Two years had passed since the night the elders had been forced to step in. Time had not dulled Haotian's edge—it had honed it.
The morning sun draped its golden veil over the sprawling city of Yunshang. High-walled avenues teemed with vendors hawking silks, precious stones, and exotic teas. The air was rich with the scents of roasted chestnuts, medicinal herbs, and warm pastries, weaving together into an intoxicating urban breath.
Through the bustling main street walked a youth clad in immaculate white. His robe was embroidered in faint gold thread, its patterns resembling flowing clouds. His face, no longer that of the boy who once shook the ancestral halls, had sharpened with definition—high cheekbones, a clean jawline, and eyes that carried the calm confidence of someone who had stared into the heart of danger and lived. His long black hair, streaked faintly with deep blue under the sun, was bound in a high ponytail that swayed with each measured step.
To his right walked a young maiden—Lianhua. The once delicate girl had bloomed into a figure of grace and quiet allure. Her features were soft yet refined, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like flowing ink. Though her gaze remained forward, she would glance at Haotian from time to time, the corners of her lips hinting at thoughts unspoken. Those who saw them together—clad in white and azure, walking in step—could be forgiven for assuming they were promised to one another.
Six armored guards flanked them, three on each side. These were no ordinary guards. They were handpicked from the Zhenlong army by Haotian himself—men and women he had trained personally, gifting each a cultivation method refined from his own study. Their steps were disciplined, yet their presence radiated danger. Passersby gave them a wide berth without needing to be told.
Lan Shuyin (蓝水吟) moved with serene precision, her deep-blue hair tied with a silver ribbon, spring water eyes quietly scanning their path.
Feng Lanyue (风蓝月) walked with a lightness that made her seem half airborne, a playful smile always at the edge of her lips.
An Yuerin (暗月琳) kept to the shadows of their formation, her deep violet gaze missing nothing.
Huo Zhanfeng (火战锋) strode with an easy, confident grin, red-streaked hair catching the sun.
Tu Jianhong (土坚宏) was the picture of stoic strength, every step deliberate, his presence solid as stone.
Jin Xuanming (金玄铭) kept his posture sharp, black hair streaked with silver glinting under the light, his eyes always calculating.
Their destination was not within the city walls. They had come to Yunshang as the final stop before entering the high passes leading to the Qingyao Mountain Sect, famed across the continent for its mastery in alchemy and pill refinement. It was a sect whose influence touched every major clan—an unshakable pillar in the balance of power.
Haotian walked without hurry, his gaze occasionally lifting past the shopfronts to the distant mountains that loomed like silent sentinels. Snow capped their peaks, but lower down, terraces of green glimmered where medicinal gardens were said to thrive year-round. Somewhere among those ridges lay the sect's inner domain, guarded by formations no outsider had ever breached.
The streets slowed as word spread of their presence. Shopkeepers leaned from their doors, travelers stopped mid-step, and whispers followed in their wake. The young master's white robes glowed under the sun like a beacon, his guards' polished armor catching the light in hard flashes.
A bell tolled from the far end of the street—the eastern gate was opening for travelers to leave the city. Haotian adjusted the white silk sash at his waist, his steps never faltering.
Beyond the gate, the road began to rise toward the mountains. The journey to Qingyao would take a day on foot, less if they pressed the pace. For Haotian, it was more than a simple visit. This was his first formal entry into a sect—a place where skill and knowledge would be tested by peers and masters alike.
As the group passed under the shadow of the gate towers, Lianhua's voice, soft yet steady, broke the quiet.
"Haotian… are you ready?"
He glanced at her, the faintest smile touching his lips."I've been ready for two years."
And with that, they stepped onto the road that would wind into the high clouds, toward the sect that had waited for his arrival.
From the moment they left the last marketplace, the road unfolded in a patchwork of stone bridges, shaded groves, and rivers that glimmered like melted jade under the afternoon sun. Haotian didn't rush their pace—he matched Lianhua's every step, pausing when she paused, letting her lean close when something in the scenery caught her attention.
They passed a small artisan stall nestled beneath a willow tree, its shelves lined with fine lacquer work, carved combs, and delicate hair ornaments. Haotian's gaze swept the display before he reached for a slender hairpin—silver, tipped with a lotus blossom of white jade. Without a word, he placed the payment on the counter and turned to Lianhua.
"This would suit you," he said simply.
Lianhua's eyes widened, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks as she accepted it. "Thank you… I'll treasure it," she murmured, slipping it into her hair with deft fingers. The silver glinted against the dark silk of her hair, catching the light in a way that made her smile deepen.
A few paces behind, the guards kept their usual tight formation, but their eyes flicked between their master and the young woman. They didn't speak loudly—only the low murmur of shared amusement passed between them. A faint grin from one, a subtle nudge of the elbow from another. Whatever their thoughts, it was clear the air had shifted, and they were quietly, conspiratorially entertained by what they were seeing.
Haotian didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps he noticed and simply didn't mind.
The mountain road wound upward in a slow, graceful arc, the pale stone path glistening faintly beneath the morning sun. Mist clung to the forested slopes below, curling like silvered ribbons that drifted on the wind. Overhead, the shadow of soaring cranes traced fleeting shapes across the ground. Haotian walked at an unhurried pace, Lianhua at his side, her steps light, the new hairpin nestled in her hair catching threads of sunlight with every turn of her head. The delicate accessory—white jade carved into the shape of a blooming orchid—was simple yet f
The wide stone avenue leading to the sect gates was alive with movement. Early morning mist still clung to the mountain ridges, curling like pale dragons around the spires of the sect's walls. Flags bearing the silver crest of the sect flapped against the dawn wind, their ripples matching the faint tremor in the earth beneath the pounding boots of the guards.
Haotian walked at an unhurried pace between them, the weight of Lianhua's gaze lingering on him as if she were trying to map his every thought. Her lips curled faintly—half curiosity, half challenge—but she said nothing.
As they passed through the archway, the world opened into a vast courtyard tiled in white stone, each slab etched faintly with runic channels. Disciples in deep blue robes moved briskly between long queues that stretched toward the reception hall. The air was heavy with the mix of incense from the shrine alcoves and the sharp tang of spiritual energy bleeding from the testing arrays beyond.
Several hopeful entrants stood in clusters, some whispering encouragement, others muttering their fears. The guards escorting Haotian peeled away once they crossed into the courtyard proper, but Lianhua stayed beside him, her fan closed in her hand. She flicked a glance at him, her voice low but sharp.
"Don't make me regret this," she murmured.
Haotian's eyes didn't shift from the towering double doors ahead. "That depends entirely on how entertaining this sect intends to be."
The remark made her arch a brow, but before she could respond, they stepped into the reception hall.
The hall's interior was cavernous, lit by tall lanterns hanging from beams blackened by age. The polished floor reflected the pale gold light, amplifying the glow until it felt as if the room itself was breathing. Long lines of applicants wound toward the raised dais at the far end, where sect disciples stood beside a shimmering Spirit Resonance Orb—a crystal sphere the size of a man's torso, mounted on a stand engraved with interlocking arrays.
Haotian took his place in line with Lianhua just behind him. The murmurs of the crowd seemed to dim as they advanced. A boy ahead stepped forward, placed his palms on the orb, and a soft green light pulsed from within. The attending disciple nodded, marking the result on a jade slip. The next in line stepped up.
As they waited, Lianhua leaned slightly toward Haotian, voice hushed enough for only him to hear. "The orb measures not just spiritual strength, but resonance—the harmony between one's core and the world's qi. Most who fail never recover from the shame."
Haotian's mouth curved slightly. "Then it's a good thing I'm not 'most.'"
When their turn came, the lead disciple gestured curtly. "Next."
Haotian stepped forward. The hall seemed to narrow around him; whispers flitted like moths through the watching crowd. He raised his hands and placed both palms against the cool surface of the orb.
A breath passed. Then another.
The orb pulsed once. Light spilled through its core—not green, not blue, but a deep, molten gold threaded with lines of crimson. The glow surged violently, the crystal's inner lattice vibrating with a sound like a struck bell.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The light swelled until it poured from the orb in jagged streaks, arcs of raw force snapping into the air with sharp, cracking pops. The attending disciple stumbled back.
"Stop!" he barked, but it was too late.
With a deafening CRRRRAAAK, the orb's surface fractured. Shards spiderwebbed across the crystal in an instant.
The crack was not a sound—it was a detonation.
A thunderclap of spiritual force erupted through the testing hall as the Spirit Resonance Orb fractured from within, light searing through its seams. Gasps tore through the gathered elders and disciples. The next heartbeat—
KRRRSHHHH!!!
Shards of crystal burst outward in a radiant explosion of gold and white, scattering like comet fragments. The protective arrays flared in panic, runes sputtering under the force. A shockwave swept through the chamber, rattling the pillars and blowing back the robes of every onlooker.
Haotian didn't move. He stood in the center of the storm, right hand still hovering where it had touched the orb, his golden eyes hal
f-lidded—calm in the chaos.
Elder Feng was the first to find his voice.
"Impossible…!" His lips trembled as his gaze darted between the empty pedestal and Haotian. "That orb—has measured the resonance of every genius in the sect for five centuries! It cannot—"
"—Shatter?" Elder Yuan finished, his tone halfway between awe and disbelief. "Apparently, it can."
Around them, disciples were murmuring in an almost feverish chorus.
"Did you see—?"
"The array cracked!"
"No one's ever broken it—!"
"That wasn't breaking, that was obliterating—"
Haotian finally lowered his hand. The air still shimmered around his fingers as if reluctant to let go. "...It seems," he said evenly, "your orb was too fragile."
A ripple of shocked laughter—half-nervous, half-thrilled—went through the younger disciples. Elder Feng's face darkened. "You dare—!"
The double doors at the far end of the hall boomed open.
All conversation died instantly.
Through the haze of settling light strode the Sect Master himself—robes of black and silver trailing like a midnight tide, his presence pressing down on the room until even the air seemed to bow. The weight of his cultivation made every candle flame bend toward him.
His gaze went first to the ruined pedestal, then to Haotian. "Who," his voice was deep, resonant, "has done this?"
Elder Feng straightened at once. "Sect Master, it was—"
"—Me," Haotian said before the elder could finish. His voice did not waver.
The Sect Master's eyes, cold as glacier steel, locked on him. A long, deliberate silence followed—broken only by the faint chime of shattered crystal still rolling across the floor.
Finally, the Sect Master stepped forward until he stood a single pace from Haotian. The oppressive weight of his qi poured down like a falling mountain. "You have disrupted the sacred trial. You have broken what was not meant to be broken. Do you know the punishment for such a thing?"
"I know," Haotian replied. "But I also know… the test is meaningless if it cannot measure me."
A stir swept through the hall—audible inhales, hushed whispers.
The Sect Master's lips curved—just barely—into something between a smirk and a challenge. "Then you will take a different trial. One we reserve for… anomalies."
Elder Yuan's brows shot up. "Sect Master, surely you don't mean—"
"I do." The Sect Master's gaze never left Haotian. "The Valley of Nine Flames."
Gasps erupted from the elders. One disciple muttered, "That's a death sentence…" before being elbowed into silence.
Haotian tilted his head slightly. "When?"
The Sect Master's eyes narrowed, as if measuring the weight of that single word. "Now."
The tension spiked so sharply it felt like the entire hall had turned into a drawn bowstring. The Sect Master's voice cut through it like a blade. "Elders—prepare the gates. This child will walk into the Valley before the sun sets."
Elder Feng sputtered, "But, Sect Master—he's not—"
"I said now."
Two elders immediately moved to activate the teleportation array. Runes flared along the floor, casting long shadows across Haotian's face.
Haotian didn't flinch. Instead, he glanced once toward the shattered remains of the orb, then back at the Sect Master. "I'll return with proof," he said, "that your next test will break too."
For the first time, the Sect Master's smirk became a grin.
The teleportation array roared to life, bathing the chamber in firelight. And without another word, Haotian stepped into it—vanishing in a blaze of golden sparks as the elders and disciples watched, their shock deepening into something else entirely.
The words dropped like molten iron into the still air. Murmurs erupted, rippling through the gathered crowd.
"The Valley? Now?"
"He'll burn alive…""Even senior disciples take days to—"
Haotian didn't flinch. "Fine." He turned toward Lianhua. "Wait with the guards. You've done your test—this one's mine."
She frowned but nodded, stepping back toward the line where the guards stood, their eyes following Haotian with something between awe and pity.
Without further word, the Sect Master gestured, and the massive bronze gates at the far end of the courtyard began to grind open, heat bleeding out like a dragon's breath. The Valley of Nine Flames lay beyond, its red-lit maw stretching into shadow, where waves of oppressive heat rolled in visible distortions.
"Enter," the Sect Master commanded. "And do not stop until you emerge from the other side… or burn."
Haotian stepped through without hesitation.
The heat hit like a wall, but his expression didn't shift. Inside, the Valley was a vast gorge of jagged obsidian cliffs, rivers of molten rock winding far below. From the fissures in the stone, geysers of flame roared upward in great plumes—each a different hue. Scarlet, gold, azure, viridian, violet… nine in total, their essences twisting through the air like living serpents.
For most, each flame's elemental nature was a separate trial, a different agony to resist and master.
Two years under the Ancestors' tutelage had refined him beyond the measure of common prodigies. His body had been reforged into a perfect vessel—nine elemental affinities, both base and extended, harmonized within him. Fire, water, earth, wind, metal, wood, lightning, ice, and shadow—all coursed in silent accord beneath his skin.
The first flame pit roared to life as he passed, its crimson blaze lunging for him like a predator. He stepped through it without pause—heat curling around him harmlessly, absorbed and neutralized by the fire affinity woven into his core.
The second flame surged with lightning-tinged sparks. The third swirled with cutting wind. The fourth seethed with molten rock. One by one, the trials rose before him—and one by one, they failed to halt his advance.
Lianhua's voice from the entry faded with distance, replaced by the deep, rolling thrum of the valley's heart. "He's not even slowing down…" one guard whispered, awestruck.
By the time he passed the eighth flame, the air had grown dense with a pressure that made lesser men falter. But Haotian's expression hadn't changed—his gaze remained fixed ahead, on the deeper glow that pulsed from within the valley's final chamber.
A river of golden-red fire poured down from the high cliffs ahead, pooling into a lake of living flame. At its center rose a single, jagged spire, and atop it burned a fire unlike any other—the Ninth Flame.
This was no mere elemental challenge. The heat here clawed not just at flesh, but at spirit. The flames shimmered with illusory light, carrying whispers that slithered into the mind, seeking weakness, doubt, or fear.
As Haotian stepped onto the obsidian bridge that led to the spire, the Ninth Flame stirred—its core flaring bright, as though recognizing a worthy intruder. The surrounding air folded inward, sealing the chamber like the closing of a great beast's jaws.
The deeper they drew into the Ninth Flame's dominion, the air itself began to warp—not from heat alone, but from layers of distortion stacked atop one another like shifting glass panes. Each step was met with an illusion meant to mislead, disorient, or bait the unworthy into exhausting themselves before they reached the true heart.
Haotian kept his breathing steady, steps light, his expression betraying nothing. He had been training for this exact scenario—how to see truth without announcing it. A slight narrowing of his golden irises was the only sign as he let the Eye of the Universe stir for an instant. A pulse of clarity lanced through his vision; the false flicker of a flame on the left was discarded, revealing a blade-shaped wisp meant to slash at the unwary.
The illusions became bolder. A pathway opened ahead, promising direct passage to the center. Without slowing, Haotian flicked the Eye on again—just long enough to see the shifting after-image and the twisted heat lines that gave it away as a death pit cloaked in mirage. His gaze returned to normal before the flame-spirits noticed. He had no intention of letting the Ninth Flame realize just how much he could see.
By the time they reached the narrow ridge before the trial's core, the environment had condensed into a single searing corridor. At the far end, a towering column of black-gold fire pulsed like a heartbeat. The Ninth Flame's presence rolled outward, heavy and knowing, its voice a soundless pressure in Haotian's mind.
"You enter my core unburnt. Let us see if you can leave unchanged."
The ridge split open beneath them. Lava surged upward in serpentine arcs, forming six molten beasts that snarled and lunged from every direction. Haotian moved without wasted motion—sidestepping one, vaulting over another, palm striking a third's molten skull to plant an explosive chi marker before kicking away.
The Eye flashed briefly. In that moment, the weaknesses of the remaining beasts blazed in his vision—microfractures in their molten bodies, unstable chi currents that could be exploited. His strikes shifted, precise and deliberate, each movement dismantling them faster than they could reform.
As the last one collapsed into a pool of cooling slag, the black-gold column brightened—its outer flames spiraling inward like a vortex, pulling him forward into the true trial. The heat here was no longer meant to burn the body; it sought to sear the soul.
The ground vanished. Haotian was left standing on a disk of stone suspended over an abyss of living fire. From within the blaze, a figure emerged—a man-shaped silhouette of pure black-gold flame, wielding a spear that shimmered with threads of reality itself.
The Ninth Flame had taken a form.