The Eleventh Painting: Sixteenfold

Perhaps next time the pain will reach the level of being burned alive. Sang Sang mused to herself, but the smile on her face remained unchanged as she put away the little bottle and sat properly within the apparatus.

She was grateful for these trials—not merely trials, but a refinement of her soul. The scars left behind from the healing salve squeezed from her heart in the past had been cleansed time and again during these tests. Now, she had truly let go; the wounds no longer lingered, and the unbearable memories were reduced to mere recollections that no longer stirred shadows within her.

“Let’s begin, teacher. I’m in excellent condition. I believe I can set a record—at least surpass my peers.”

“Sixteen times concentration. Begin.”

Inside the energy sphere, Sang Sang’s eyes were half-closed. Her expression was neither contorted nor anguished; instead, her face was tinged with a twisted kind of enjoyment.

Aislan watched quietly. It was the first time he’d encountered such a girl—at an age when she ought to be carefree, she was tougher than many adults. She was neither arrogant nor complacent, nor did she display the inferiority common among those from lesser civilizations facing their superiors. All of these traits could carry her to success.

Sang Sang was not as calm as she appeared. Inside, it felt as if her body was wrapped in exploding flames, giving her the illusion of returning to her most painful memories.

Hot—so hot, she felt as if she would melt, her skin bursting with oil.

Her psychic power struggled to control the source of pain, then deepened it. There could be no escape, no fainting; to faint was to fail. She had crossed the universe to pursue success.

Having tasted the flavor of death, she refused to fear a trial that wouldn’t kill her.

Every second was torment, time refusing to yield.

“Time’s up.” Warm holy light fell upon her, and the numb agony receded, life returning anew.

“Did I fail?” Sang Sang lifted her head, sweat stinging her eyes and making them red and blurry.

Aislan replied, “Congratulations. You passed, and with your best condition you completed the true refinement. Your starting point can match the other candidates.”

“That’s good.” Sang Sang exhaled and collapsed to the ground, awaiting her body’s natural recovery. Toward the end, her consciousness had nearly faded, sustained only by willpower.

Aislan crouched beside her. “Your rating is excellent.”

Sang Sang stared blankly, then after a moment pulled herself up with a wry smile. “Excellent is better than I hoped. If mere numbness and habit could earn a perfect rating, I’d be the Heavenly Emperor.”

Aislan extended a hand. “Heavenly Emperor—the Lord of the First District in the Divine Court?”

Sang Sang avoided his hand and stood up herself, relaxing her limbs. “That’s my other companion. His talent far surpasses mine.”

Aislan said, “Lord Anthony only brings back the best.”

---

“Lord Anthony only chooses the most suitable. The Heavenly Emperor is forever free, while I can adapt to constraints—so it was me who came.” Sang Sang settled back into the apparatus. “I’m ready. Let’s continue.”

“Sixteen times or seventeen times?”

“Sixteen times. I want a perfect pass.”

Trial Ranking Number Ten: Sang Redleaf.

Atlantis Divine Academy had many internal rankings; the trial ranking was the first upon admission. Candidates remained listed until graduation, with its influence strongest among the lower grades. Yet a newcomer’s name had pushed the renowned Fire Knight out of the top ten, immediately catching the attention of upper-grade students.

Excluding those who transferred mid-term or immediately challenged the refinement ranking for glory, every prominent figure in the academy had made the trial ranking. Specifically, the top ten were the contemporary stars, save for the first-ranked alumnus who graduated years ago, allowing the eleventh to move up and the list to remain unchanged for over a decade.

Now, the upper-grade Fire Knight captain had returned to eleventh place, sparking hot discussion across the star network.

“Let’s analyze this newcomer! Primitive civilization defeats advanced civilization—where is the advantage?”

“Super rookie! Saint candidate from a second-level civilization outshines rivals, surges onto the trial ranking!”

“Someone ask the Fire Team captain about his psychological trauma.”

“Let’s have the math class prodigies calculate—how many seniors can this newcomer push out of the ranking?”

“New betting pool! Guess Sang Redleaf’s final refinement score!”

“……”

Sang Sang emerged from the apparatus again, bathed in healing holy light. Sena, who had arrived without her noticing, squatted before her with a smile. “You’re famous now.”

Sang Sang glanced at him, recalling her earlier mistake. This time she passed with excellence again, but she had made significant progress in the finer points. Her body’s memory cells were growing more resistant to pain; she was confident that in another one or two attempts, she would achieve a perfect pass.

Sena paid no mind to her lack of response and continued, “Looks like you’ll climb a few more spots. If nothing goes wrong, your name could dominate the trial ranking for over sixty years.”

“A ranking with no rewards—what’s the point?” Sang Sang stood, flexing her limbs. “Teacher, let’s continue.”

Watching Sang Sang once more enveloped in the simulated energy sphere, Sena stroked his chin. “Is she truly indifferent, or is she simply putting on a convincing act?”

“She knows what matters is strength, not false reputation.” Countless light screens flickered before Aislan as his consciousness shifted, forming a sharply rising curve. Without looking at Sena, he said, “You care too much for reputation; that’s why you are where you are now.”

Sena’s face stiffened. “You don’t care for reputation either, but you’re not much better than me…” He paused, changing the subject. “She’s already passed sixteen times several times. Why keep repeating?”

Aislan replied, “Someone told her that only a perfect rating guarantees complete refinement. She wants the best and the most reliable.”

---

Sena shook his head. “Excellent is almost certain. No rewards for high trial scores, so why chase perfection?”

Aislan said, “More practice is good.”

Outside, the number of observers watching the trial ranking soared.

The atmosphere in Pearl Sea had grown subtle these days, growing quieter each time Sang Redleaf climbed higher in the rankings.

Sixteen times, tenth place—almost breaking into the top three trial scores in the merfolk’s history. They could only comfort themselves that trials meant little, merely exercises, and everything depended on the refinement results.

“She’s out, she’s out! Eighth place now!”

“This time she took less than seven hours—and that’s sixteen times concentration, sixteen hundred points!”

“The progress bar’s up again, she’s still going! So fast—is someone healing her with holy light? Doesn’t her consciousness need rest?”

“It’s the seventeen times progress bar!”

“Heavens, if she passes seventeen times, it’ll be the best record in nearly fifty years.”

“If she does, she’ll be in the top three. Third place is Princess White Artemisia from the Elven Forest, with a concentration of sixteen hundred ninety-nine—just shy of seventeen times.”

“Princess White Artemisia is a goddess among the middle grades, a recommended saint candidate by multiple mentors. Even Princess Bronwyn admires her; that newcomer shouldn’t be able to surpass her.”

“But maybe she can! Princess Bronwyn’s best record is only thirteen times. That’s good compared to us, but can’t be compared to Sang Redleaf. If not for the accelerated selection schedule, she wouldn’t have qualified as a seeded candidate.”

“Enough. She’s a fellow merfolk, why are you siding with outsiders?”

“I can’t stand her arrogance. Princess? So what? I’m a princess too, and my country’s larger and older than hers.”

Bronwyn listened to the whispers filtering through her thoughts, nearly biting her lip. Since Sang Redleaf had surpassed her in the trial ranking, such chatter had never ceased.

“I may not be exceptional, but I’m stronger than any of you. I’m a seeded candidate, eligible to enter the finals directly. I will claim one of the new saint positions. No matter how much potential Sang Redleaf has, if she fails the saint re-selection, her best future will be as a saint disciple, bowing to me…”

Bronwyn whispered to herself, logged off the star network, and resolved to stop all further social activities, devoting all her time to cultivation.

Her father had said: Connections and popularity are illusions—only strength is real.