As days passed, Lu Haotian became impossible to ignore.
Even elders who tried not to show favoritism occasionally paused when he practiced. His movements were not flashy, but they were correct—so correct that mistakes stood out beside him.
Admiration followed.
So did resentment.
During endurance runs, someone tripped in front of him. During meals, seats filled quickly, leaving him standing. During training, whispers sharpened.
"Watch him fail spirit testing."
"Body training only goes so far."
"He won't be smiling then."
Lu Haotian heard it all.
He did not respond.
Not because he was unaware—but because he was unsure what responding would change.
One evening, Lu Chenfeng watched him from a distance.
Lu Haotian practiced alone under fading sunlight, repeating basic forms over and over. No audience. No applause.
Lu Chenfeng felt something twist inside him.
Why him?
His father had told him before, "Talent is not always loud."
Lu Chenfeng finally understood what that meant—and hated it.
Spirit root testing approached.
The courtyard grew tense.
For Lu Haotian, it was simple.
He wiped his sword clean, returned it to the rack, and looked toward the main hall where elders gathered.
Whatever came next…
He would face it standing.
The moment Lu Haotian stepped out, wrapped in clean cloth, his maid hurried over.
"Young Master, are you dizzy?" she asked one time.
"No."
"Hungry?"
"A little."
"Hurt?"
"Not really."
She would nod seriously, as if writing everything down in her head, then push a small snack into his hands. Sometimes it was dried fruit. Sometimes it was a steamed bun she had hidden earlier.
"Eat quickly," she whispered. "If the elders see—"
He bit into it calmly. "You worry too much."
She puffed her cheeks. "Someone has to."
After the medicinal baths came breathing exercises.
Every afternoon, the children were lined up in the training yard and made to sit cross-legged under the sun. An elder would stand in front, demonstrating the breathing rhythm.
"Inhale slowly."
"Hold."
"Exhale."
The exercises were simple. Even boring.
But for children, sitting still was harder than sword practice.
Some fidgeted. Some scratched their heads. One boy even fell asleep and snored, earning a sharp flick to the forehead from Lu Mingyuan.
Lu Haotian sat properly.
Back straight. Hands placed neatly. Breathing calm.
His breathing was not especially deep, nor was it fast, but it was steady.
The elder sometimes glanced at him, nodded slightly, then moved on.
Sword training followed the breathing exercises.
This part excited most of the children.
Wooden swords were handed out, and formations were taught. Basic slashes. Simple thrusts. Defensive stances.
Lu Haotian listened carefully.
He already practiced sword movements on his own, but training with others felt different. He learned spacing. Timing. How to move without wasting strength.
He won their little sparring matches.
When he won, he continues to practice, just as he had been taught.
Lu Haotian did not mind.
After training, he always returned to the courtyard.
Mei Nian followed behind him, arms swinging.
"Young Master, today you beat that tall boy again," she said excitedly. "The one who always brags."
"Oh Lu Zhen, He rushed too much," Lu Haotian replied.
"That still counts!" she said proudly, as if she were the one holding the sword.
Sometimes he let her try holding a wooden sword too.
She swung wildly, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Careful," he said, catching the sword before it hit the ground.
"I'll get strong too!" she declared.
He nodded seriously. "You should."
As the days passed, the atmosphere in the clan grew heavier.
Everyone knew the spirit root test was approaching.
Some children grew anxious. Others trained harder. A few became quiet and withdrawn.
Lu Chenfeng and Lu Yanran continued to train, they are also at the ninth layer too.
Haotian heard those whispers.
He did not react.
At night, he returned to his room, washed up, and sat on his bed.
He lay down, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow would come.
Soon, the spirit root test would arrive.
Lu Haotian closed his eyes.
For the first time in a long while, he fell asleep not thinking of loss, but of what the next day might bring.