The trial was announced at dusk.
A bronze bell tolled three times from the inner terraces, its sound rolling through Cloudspire like distant thunder. Disciples paused where they stood, conversations fading into silence as the meaning settled in.
The Ascending Path Trial.
It was not mandatory. That alone made it dangerous. Those who entered would be assessed for their inner potential, mental clarity, and harmony with the sect's foundations. Those who declined would not be punished, but they would be remembered.
Lin Feng stood among the others as an elder read the decree. When the words "paired entry prohibited" were spoken, he felt the shift immediately. Mei Yun felt it too. Their eyes met across the courtyard for just a moment. Neither spoke.
That night, the mountain felt different. The mist was thicker; the wind less playful. Lanterns along the paths flickered as if uncertain whether they should burn at all. Lin Feng followed the stone steps upward toward the trial gate, the parchment resting heavily against his chest. For the first time since coming to Cloudspire, it did not respond. No warmth. No pulse. Only silence. He pressed his fingers briefly against the fabric of his robe, frowning, then let his hand fall.
Ahead, the gate yawned open, revealing a path of pale stone that climbed into cloud and shadow. Behind him, Mei Yun stood at the base of the steps, her name already etched onto a different tablet. Her trial would take her through the Mirror Grove, where the heart was weighed more heavily than strength. She wanted to call out to him, but instead, she bowed slightly, her hands folded into her sleeves. Lin Feng returned the gesture, deeper than required. That was all they were allowed.
The Ascending Path did not test the body first; it tested absence. As Lin Feng walked, the mountain thinned around him. Sound dulled. Color faded. The stone beneath his feet grew colder and smoother until it no longer felt like stone at all.
Then, without warning, the path forked. On the left, he saw the faint outline of Cloudspire's pavilions, warm lantern light glowing through the mist. On the right, there was nothing but shadow. A voice rose from nowhere and everywhere:
"To advance, you must walk alone."
Lin Feng stopped. His first instinct was not fear; it was irritation.
"Then why show me the other path?" he asked quietly.
The voice did not answer. Instead, the shadowed path shifted, and a figure appeared. Mei Yun stood there, just ahead, her expression troubled and her eyes searching.
"Lin Feng," she said, relief flooding her voice. "I thought I lost you."
He took a step forward, but the parchment burned. Not hot—cold. A warning. Lin Feng froze, his breath catching. Her smile faltered.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
He swallowed slowly and deliberately, then bowed to her.
"You would never say it like that," he said softly. "You don't fear losing people; you fear burdening them."
The figure's eyes darkened, and the illusion shattered like thin ice. The mountain exhaled.
Far away, in the Mirror Grove, Mei Yun faced her own reflection. Not one reflection, but many. In each, she stood beside Lin Feng—sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, sometimes watching him walk away while she remained rooted, hands empty. A whisper curled through the grove:
"He will bring ruin."
"He will draw Heaven's gaze."
"You will be asked to choose."
Mei Yun closed her eyes.
"I already have," she said, her voice trembling but firm.
The reflections stilled. One remained, showing her standing alone—but upright and unbroken. The grove accepted her answer.
At the summit of the Ascending Path, Lin Feng emerged into open air. An elder waited there, Elder Xian among them, hands folded, his expression mild.
"Impressive composure," Xian said. "Many fail when faced with what they most desire."
Lin Feng met his gaze evenly. "Then perhaps the mountain should stop using people as bait."
A flicker passed through Xian's eyes—amusement, sharp and fleeting.
"Careful," the elder murmured. "That tone invites scrutiny."
Lin Feng bowed. "Then scrutinize me."
Above them, unseen, a scrying mirror rippled. For the briefest moment, its image blurred—as if something, somewhere, disapproved of how the trial had unfolded.
When night fell, Lin Feng and Mei Yun found each other again beneath the plum tree. Neither spoke of what they had seen; they didn't need to. The parchment stirred faintly, responding not to closeness but to the space between them—the choice not to reach, not to cling.
Mei Yun sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth.
"Next time," she said quietly, "they won't be so gentle."
Lin Feng nodded.
"Then next time," he replied, "we'll be ready."
Above the mountain, the clouds shifted. Somewhere far beyond mortal sight, a celestial envoy paused mid-observation, hand tightening around a forgotten feather, realizing too late that the mountain had begun choosing sides.