spiritual energy seemed to be deliberately avoiding him, and it dispersed every time he tried to catch it.
