"Hmph. Sect Master could bring in a beggar if he wished. Rumors mean nothing—let's see if he can even touch four stars."
The courtyard stretched wide beneath a clear sky, voices buzzing like restless bees. Yet on the far side, one figure stood apart from the cluster of elders. She did not speak, but her presence was enough to draw glances again and again.
Younger Elder Yao, as she was back then—barely past thirty, her beauty at its peak. A soft lavender hanfu traced the elegant lines of her figure, sleeves drifting like mist in the breeze. A single jade ornament pinned her dark hair, catching the sunlight in a muted glow. Her gaze, calm yet sharp as a blade beneath silk, never strayed from the youth standing at the base of the pillar.
Beside her, a boy no older than eleven stood with an air far too steady for his age. Bright eyes, back straight—Ming Yu. Even then, the shadow of the man he would become clung faintly to his frame.
He had taken this same test not long ago, and the whispers still lingered—five stars, lit one after another, a brilliance that would left the elders smiling for days. Child of two honored elders, a talent born from pedigree. To the sect, he was a treasure.
And now all eyes has shifted to Lao Xie — the mortal child who was brought by the Sect Master himself.
And now, all eyes had turned toward the other boy—the mortal child the Sect Master had brought in himself.
Lao Xie placed his hand upon the stone pillar. The courtyard stilled, as though the wind itself held its breath. The earlier murmurs faded into silence, heavy and waiting.
The stars on the pillar lay dormant, grey and lifeless, waiting to be awakened.
One breath passed. Then another, and then, the third.
Nothing.
The silence cracked, and the voices poured in like a tide.
"Huh, Nothing? Not even one?"
"That's impossible—"
"Was the Sect Master wrong?"
"I told you—he's just a mortal."
Above the noise, Lao Xie lowered his hand slowly. His expression did not shift, though in that quiet curve of his lips, something unreadable lingered. He stepped back without a word, the weight of countless stares falling away like dust from his sleeve.
And then, the memory dissolved.
When his eyes opened, the arena stretched wide before him once more. Ming Yu stood opposite, sword at his side, gaze steady as stone.
"What's wrong, Brother Lao? You don't look well," Ming Yu said lightly.
Lao Xie's silence stretched long enough to tighten the air. Then, his voice came low, even.
"We never spoke again after that test."
Ming Yu blinked. "It's not like tha—"
"Don't you remember?" Lao Xie's tone stayed calm, almost gentle, yet the edge beneath it cut like cold steel. "Back then, you used to say we'd be friends forever." His eyes lowered, just slightly. "But after I failed the test… you never came looking for me."
"Unlike you, The sect's prodigy, the one who managed to passed the so-called Judgement of Stars with a top notch result — 5 stars were lit up, right?"
"I was discarded, you were the only friend i had beside that old hag."
He lifted his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a smile touched his lips. "Unlike you—the sect's little prodigy. The one who passed the so-called Judgment of Stars with five perfect lights, right?"
"I was discarded, Ming Yu. And you… you were the only friend I had besides that old hag."
Ming Yu's fingers tightened around his sword hilt, the faint scrape of steel echoing as the blade slid free. His face held a calm smile, but there was a ripple in his gaze—something unsettled by Lao Xie's words.
"Brother Lao," he said softly, "we were children. I didn't understand anything back then."
Lao Xie's eyes lowered as if considering that, then rose again, sharp with an edge that felt almost amused. "You understood enough. Enough to know where to stand."
The words cut deeper than a blade. Ming Yu's lips pressed thin, but he didn't reply. Around them, the arena buzzed with low murmurs.
"Wait—they knew each other?"
"Friends? Before all this?"
"Strange… Ming Yu looks different today."
Lao Xie took a single step forward, the white hem of his robe brushing the stone floor. His hands hung loosely at his sides, sleeves swaying as if he were strolling through a garden instead of standing on an arena stage. Yet, something in the air grew heavier, like a quiet tide pressing against the senses.
"Ming Yu," he said softly, his voice meant for no one but the man before him. "Back then, I only wanted a friend. Now…" His smile curved slowly, calm yet chilling. "…now I want to see what five stars are worth."
Ming Yu's fingers tightened around his hilt, but his gaze didn't harden. Instead, a faint breath escaped him, as if he'd been carrying something all along. "Brother Lao," he said evenly, "I don't know what weight you bear, but it feels heavier than I imagined."
Lao Xie tilted his head slightly, that unshaken smile still in place. "Weight? No. This is freedom."
Before the words could linger, Elder Mu's voice broke across the arena. "Begin!"
Ming Yu moved first.
His blade gleamed like rippling silver under moonlight, and with one smooth motion, he stepped into his art. The first stroke was soft, flowing, its edge tracing a crescent in the air. Then another followed, then another—each arc weaving into the next in a seamless rhythm, as though a still lake had come alive beneath his sword.
Flowing Crescent Sword Arts, First Stage – First Light on Still Water.
A murmur ran through the stands the instant the pattern formed. "That's… the Flowing Crescent Sword Arts! Only inner disciples touch that scroll!"
"Five-star talent… no wonder he's called a prodigy."
The crescents danced, soft yet relentless. Every slash shimmered like a ripple breaking the surface of calm water, each curve promising elegance and hidden force.
Lao Xie didn't flinch.
The first crescent swept toward him. His sleeve flicked—barely a touch—and the strike slid past him as though the air had shifted. The next one followed, then the next, a flowing sequence of silver arcs, but none could so much as brush his robe. He moved as though walking through drifting petals, his steps too light, too measured to belong to someone under attack.
By the time the seventh arc faded, the arena had fallen silent save for the echo of steel.
Lao Xie's gaze lowered slightly, his smile carrying a trace of curiosity. "Your sword art…" His tone was calm, almost conversational. "…quite good. Elegant, even."
Ming Yu drew a slow breath, the blade still poised. "It is the Flowing Crescent Sword Arts," he said quietly. "First Light on Still Water."
"Ah…" Lao Xie's eyes glimmered faintly, a hint of mockery hidden behind the calm. "So that's the art. Tell me—does lighting up five stars earn enough glory for such a refined scroll?"
He let the question hang for a beat, then leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice dropping into a whisper edged with cold amusement. "If so… then I wonder what it takes to make it shatter."