Chapter Thirteen: The Assessment of Talent
Yan Qi’s face was darker than the bottom of a pot. “You really are a damned genius, aren’t you!”
“Is it wrong for me to think quickly?”
The Lawbringer roared, “You’re a fool who thinks he’s clever!”
The psychic retorted, “You’re a self-important idiot!”
The two nearly came to blows, but for once, Sky Pole retreated first. He paced the reception room, hands clasped behind his back, silent and deep in thought. He didn’t even notice the large footprints his slippers left on the white rice paper.
After two laps, Yan Qi finally spoke again, “Don’t think about it, and don’t ask, understand?”
Gongsun Ce furrowed his brows.
“Don’t think about it” meant not to analyze the commonalities between the heart aspects; “don’t ask” meant not to question why. This was so contrary to reason—normally, it’s a sign of talent to deduce patterns from phenomena. Yet he’d barely begun to summarize, and Yan Qi had reacted as if he’d touched some forbidden taboo...
A taboo... a concept shunned by all... his analysis was aimed at Dragon worshippers... malignant Lawbringers...?
The gray-haired youth pushed up his glasses. “Does digging too deep make you a crazed Lawbringer?”
The tall man sneered. “Obviously! Your memory’s awful for someone so young—have you already forgotten those dragon lunatics from just two weeks ago?”
“I thought they only went mad after encountering a dragon.”
“Of course they did! But dragons aren’t the only thing that drives people mad. This world’s full of folks who tried to master dragon-slaying arts and went insane themselves.” Yan Qi shook his head. “I’m beginning to doubt my own decisions... Maybe letting you stay ignorant is a blessing in disguise, you little know-it-all!”
What is this Lawbringer magic, a school for lowering IQ?
The psychic couldn’t help sighing. See a dragon, go mad. Learn dragon-slaying, go mad. Is there any path left for sane people in this world?
“Tch... Stand right there and don’t move.”
Yan Qi pointed at the strange formation drawn on the floor.
At the center of the paper was a hollow circle big enough for one person to stand in. To the side were seven crooked lines. Each line had fifteen boxes—ten squares and five stars—whose purpose was impossible to guess.
Beside the rice paper were some fresh, oversized footprints.
Gongsun Ce stepped into the center of the circle, suspicious. “What’s this?”
Yan Qi walked a few steps, hands behind his back. “Do you prefer sweet or savory tofu pudding?”
“...Huh?”
“Next question: are you attracted to men or women?”
“Are you nuts?”
Strangely, Yan Qi didn’t hurl insults back this time. The Lawbringer paused, then fired off another question. “Which matters more: universal standards of justice, or personal preference?”
“The former... most of the time.”
Actually, it was the latter.
“Do you like five-nut mooncakes or salted egg yolk and lotus paste?”
“Chive and egg.”
Another lie.
Gongsun Ce answered Yan Qi’s barrage of questions, ranging from deep philosophical puzzles to the tiniest of culinary tastes, covering nearly everything imaginable. He didn’t answer honestly to all—telling only the truth would feel like an interrogation.
Half nonsense, half sincerity, he muddled through until Yan Qi stopped and declared, “Aptitude test complete!”
“...Aptitude? What kind of aptitude?”
Yan Qi snorted. “What, you think I’m testing your martial arts? Lawbringer aptitude!”
The Lawbringer test felt more like a psychological survey. He couldn’t see any technical merit in those questions—his high school homework surveys were more professional.
As if sensing his doubts, the middle-aged painter added, “How you respond to questions reveals what kind of person you are—and that decides which heart aspect you excel at. Come out, now! Let’s see what kind of Lawbringer Gongsun Ce could become.”
The gray-haired youth frowned as he stepped out. “You’re so certain I have Lawbringer talent?”
Usually, you’d first determine if someone had the aptitude, then refine the direction they should study. Yet Yan Qi seemed already convinced he was worth cultivating.
It made no sense; the psychic never believed himself a genius. This guy, who always looked down on others, was suddenly so confident in him?
“Of course. I’m an expert.”
The expert had no intention of explaining. He grabbed a brush from the floor and drew a vertical line inside the hollow circle. “Scatter!”
At the ends of the seven lines, seven different symbols appeared. Yan Qi pointed first at the closest line, whose symbol was a tangled mass of lines, resembling a ball of yarn mauled by a cat.
Only one box beside this line was inked; the rest empty.
“Calamity Aspect 1—fits your personality.”
The next line ended in scattered ink dots, like sesame seeds on a cookie. Again, only one box was blackened.
“Oddity Aspect 1. Tsk, where’s this turtle hiding?”
“Turtle? Eat my fist!”
Yan Qi dodged the punch. The third line’s end was a complex geometric figure, reminiscent of a door floating on a river.
This time, two boxes were filled. The painter commented, “Brahma Aspect 2! Donkey!”
Gongsun Ce had no time for anger—he only felt regret.
He’d rather have had a time-space ability. But two out of ten probably wasn’t a sign of great talent.
The brush moved to the next spot: an abstract human face, left side mouth upturned, right eyebrow drooping, half laughing, half crying.
The psychic looked nervously at the boxes beside the Ghost-face line. In a blink, eight squares were inked, and four circles filled. Not only that, but the previously inert central circle now had four filled!
Gongsun Ce exclaimed, “I’m exceptionally gifted in this heart aspect, am I?”
He saw Yan Qi squinting at him, as if an office worker had looked up and seen a dinosaur.
“Knew it. Wilderness Aspect, minus twelve.”
“How can it be negative?!”
“You’ll never touch Wilderness Law in your life.”
Yan Qi sourly pointed to the fifth line, whose symbol was a half-open eye among wavy lines.
The psychic stared at it, feeling it looked familiar, but remembered Yan Qi’s warning and stopped himself from thinking further.
This time, the boxes filled more slowly—six squares, four circles.
“So I’m... minus ten?”
The Lawbringer scrutinized him. “You’re not quite autistic yet, are you?”
“I consider myself quite outgoing.”
“You live pretty hard, huh?” Yan Qi muttered cryptically, moving the brush to the penultimate line.
Its symbol was a sketch of a mountain range, as detailed as the others but more precise. Seven boxes filled, none of the stars.
“Void Aspect Seven! As I guessed.”
This marked the Void Law. Gongsun Ce thought of the ability he’d inherited.
“...Because of White Matter?”
“Your inherited ability’s halved, but even then, that’s about your level.” The Lawbringer stroked his chin, moving to the last line.
At its end was the symbol of a sword, three ink lines extending from the hilt, forming a twisted cross.
No matter how much he suppressed his thoughts, Gongsun Ce couldn’t fail to recognize such a familiar symbol.
“Final Sword?”
“Don’t speak.”
Yan Qi pondered, then drew a large circle around the rice paper’s edge, and, as before, tapped the brush.
“Silence Aspect.”
All the squares filled instantly. Ink surged through the circles, staining all fifteen marks pitch-black. The black expanded for a moment, then burst beyond the symbols’ borders, spreading across the paper!
The ink blotted out everything Yan Qi had drawn. At the center, the formation’s mark twisted into a frenzied cross-star, ominous black swirling as if ready to leap from paper to reality.
Within seconds, the black mark doubled in size. At the edge of the monochrome paper, an unnatural color seeped—blood-red.
“Withdraw.”
Yan Qi tapped the center with his brush. The large circle contracted inward, and the cross-star shattered under the curve’s siege. The ink pooled into a tiny dot at the paper’s center.
Without a word, the tall man stomped the paper, tearing it into shreds.
Gongsun Ce pointed at himself. “This... isn’t my fault, is it?”
“Bullshit!” Yan Qi kicked the scraps. “The Final Sword’s influence is at the end. The rest is all you!”
The middle-aged painter glared at him. “Silence Aspect, minus fifteen! What, are you that dissatisfied with the world? Do you hate society so much?”
“I risked my life two weeks ago to save the world and you ask me this?!”
“You don’t look like it... So what are you really... ah...! Damn!”
Yan Qi cursed, ruffling his hair into a bird’s nest.
He seemed to have suddenly realized something, but Gongsun Ce had no patience for riddles. He asked urgently, “What does negative aptitude mean?”
“It means you’re so talented you’re almost certain to become a malignant Lawbringer!” Yan Qi snapped. “You haven’t even started and your mind’s already twisted, amazing! Most people go mad only after practicing Lawbringer magic, but you’re insane before you begin! Forget waiting for the asylum—you’re already sitting in the director’s office!”
The gray-haired youth was dumbfounded. He imagined himself mastering the arts, growing fur all over, blank-eyed and babbling nonsense, and shivered.
“...But I still have a Void Aspect seven, don’t I?”
“With your condition, Void Law could make things worse... Tch... I’ll need to consult.” Yan Qi waved him away irritably. “That’s enough for today. Go write a letter to the Dawn Knight explaining your situation. Wait for her reply before I decide.”
Gongsun Ce jumped up.
“Why?!”
The tall man grunted impatiently. “Stop whining and write the letter!”
“I won’t. Ask her yourself. I’m leaving.”
The gray-haired youth bolted, only to have Sky Pole grab his shoulder.
“Why are you so resistant, huh?”
The psychic, at his limit, snapped, “None of your damn business!”
Yan Qi clicked his tongue, making a sound that grated on everyone’s nerves.
“Gongsun kid, it’s been three years already...”
He circled the youth twice, speaking in a strange tone. “Don’t tell me you’ve never written her a single letter?”