Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

Jiang Lan woke up before dawn.

As soon as the rooster crowed for the first time in Reed Bay, he rolled over and got up.

The stove was still cold, and there was still half a bowl of fish soup left from last night. Jiang Lan swallowed it down with a hard flatbread.

When I went out, the fog hadn't lifted yet.

In the square in front of the City God Temple in Fucheng, the flagpoles have already formed a dark forest.

He arrived early, but some people arrived even earlier.

At the entrance to the training ground, several wealthy young men in silk robes leaned against a carriage, servants attending to them, offering water and wiping their sweat. They glanced at Jiang Lan—in an old short-sleeved shirt, his shoes still covered in mud—and then their eyes darted past him.

Jiang Lan wasn't annoyed. He lowered his head, went inside, and stood in his assigned number.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the platform, the chief examiner and invigilators had already arrived.

The official robes were distinguishable by color, but Jiang Lan was too lazy to tell. He was staring at the hundreds of martial arts performers below the stage—each one strong and sturdy, dressed in neat shorts, with tight belts around their waists and brand-new boots.

His attire made him look like a weed mixed into a rice paddy.

Under the side corridors, wealthy merchants and nobles took their seats one after another. Teacups were laid out, fans were being waved, and some even brought food.

Outside the drill ground, even more people stood on tiptoe to peer inside. They couldn't get in.

An old man leaned over the fence and called out "Son!" before being pushed away by soldiers.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

Just as the third drumbeat sounded, Jiang Lan squeezed her way to her assigned spot from the crowd.

Sun Gengsan stood outside the drill ground, tiptoeing to look inside. The fence blocked his view, and soldiers stood in the way, so he could only see a dark mass of heads in the distance. He called out "Jiang Lan," but his voice was drowned out by the drumbeats, and no one heard him.

"Thump! Thump! Thump—"

The drumbeats grew louder and louder, eventually silencing the drill ground.

Jiang Lan stopped and lined up in the middle of the queue according to her number. In front of her was Zhao Heng, and further ahead was Li Yan. The three from Guangchang Martial Arts School didn't stand together.

Zhao Heng glanced back at him, his lips twitched slightly, but he didn't say anything.

Jiang Lan remained expressionless.

On the reviewing stand, the chief examiner rose, his voice booming: "The military examination is now open! Skill will prevail. Swords and spears have no eyes; you are responsible for your own life and death. Those who cheat will be dealt with according to military law. The time has come—the examination begins!"

The first round tests bow strength.

Bows are arranged from one stone to ten stones. The rules are simple: each bowstring movement counts as one repetition, and the grade is determined by the number of repetitions. Grade C and above proceed to the second test.

The martial arts performers enter the stage according to their announced names.

Zhao Heng was the first to be called upon at the Guangchang Martial Arts School. He strode forward, ignoring the low-strength bows, and grabbed an eight-strength hard bow. He lowered his waist, braced himself, and with veins bulging on his arms, he drew the bowstring taut—once, twice… eleven times in a row, without changing his expression.

"Zhao Heng of Guangchang, with an eight-stone bow, eleven times, ranked second."

Someone on the sidelines cheered softly. Zhao Heng put down his bow, and as he turned around, he glanced deliberately in Jiang Lan's direction, as if to say, "You've got it all figured out."

Jiang Lan lowered her eyes and did not take it.

Li Yan then took the stage, wielding the Seven Stone Bow, drawing it fully seven times, and scored a B-rank. A respectable performance.

Liu Changqing, the owner of Guangchang Martial Arts School, stood on the sidelines, clapped his hands twice, and said to the person next to him, "Not bad."

Then he glanced at the back of the line—Jiang Lan was further back and hadn't been called yet. Liu Changqing didn't say anything and turned back to watch the performance on stage.

Zhao Heng leaned close to Li Yan's ear and whispered, "Guess how many shi (a unit of dry measure) Jiang Lan can pull?"

Li Yan thought for a moment: "Five stones? Six stones is the most I can manage."

"I bet four stones," Zhao Heng chuckled. "With his level of cultivation, he just needs to make sure he doesn't embarrass himself."

The two men didn't speak loudly, but several martial arts performers nearby heard them, exchanged glances, and didn't respond.

……

Outside the training ground, Sun Gengsan finally found a gap in the fence, through which he could barely see what was happening inside. He saw Zhao Heng and Li Yan leave the field, but he didn't see Jiang Lan.

"We're not there yet," an old man nearby chimed in. "Are you here to watch your son take his exam?"

Sun Gengsan shook his head, looking rather annoyed, and said, "Uncle, am I that old?"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Jiang Lan waited for quite some time.

A candidate behind him whispered to the person next to him, "Is that guy in front from Guangchang? He looks unfamiliar."

"Jiang Lan, I heard she was recommended here, and her family doesn't have much of a background."

"How can you pass the exam?"

"Who knows, let's just make up the numbers."

……

"Guangchang - Jianglan!"

The fame finally resounded.

Jiang Lan stepped forward.

Zhao Heng stood on the sidelines with his arms crossed, waiting to watch. Li Yan also stopped and followed his gaze.

Jiang Lan walked to the bow stand.

Everyone thought he would go for the lower-ranking bows—four or five stones.

But he paused for a moment.

His gaze swept over the five-stone and six-stone bows, finally settling on the seven-stone bow.

Zhao Heng raised an eyebrow.

Jiang Lan reached out and picked up the Seven Stone Bow.

"Seven Stones? Has he gone mad?" Li Yan whispered.

Zhao Heng didn't speak, he just stared at him.

Jiang Lan lowered his waist, inhaled, and exerted force with both arms—the bowstring was slowly drawn back.

Full bow.

Stay calm.

lay down.

once.

He picked it up again, for the second time.

the third time.

His breathing remained steady. His face showed neither strain nor ease—it was as if he had spare strength, yet also as if he had reached his limit.

The fourth time. The fifth time.

By the sixth time, Li Yan had stopped talking.

The seventh time.

Zhao Heng's expression changed.

The eighth time.

Ninth time.

Jiang Lan put down the bow, flexed her fingers, and took a step back.

"Guangchang Jianglan, Qishi Gong, Jiuci, Yi Shang."

Like Zhao Heng, he was ranked B.

There was a moment of silence at the edge of the drill ground, then people began to whisper among themselves.

Zhao Heng's face froze. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Li Yan spoke first: "Isn't he at the fifth level of cultivation?"

Liu Changqing also heard about the result. He turned around, his gaze lingering on Jiang Lan for two seconds, lost in thought.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

As Jiang Lan stepped back, Zhao Heng blocked his way.

"You drew the seven-stone bow?" Zhao Heng's tone was off.

Jiang Lan glanced at him and said, "Mm."

"Didn't you say five acupoints before?"

"There are five acupoints."

Zhao Heng stared at him for a few seconds, trying to find something on his face. Jiang Lan's expression was calm, without smugness, provocation, or even a hint of explanation.

Zhao Heng snorted and stepped aside.

But he turned to Li Yan and said, "This guy is really good at hiding his true intentions."

Li Yan nodded but did not reply.

Jiang Lan walked back to the end of the line and stood in line.

An unfamiliar martial arts performer leaned over and whispered, "Brother, did you draw the seven-stone bow nine times?"

"Um."

"Then how come I've never heard of you before? From Guangchang Martial Arts School?"

"Um."

Seeing that he didn't want to say more, the martial arts performer sheepishly shrank back.

Jiang Lan rubbed her wrist.

Seven stones, nine times, B up. It fits perfectly, without being too conspicuous.

He could pull even more, but there's no need; the second round of exams is the real challenge.

One round is enough.

Over in the side corridor, several wealthy households also noticed this achievement.

A middle-aged man in a silk shirt asked the person next to him, "Whose family does that Jiang Lan belong to?"