Azure Sky Inner Sect – Cloud-Water Courtyard
Day 93 – Dawn
The first official day as inner disciples begins with a bell that has rung for eight thousand years.
It rings once.
Then it cracks.
A hairline fracture runs straight through the ancient bronze, glowing silver.
Every disciple on Celestial Harmony Peak feels it in their bones.
The rules just broke.
Liàn Xing is already awake.
He stands shirtless on the private training ground behind the jade pavilion, spear shaft planted point-down in the spirit spring. Silver starlight pours from the metal into the water, turning the entire spring into liquid galaxy. Steam rises in perfect constellation patterns.
Lan Shuyin sits cross-legged on a floating lotus pad, twin short-spears across her knees, cycling the starlight-infused water through her meridians. Frost lotuses bloom and die around her in slow motion.
Zhao Shentian is doing one-finger handstand push-ups on the pavilion roof, nine golden rings orbiting him like lazy suns. Every rep sends golden ripples across the tiles.
Zhenxing floats above the spring, full celestial size reduced to loli, eating breakfast spirit peaches and humming an ancient star-song that makes the formation flags flutter.
None of them are wearing sect robes.
They never asked for any.
At exactly 06:00, the courtyard gate slides open.
A delegation arrives.
Ten inner elders (all Core Formation peak), twenty core disciples (the current top-ranked), and one very nervous outer sect overseer carrying three sets of azure inner-disciple robes embroidered with silver cloud patterns.
The overseer bows so low his forehead touches the ground.
"Honoured… honoured new inner disciples," he stammers. "The sect welcomes you. These are your official robes, identity jades, resource allotments, and… and schedules for mandatory lectures."
He places the items on a floating jade tray and backs away like they're explosive.
Liàn Xing doesn't even look.
Zhao flips down from the roof, landing cat-light.
"Lectures?" he asks, spinning one golden ring on a finger. "Do they cover how to erase fifty-three ancestors with one swing?"
The overseer pales.
Lan Shuyin opens one eye, frost swirling.
"Or how to make a matriarch bleed in open vacuum?"
The elders shift uncomfortably.
The lead elder (a woman with cloud-white hair and eyes like winter lakes) steps forward.
"You are inner disciples now," she says, voice steady but strained. "There are rules. Attendance at morning lectures is mandatory. Sect contribution points must be earned. Private duels are forbidden without overseer approval. Resources are distributed by rank—"
Liàn Xing finally turns.
The spear shaft hums once, loud enough to rattle the jade tray.
He walks forward until he stands over the delegation.
His voice is quiet.
"Rules."
He picks up one azure robe.
Looks at it like it's an interesting insect.
Then lets it fall into the starlight spring.
The robe dissolves instantly, threads unravelling into silver mist that joins the galaxies in the water.
The overseer makes a small, terrified sound.
Liàn Xing looks at the lead elder.
"Three months ago your sect put a bounty on me when I was six because a scanner flagged something in my spine.
You sent enforcers every year to test if I was 'ripe'.
You called me trash for eighteen years."
He gestures at the spring, at Lan Shuyin and Zhao.
"Now we walk in the front door and the rules break the moment we arrive.
Tell me again about mandatory lectures."
Silence.
The lead elder's dao-heart trembles.
She is Core Formation peak. She has killed Nascent Souls. She has never felt fear like this.
Zhao laughs, soft and sharp.
"Here's how this works, aunties and uncles.
We live here.
We train here.
We take whatever resources we want.
If anyone has a problem…"
He flicks one golden ring.
It slices a perfect circle through the jade tray, the robes, and the stack of rule tablets without touching any flesh.
The pieces fall upward and become new stars above the courtyard.
"…they can come talk to us."
Lan Shuyin stands, frost lotuses blooming beneath her feet.
"Personally."
The delegation backs away.
The overseer drops to his knees.
"U-understood, honoured… honoured seniors."
They flee.
The gate slams shut behind them.
Zhenxing claps tiny hands.
"First day and we already own the sect. New record."
Liàn Xing returns to the spring.
Sits cross-legged in the starlight water.
The spear shaft hums, content.
Lan Shuyin joins him, shoulder to shoulder.
Zhao flops onto the grass, hands behind his head.
For a long moment, no one speaks.
Then Lan Shuyin, softly:
"They're terrified of you."
Liàn Xing looks at the silver scar in the sky (still visible, three months later).
"Good."
He closes his eyes.
"Let them be terrified.
Fear keeps them honest."
Zhao grins at the sky.
"Until the tournament."
Lan Shuyin's smile is small, sharp, and frost-blue.
"Until the tournament."
The spear hums in perfect agreement.
Above them, the cracked bronze bell finally splits in half and falls.
No one repairs it.
In the elders' hall, panic has become resignation.
They send one final message to every peak:
Do not provoke the new inner disciples.
Do not look at them too long.
Do not breathe in their direction without permission.
The sect that once ruled the heavens with an iron law now tiptoes around three teenagers and a half-awake spear.
And the tournament is only eighty-seven days away.
The countdown continues.