The hall was silent.
Not because it demanded reverence—but because nothing left to be decided.
Yan Que stood alone at the center of the Evaluation Hall, his posture straight, his hands resting calmly at his sides. The stone floor beneath his feet was cold, etched with ancient formation lines that pulsed faintly with restrained power. Those formations had tested countless disciples before him, measuring worth with absolute indifference.
Above him, the elders of the Grey Hollow Sect sat behind a raised stone platform. Their robes were immaculate, their expressions composed, their gazes distant. To them, this was neither judgment nor ceremony.
It was routine.
This was not a trial.
It was a classification.
The Grey Hollow Sect did not view failure as something emotional. It was not a source of anger, disappointment, or ridicule. Failure was a logistical outcome, one that required adjustment rather than reaction. Disciples who failed were removed from cultivation records, reassigned to peripheral duties, and gradually excluded from the sect's core activities.
Yan Que had witnessed this process many times. Faces that once appeared in training grounds would vanish without announcement. Names would no longer be called during assemblies. No punishments were issued, no farewells given. The sect simply continued forward, leaving those deemed unqualified behind.
In the Grey Hollow Sect, failure was not condemned.
It was processed.
A translucent array hovered in the air before Yan Que—layered rings of pale script rotating with mechanical precision. The Evaluation Array. He had stood beneath it three times already, memorizing its rhythm without intending to.
He already knew the outcome.
An elder in ash-gray robes stepped forward. The insignia of the Grey Hollow Sect rested plainly on his sleeve. His voice carried across the hall without effort.
"Yan Que," he said. "Age sixteen. Outer disciple."
The elder paused briefly, then continued in the same neutral tone.
"Commence evaluation."
The array responded.
Light descended, cool and exact, enveloping Yan Que from head to toe. It flowed through his meridians, traced the contours of his body, and probed for any response. There was no pain—only an invasive clarity, as if every flaw were being cataloged in silence.
The rotating characters slowed.
"Qi perception: absent," the elder read aloud.
"Meridian activity: below threshold."
"Dao affinity: unregistered."
A subtle murmur rippled through the rows of disciples standing at the sides of the hall. Some lowered their eyes. Others glanced away, as if prolonged attention might draw the array's gaze upon themselves.
Yan Que did not move.
"According to sect regulations," the elder continued, "any disciple who fails the Evaluation Array for three consecutive years shall be classified accordingly."
His hand lifted.
The array's light intensified.
Yan Que felt a pressure settle within his body—not forceful, not painful, but absolute. It was the sensation of being weighed and found lacking, of existence reduced to data.
Rejection followed.
Clean. Immediate.
Then—something changed.
The formation hesitated.
The rotating script stuttered, as though encountering an unexpected obstruction. Yan Que felt a sudden chill bloom beneath his navel, sharp enough to steal his breath.
A pattern formed.
Thin geometric lines surfaced briefly across his skin, precise and symmetrical, like an official seal stamped into place. Before it could stabilize, a fracture tore through its center.
A seal—interrupted.
The hall fell completely silent.
One elder leaned forward slightly. Another frowned.
"The evaluation is complete," the ash-robed elder said slowly, his gaze fixed on the fading pattern. "But the seal—"
He examined the array again, his expression tightening.
"It is incomplete."
That word carried weight.
An incomplete record was not success.
Nor was it simple failure.
Cold text materialized in the air, hovering before Yan Que.
[Evaluation Complete]
Result: Unqualified
Classification: Recorded — Incomplete
No one spoke.
Yan Que exhaled quietly.
Unqualified.
The word did not sting. It was not meant to. It was merely a designation—a conclusion drawn by a system that did not concern itself with emotion.
"Regardless," the elder said after a moment, his tone returning to formality, "the result stands. Yan Que does not meet the minimum requirements for cultivation within the Grey Hollow Sect."
He raised his voice slightly, ensuring the declaration was recorded.
"Effective immediately, his access to cultivation resources is revoked."
Yan Que felt the pressure deepen.
"His meridians will be sealed to prevent unauthorized cultivation."
An unseen restraint settled within him, final and irreversible.
"He is to be reassigned to sect labor."
There were no objections.
This was procedure.
"Do you have anything to say?" another elder asked, more from protocol than curiosity.
Yan Que considered the question.
Three years ago, he had pleaded.
Two years ago, he had argued.
Last year, he had remained silent.
Now, he said only, "No."
The elder nodded. "Then this evaluation is concluded."
The array dispersed. The oppressive atmosphere lifted as conversations resumed quietly. Disciples shifted their attention elsewhere, as if the matter had already faded from relevance.
Yan Que turned and walked toward the exit.
Each step felt heavier—not with despair, but with awareness. Something unseen had been acknowledged within him, recorded yet unresolved.
As he crossed the threshold of the hall, a presence stirred.
A voice manifested—not spoken aloud, not imagined.
[Evaluation Record Accessed]
Yan Que stopped.
[Subject: Yan Que]
Status: Unqualified
Seal of Evaluation: Active — Fractured
Standard Cultivation Path: Locked
The words were precise. Emotionless.
[Survival Probability (Current Path): 12%]
Yan Que closed his eyes briefly.
[Alternative Path: Undetermined]
[Warning: Deviation Will Leave Permanent Record]
He opened his eyes.
The courtyard beyond the hall was bright. Sunlight reflected off stone paths and sect banners. Disciples moved through their routines, laughter returning as if nothing of importance had occurred.
To them, nothing had.
Yan Que stepped forward.
If the world had already classified him as unqualified—
Then surviving within that judgment was no longer enough.