The old man stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of quiet amusement as he observed the gathered disciples. Internally, however, he was laughing—laughing so hard he could barely contain himself.
These fools… he mused, his gaze sweeping across the eager faces of the young disciples. They truly think they have a chance?
He had done this same test for years—and every time, it ended the same way. Failure.
Not a single disciple, no matter how talented, no matter how keen their observation skills were, had ever been able to select the correct food on their first try.
The idea that one of these inexperienced brats could succeed where even seasoned breeders had failed was hilarious to him.
His eyes flickered over to the trays of leaves, resting on ornate wooden stands beside Angola.
There were many choices, from thick, waxy leaves with a strong herbal scent to delicate, feathery fronds that looked as if they could crumble at a touch.
