The air outside the Immortal Living Pool Mountain turned cold as the sun began its descent behind the mist-veiled peaks. The grand gates of the sect slowly closed, cutting off the last glimpse of the outer world. The trials had ended. The duels had decided. Only 900 remained.
Among those who stood outside, defeated but not broken, was a young boy—his fists clenched, blood still fresh on his lips from the duel that cost him a place among the chosen. His eyes, however, held not sorrow, but silence—one that spoke of pride too strong to cry.
"Let's go, Grandson… you fought well." Master Lei Zhen said quietly, placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. His long gray robe billowed in the wind, and his sharp, expressionless eyes were unreadable. He glanced once at the mountain, then turned without looking back.
