Xian Lis Humiliating Assessment

The air in the Grand Assessment Hall reeked with the scent of nervous anticipation, a mixture of inscense, sweat, and restlessness that stemmed from hundreds of young cultivators and their equally anxious families. Sunlight streamed through the high, arched windows, illumination swirling motes of dust that danced in the air like tiny, hopeful spirits. Xian Li, however, felt anything but hopeful. He shifted uncomfortably in his elaborately embroidered robes, the fabric itching against his skin like a thousand tiny criticisms. These robes, a gift from his grandmother, were far too flashy for his current mood – a mood best described as a potent cocktail of dread, self-doubt, and a simmering resentment towards the entire concept of standardized testing in a world of magical power.

He glanced around the vast hall, a magnificent structure that seemed to sneer at his inadequacy. Ornate pillars sculpted with mythical beasts rose to dizzying heights, their polished surfaces reflecting the nervous faces of the other aspirants. Families clustered together, their faces a mixture of pride and anxious expectation, their whispers a low hum that vibrated in the air. Xian Li's own family wasn't present. His parents, burdened by the weight of his perceived talentlessness, had long ago given up on attending these events. His grandmother, bless her delusional heart, had sent him off with a pep talk and a particularly flamboyant set of robes, convinced that sheer sartorial splendor would somehow compensate for his lack of innate magical ability.

The official assessment was a spectacle, a meticulously orchestrated display of both potential and failure. Each candidate was subjected to a series of tests, designed to measure their aptitude for cultivation – their ability to harness and manipulate the elemental energies that formed the bedrock of their world. These tests were not merely examinations of skill; they were public performances, a brutal ritualistic display that judged not just a cultivator's talent, but their worth as a person within their society.

Xian Li's turn arrived with a flourish, the booming voice of the chief examiner echoing through the hall, announcing his name with a tone that suggested he was already well-acquainted with Xian Li's underwhelming prospects. Xian Li walked forward, his steps slow and deliberate, each footfall a heavy thud in the sudden silence that had fallen over the hall. He wasn't exactly certain why his steps sounded so loud; perhaps it was the weight of expectation, the crushing weight of societal prejudice, or maybe he just needed new shoes.

The first test was a simple one: sensing elemental energies. A shimmering orb of concentrated Qi, the vital energy that fueled cultivation, pulsed softly before him. Other candidates, many barely older than himself, reached out, their faces illuminated with a soft glow as they effortlessly drew energy from the orb, their own cultivation talents evident. Their Qi resonated with the orb, creating a beautiful symphony of light and energy.Xian Li tried. He closed his eyes, focused intently, and... nothing. He felt nothing. Just the usual dull ache in his perpetually tired muscles and a vague sense of impending doom. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the subtle ticking of a grand clock somewhere in the depths of the hall. A few stifled giggles escaped from the audience, quickly silenced by glares from parents who clearly understood the significance of maintaining an appropriate level of dignified misery during these proceedings.

He tried again, this time concentrating harder, his forehead slick with sweat. Still, nothing. The orb remained stubbornly inert, oblivious to his desperate attempts to connect with it. He could almost feel the collective disappointment radiating from the examiners, a wave of negative Qi so strong it felt physical. He opened his eyes, defeated.

The second test involved manipulating a small stream of water, shaping it with his Qi. The other candidates sculpted intricate figures with ease, turning the water into fantastic shapes—dancing dragons, elegant swans, even a surprisingly realistic replica of the chief examiner's rather imposing mustache. Xian Li, however, managed to only make a slightly larger puddle. To make matters worse, in his clumsy attempt at shaping the water he accidentally splashed a particularly haughty-looking noble seated in the front row. The ensuing gasp, along with the indignant sputtering of the noble, added another layer of humiliation to the experience.

The final test, a trial of strength and stamina, involved moving a large stone pillar. This pillar, engraved with intricate runes, was designed to resist movement proportionally to the cultivator's capacity for cultivation. Other candidates effortlessly shifted the pillar; some even managed to lift it completely off the ground, showcasing incredible strength fueled by their cultivated Qi. Xian Li, however, managed only to nudge it a couple of centimeters before he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He was, in a word, pathetic.

The examiners, three grim-faced individuals whose expressions seemed permanently set in a mask of disdain, exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Their verdict was delivered with the same curt dismissiveness Xian Li had come to expect. He was, officially, "talentless." A profound lack of potential. A complete and utter waste of time and resources. Or, at least, that was the official line.

Xian Li left the hall amidst a flurry of whispers and pitying glances, the weight of their judgment pressing down on him like a physical burden. He'd failed. Spectacularly. He'd been publicly shamed, his inadequacy laid bare for all to see. The beautifully embroidered robes, which had seemed so vibrant and hopeful just hours ago, now felt heavy, suffocating, and mocking.

But as he walked away, a strange sense of resolve began to solidify within him. The humiliation, the disappointment, the sheer, overwhelming weight of everyone else's judgment – it did not break him. It ignited something inside him, a flicker of defiance that refused to be extinguished. He might be talentless according to their standards, according to their archaic system. But he would prove them wrong. He would find his own path, his own power. He might not be a prodigy, but he was stubborn. And incredibly stubborn people often achieve extraordinary things, especially when fueled by a healthy dose of spite. He would prove them all wrong. That much, at least, was certain. He'd start with finding some decent shoes. These were killing him.