The two wooden doors of the red-brick house shut tight, and more than a dozen pairs of eyes simultaneously fixed on Yu Qin Fen.

While being scrutinized, Qin Fen was scrutinizing them in return.

This room had, quite literally, gathered every kind of human ethnicity from Earth. Black hair and yellow skin, blue eyes and golden hair with white skin, and the presence of black skin with brown hair.

Qin Fen’s eyelids twitched incessantly. The Federation’s population was vast; he couldn't possibly be the only martial aspirant with talent. Judging by the clothing and attire of the people before him, it was clear these individuals were not merely well-off; they likely all came from immensely wealthy or influential backgrounds.

With the constant supplementation of various nutrients since childhood, their physical quality offered an inherent advantage over ordinary citizens, coupled with access to all sorts of martial arts from extraordinary sources.

As long as one possessed the talent for martial practice, advancing along the path of the martial way would be effortless, allowing them to easily surpass their peers, becoming the so-called talents, prodigies, or even geniuses.

Piling on vast sums of money, it was certainly not an impossible feat to cultivate a young master.

Qin Fen scanned the crowd, his brow suddenly arching as he spotted a figure in the throng who could be considered vaguely familiar: Ge Bing.

He had met Ge Bing, a man with abundant capital to be arrogant, once before during a mission in Hanzhou.

Ge Bing had clearly noticed Qin Fen as well. His eyes held a hint of lofty condescension, the corner of his mouth curling into a deeply scornful smile. He then shifted his gaze elsewhere, adopting an attitude of complete disregard for Qin Fen.

Qin Fen also looked away. Flattery and climbing the social ladder were not things he did. Furthermore, everyone gathered here today was essentially a rival competing for Song Jia. They were, in essence, enemies.

After sizing up Qin Fen, the others revealed looks of derision. How could a man like him enter this selection pool? His military uniform looked brand new, and he carried no aura of cultivation from any renowned faction. Such a person was clearly not a true competitor.

Everyone retracted their gaze, refocusing on the others to weigh who was truly the most significant opponent.

As for Qin Fen, no one approached to provoke him or to elevate themselves by stepping on him.

Virtually none of the people who could enter this room were nouveau riche. They had all received the so-called education of high society.

They all understood clearly that if they were to belittle this newcomer outside on a normal day, some ignorant children might look up to them in admiration.

But here, kicking down this poor young man would not elevate their own status.

On the contrary, proactively bullying such a destitute boy would be an act highly unbecoming of them.

Qin Fen found a corner and sat down on the carpet, quietly adjusting his physical condition.

“When you don't know what situation you are about to face, prepare as much as possible. Prepare everything you can,”

This phrase, once spoken by Squad Leader Hao, Qin Fen now held as a treasured maxim.

Ge Bing, this time, couldn't help but observe Qin Fen with a touch more curiosity. In a room filled with the scions of powerful clans, surrounded by outstanding young martial artists, this man sat in self-meditation, adjusting his state. His mental fortitude should not be underestimated.

Ten minutes, fifty minutes, two hours...

The participants in the selection remained as they were at the beginning; none showed any confusion about the waiting.

In fact, some of them had already been waiting for more than a day or two.

One had to learn patience here. Some walked out minutes after entering the inner chamber, beaming with joy—having passed this final stage of the preliminary selection.

Others spent two full days inside the inner chamber, only to emerge looking utterly defeated and leaving with the outcome of being eliminated.

No one asked those who passed or were eliminated what kind of trials they had encountered. A force like the Song family certainly wouldn't use a standardized set of questions for their tests; asking would only reveal one's own foolishness.

As the sun slanted westward toward dinnertime, Qin Fen's body had not moved an inch. Ge Bing’s assessment of him rose slightly higher.

On the first day, he hadn't shown the slightest trace of nervousness, sitting calmly for the entire day. Such self-control was not something common folk possessed.

The door to the red-brick house opened again—it was time for dinner. Of course, the Song family did not provide meals; everyone was expected to sort that out themselves.

“One and a half hours,” Butler Hou said to Qin Fen, who was walking out with the others. “If you are not back in the room after an hour and a half, it counts as a failure.”

“Old Qin.”

Lin Liqiang piloted his flying-saucer-shaped sports car, descending again into the courtyard. He brought seven or eight greasy, roasted lamb legs to the door.

Qin Fen was not polite with Lin Liqiang. While tearing into the fresh meat of the roasted lamb leg, he looked curiously at the other suitors who were leaving.

“They are different from you; they must go out to eat,” Lin Liqiang tore off a piece of roast mutton, shaking his head with a contemptuous smile. “Face, once accumulated to a certain degree, is not something you can simply discard at will.”

Qin Fen handed Lin Liqiang a glass of juice, signaling him to continue his explanation.

“These people, in the words of the majority, they all have backgrounds.

Lin Qiang gulped down a glass of apple juice. “So, they must constantly maintain their poise, even over something as simple as eating. They only have ninety minutes, and they could easily eat here and just return to the room when time is up. But if they did that, others would view them as scared, lacking backbone. Then, others might immediately band together to press the advantage, disqualifying him before he even faces the real test.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to go out like that?” Qin Fen gently furrowed his two thick eyebrows. “What if someone makes a move outside…”

“Clever,” Lin Liqiang snapped his fingers. “Indeed. Over these past few days, several people have already been eliminated this way. When they go out for food, they are likely to be attacked by hidden helpers secretly dispatched by others. Whether to bring helpers along for defense, or to find a way to secretly eliminate the person they perceive as the biggest threat ahead of time—that is up to everyone to choose.”

Qin Fen smiled and looked back at the red-brick house. The person who designed this trial was truly brilliant; even mealtime was still a test for everyone.

An hour passed quickly, and the young men who had gone to eat began returning one after another. Traces of bullet holes could still be seen on some of their vehicles.

As these young men jumped out of their cars, they saw Qin Fen lounging leisurely, eating roasted lamb legs, drinking juice, and basking in the sun. For the first time, a flicker of envy crossed their minds.

The scions of the great clans had many inherent advantages, but they had also lost some other advantages. Like this mealtime: the poor boy could openly eat right there in the courtyard.

Mealtime concluded, and Qin Fen returned to his quiet corner for meditation, noticing the number of people in the room had decreased. It seemed someone had been eliminated during the meal break.

For two consecutive days, Qin Fen repeated the same routine every day.

Eating. Sitting still.

But the number of test-takers in the room continued to dwindle.

Some passed the test and departed happily, awaiting notification for the next round.

Others left after their test, facing the fate of elimination.

The worst off were those eliminated during the meal breaks.

“Ge Bing…”

Before the door to the inner chamber, Cheng Wuxian announced the name with a blank expression. The moment he turned to re-enter the inner chamber, a look of venomous hatred was cast toward Qin Fen.

Having been glared at by Cheng Wuxian more than once already, Qin Fen had become completely accustomed to it. If he didn't receive that fierce glare, he would almost feel slightly uncomfortable.

In just one minute, Ge Bing walked out of the inner chamber with a delighted smile.

Fastest to pass! Seeing Ge Bing’s speed, Qin Fen also expressed surprise. Ge Bing had been the fastest person to pass in these recent days, taking only about seventy-six seconds.

“Qin Fen.”

Cheng Wuxian stared fixedly at Qin Fen, his eyes burning with rage. If it weren't for this boy, he surely wouldn't have embarrassed himself in front of the young miss.

Qin Fen had already risen before Cheng Wuxian could call his name. He was the last person left in the hall; Cheng Wuxian would only be calling his name next.

The inner chamber was noticeably smaller than the outer parlor.

A rattan chair, a simple wooden table, two teacups, and a Zisha teapot. On the wall hung a large character for "Wu" (Martial), which immediately drew one's gaze and inspired a sense of attraction.

Qin Fen stared at the character Wu, lost in thought for two seconds. In an instant, countless streams of information flooded his mind from the character. In that moment, he felt as if his entire being was about to be lost in the world of the martial way.

Two seconds later, Qin Fen shook his head forcefully, pulling his gaze away from the character Wu. He then turned his attention to the middle-aged man seated in the rattan chair, who was reading a book of Go strategies.

“Oh?”

The middle-aged man showed a trace of surprise, setting down his Go manual and lifting his head.

Qin Fen took the opportunity to observe the man. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his high nose bridge gave him an air of refined scholarly elegance. Within his features, a subtle resemblance to Song Jia could faintly be discerned.

Song Jia’s father? Qin Fen speculated secretly about the man’s identity.

“I am Jiajia’s father,” Song Zhenting slowly pulled out a small notebook and a fountain pen from his inner garment. “I’ve heard a little about your situation. You need money, is that right?”

“Very much so.”

Qin Fen did not deny it. If the Song family’s influence were to investigate his background, denial would only reveal his foolishness.

Song Zhenting’s fountain pen moved rapidly across the notebook, then he elegantly tore a piece of paper from it and tossed it casually toward Qin Fen.

This piece of paper, which ordinarily would not fly far, shot from Song Zhenting’s hand like a metal shard, completely disregarding air resistance.

Qin Fen deftly caught the flying paper between his thumb and forefinger.

Glancing down, the paper flying toward him was a check—a bearer check composed entirely of sevens nines.

“Let’s make a deal,” Song Zhenting spread his hands open. “Break up with Jiajia, and this is all yours.”