The day of the Azure Serpent Sect Outer Trials dawned grey and humid.
Greenpine's central plaza had been cleared. In its center stood three massive rings, marked in white chalk and bound with spirit-thread:
— Ring One: Strength
— Ring Two: Wisdom
— Ring Three: Will
Hundreds gathered—youths in clean tunics, parents clutching lucky charms, elders whispering odds. Zhao Lei stood near the front, arms crossed, nodding when he saw Chen approach.
"You came."
"Wouldn't miss it," Chen said.
He wore simple clothes—no clan insignia, no flashy robes. Just sturdy linen, clean and plain. At his belt hung the jade token.
Yan clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't overthink it. Just… be you."
Madam Su pressed a steamed bun into his hand. "Eat. Luck follows a full stomach."
He smiled. Ate it.
Then—his name was called.
"Lu Chen — Greenpine City — Qi Gathering, Stage 2."
A ripple of murmurs.
Stage 2?
He's barely cleared the minimum!
What's he doing here?
Chen walked into Ring One—the Strength Trial.
No weapons. No technique allowed. Just raw Qi and body.
The test: The Stone of a Thousand Grains.
A waist-high block of black basalt, perfectly smooth. Embedded in its surface: one thousand tiny indentations, each holding a single grain of spirit rice.
The goal: use Qi to lift the stone off the ground.
Stage 3: lift it an inch.
Stage 5: lift it to waist height.
Stage 7: lift it overhead.
Stage 2?
Most wouldn't budge it.
The proctor—a stern woman with silver-streaked hair—nodded. "Begin."
Chen stepped forward.
He placed his hands on the cold stone.
Closed his eyes.
Didn't gather Qi. Didn't strain.
He listened.
Beneath the stone's weight, beneath the crowd's whispers, beneath his own heartbeat—he felt it.
The grains.
Each one, a tiny pulse of life. Not power. Potential.
He remembered his mother, sorting bitterroot in the dawn light.
His father, standing guard despite the pain.
Xiao, tracing frost on her pillow.
Yan, fists raw from trying.
He wasn't here to prove he was strong.
He was here to prove he understood strength.
He exhaled.
And gave.
Not Qi. Not force.
Attention.
He focused on one grain—the smallest, the most hidden, near the stone's base.
He didn't pull. He honored it.
You matter.
You are part of this.
Let me carry you.
A warmth spread from his palms—not hot, but deep, like sunlight on soil.
The grain glowed.
Then—another.
And another.
One by one, a thousand points of soft gold light bloomed across the stone's surface.
The crowd fell silent.
The proctor leaned forward.
The stone didn't lift.
It rose.
Smooth. Silent. Effortless.
Not an inch.
Not waist-high.
It floated to eye level—hovering, steady, as if held by invisible hands.
Chen opened his eyes.
He wasn't glowing. His Qi was still grey, still thin.
But the stone… shone.
The proctor stared. Then, slowly, she bowed—not deeply, but with respect.
"Pass."
A beat.
Then—applause.
Not thunderous. Not mocking.
Earned.
Zhao Lei grinned. Yan let out a breath he'd been holding.
Chen stepped back. The stone settled gently to the ground.
As he left the ring, a voice stopped him.
"Wait."
A boy stood at the edge of the crowd—slim, quiet, wearing faded robes patched at the elbows. He held a small satchel of herbs.
"Bai Rong," he said, offering a hand. "From the Herbal Guild. I… saw what you did."
Chen shook it. "You're in the trials too?"
Bai Rong shook his head. "No talent for combat. Qi Sensitivity: 1/100. I'm here to observe. For research." He hesitated. "But… what you did with the stone—it wasn't brute force. It was harmony. Like coaxing a plant to bloom."
Chen smiled. "You're an alchemist?"
"Apprentice," Bai Rong said, eyes lighting up. "I study how Qi interacts with living things. Most say it's useless. 'No pills without power,' they say."
"They're wrong," Chen said.
Bai Rong blinked. "You… believe that?"
"I know it," Chen said. "My sister—she couldn't cultivate either. Until she could."
He didn't explain. Didn't need to.
Bai Rong nodded—slow, serious. "If you pass the Wisdom Trial… meet me after. I have something to show you."
Then he vanished into the crowd.
Ring Two: Wisdom.
Not riddles. Not puzzles.
A simple table. On it: three objects.
— A cracked jade cup
— A withered Spirit Ginseng root
— A scroll, sealed with red wax
The proctor's voice:
"Choose one. Mend it. Not with Qi. With understanding."
Others rushed forward.
A boy poured Qi into the cup—it sealed, but turned dull, lifeless.
A girl revived the ginseng with spirit water—it sprouted, but leaves were brittle.
A third broke the seal, read the scroll—and froze, trembling. (Later, Chen learned it held a fragment of a soul-binding oath—a trap for the arrogant.)
Chen waited.
He studied the cup.
Not the crack. The pattern—faint cranes in flight, worn by time.
The ginseng—not the roots, but the scar where it was torn from the earth.
The scroll—not the seal, but the wrinkles in the parchment—like a face that had wept.
He chose the cup.
Not to fix it.
To remember it.
He picked it up—gentle, like holding a bird's egg.
Ran his thumb over the crack.
Then—he gave it back.
Not Qi.
Time.
He placed it on the table. Stepped back.
And waited.
The crowd shifted. Impatient.
Then—a soft chime.
A breeze stirred—though the air was still.
Dust motes danced in a sunbeam.
And on the cup's surface, the crane pattern deepened—not restored, but honored. The crack remained… but now, it looked like a crane's wing in mid-flight.
The proctor's eyes widened.
"That's… not repair," she murmured. "That's reverence."
She touched the cup.
"Pass."
Chen bowed.
As he turned, Bai Rong appeared beside him—holding two cups of herbal tea.
"Chrysanthemum and mint," he said. "For calm nerves."
Chen took it. "Thanks."
They sat on a low wall, away from the crowd.
"You saw the scroll?" Bai Rong asked quietly.
Chen nodded. "The oath fragment. It wasn't meant to be read. It was meant to be broken."
Bai Rong's eyes gleamed. "Exactly. The Sect tests humility—not just skill."
He reached into his satchel, pulled out a small, wrapped bundle.
"I found this near the old temple ruins," he said. "It's… odd."
He unwrapped it.
A root.
Twisted. Blackened at the tips. But at its core—one pulse of faint red light.
"The Dustroot," Chen whispered.
The same herb Zhao Lei had tossed him days ago. The one that gave him the Skyfall Scroll.
Bai Rong nodded. "It's extinct. Supposedly. Grows only where the earth remembers a great sacrifice." He looked at Chen. "It reacted when you walked past the trial rings. Glowed. Just for a second."
Chen stared at the root.
In his mind, the System chimed—soft, curious:
"Well. That's new."
He didn't ask questions.
Just said: "Keep it safe. I'll need it soon."
Bai Rong smiled. "I knew you'd say that."
Ring Three: Will.
The crowd thinned.
Only twenty remained.
The ring was empty.
No stone. No objects.
Just a single sentence, carved into the ground:
"What will you give up… to move forward?"
The proctor stood aside. "Step in. The ring will ask."
One by one, they entered.
A girl wept—her ring showed her family's ruined farm. She whispered: "My pride." Passed.
A boy clenched his fists—his ring showed his master, fallen in battle. He said: "My vengeance." Passed.
Then—Chen's turn.
He stepped into the circle.
The world blurred.
He stood in his family's courtyard.
But wrong.
The herb beds were dead.
The house, half-collapsed.
His mother sat on the steps, head in her hands.
Yan's sword lay broken in the dirt.
Xiao's room was dark—the lantern extinguished.
A voice—his own, but older, weary—spoke:
"You could leave. Join the Sect. Rise. Forget this place. They'll manage."
Chen looked at his hands.
Still calloused. Still ordinary.
He thought of Xiao's frost.
Yan's perfected fist.
His father's steady stance.
His mother's quiet strength.
He didn't hesitate.
"I give up the easy path," he said, voice clear. "I give up running. I give up hiding. I give up the idea that strength is something you take."
The vision shattered.
He stood in the ring.
The proctor stared at him—not with approval.
With awe.
"You didn't just pass," she said. "You answered."
Then—she handed him a scroll and a silver badge.
"Welcome, Lu Chen. Direct Disciple of Cloudveil Peak."
The highest honor.
Only three others earned it: Zhao Lei. A quiet girl named Mo Yan. And… Bai Rong—observer, yet granted entry for "exceptional insight."
Chen turned.
His family stood at the edge of the plaza—Yan grinning, Madam Su wiping tears, his father standing tall, no cloth in sight.
And beside them—Xiao.
She held the Stellar Soul Lantern, its blue flame bright as morning.
She smiled.
And in her palm, a single snowflake formed… then floated upward—not melting, not fading.
Just rising.
Chen walked to them.
No cheers. No fanfare.
Just hands clasped. Shoulders touched. A shared breath.
That night, as stars filled the sky, Chen stood on the roof once more.
The jade scroll glowed:
[DAILY SIGN-IN AVAILABLE]
Streak: Day 8
New Reward Unlocked: Memory of the Hollow Wind
(Preview: A whisper on the edge of the world…)
He chose it.
A vision bloomed—not in his eyes, but in his bones:
A robed figure, back turned, standing on a cliff.
Below, a land of broken towers, silent rivers, empty streets.
He raises his hands—not in attack, but in offering.
And from his palms, light flows—not to himself, but to the world.
Then… he vanishes. Not in fire. Not in glory.
In silence.
The vision faded.
The System added, softer than ever:
"The path is long. But you're not walking it alone."
Sign in tomorrow. Bring tea."
Chen smiled.
He looked east.
The rust-red glimmer pulsed—steady now.
Not a threat.
A call.
He touched the Dustroot in his pocket.
Twenty days until he left for the Azure Serpent Sect.
Nineteen until he gave his family one last gift.
And one until he told Xiao the truth:
Her lantern wasn't just protection.
It was a key.
And somewhere, far away, a door was waiting.