The valley narrowed into a throat of molten stone, the air thick with shimmering heat that bent light like ripples over water. Haotian's steps echoed softly against the blackened basalt, his pace unhurried, each stride as steady as if he walked through a mountain garden.
Ahead, the tunnel opened into a cavern vast enough to cradle a city. The ceiling glowed in living crimson, veins of liquid fire snaking through the rock like the lifeblood of the world. At the center, suspended over a lake of pure magma, burned the Ninth Flame — a sphere of fire no larger than a man's chest, yet radiating a presence that pressed down like the gaze of an ancient god.
The air rumbled with its heartbeat.BOOM.BOOM.Each pulse sent waves of heat that threatened to strip flesh from bone.
Haotian stepped forward without hesitation. The trial's heat licked at his robes, but the perfected Nine Elemental Body shone faintly, each elemental affinity weaving into a layered shield — fire, ice, earth, wind, lightning, wood, water, metal, and light flowing in seamless harmony.
A voice, low and resonant, rolled through the chamber like thunder in a deep canyon.
"Mortal… why do you seek the Ninth Flame?"
Haotian stopped at the edge of the magma lake. He did not bow. His eyes — calm, sharp — lifted to meet the pulsing core. "To temper my will, not my body. And to claim the right to stand where lesser men burn."
Silence. Then the flame twisted, expanding and collapsing, as if laughing. The lake below churned violently. From its depths, shapes began to rise — molten beasts, their bodies dripping with magma, eyes glowing like coals in a forge. Each radiated killing intent, their forms shifting between wolf, serpent, and dragon with every step.
Haotian's right eye shimmered faintly. The Eyes of the Universe opened for but a heartbeat, its star-like iris spinning in slow, deliberate rotation. In that instant, the illusions of heat and movement peeled away — revealing each creature's true core, small flickers of unstable essence barely held together by the Ninth Flame's will. He closed his eye before the trial could sense his intrusion.
The first beast lunged.
Haotian stepped forward — not back — his palm slicing through the air. Fire and ice erupted together, the ice hardening into a crystalline spear before bursting into steam upon impact. The beast's core shattered in a hiss of white mist.
One down.
The rest roared and surged.
He moved like flowing water and splitting lightning, weaving elemental transitions so fast they blurred — a wall of stone erupted to block one serpent, a gust of wind blasted another into the magma, lightning lanced through the air to pierce two more. Each strike was clean, precise, and final.
When the last beast fell, the cavern stilled. The Ninth Flame pulsed once… twice… then split, tendrils of golden fire curling toward Haotian.
The heat was no longer oppressive. It was warm. Accepting.
The tendrils sank into his chest, vanishing into his dantian. His Nine Elemental Body shone brighter, the fire affinity deepening until it burned with golden-red light.
The voice returned, softer now.
"You have walked through all flames without falter. The path to the sect is open. Do not waste what you have claimed."
The magma lake dimmed, and a bridge of cooled obsidian formed beneath his feet, leading to a set of towering doors carved into the far wall — the gate to the outside world, and to the sect that awaited him.
Haotian stepped forward without looking back. The Ninth Flame's light faded behind him, but its warmth lingered in his veins.
The obsidian bridge ended before the towering stone doors, each slab carved with the coiling forms of nine dragons, their eyes inlaid with molten gemstones that glimmered like watchful embers. As Haotian approached, the dragon eyes lit one by one — crimson, azure, gold, jade, silver — until all nine burned with blinding radiance.
A deep rumble shook the cavern.The doors groaned open.
A rush of cool mountain air poured in, banishing the heavy heat of the valley. Haotian stepped through the threshold and found himself standing on a high cliff, the world spread wide beneath him — a sprawling mountain range blanketed in mist, with rivers of white cloud drifting between jagged peaks like silver serpents.
Far below, at the base of the cliff, a procession of figures stood waiting. Their robes marked them as disciples of a great sect: flowing silks in deep scarlet and black, embroidered with the emblem of a burning sun over crossed blades. Behind them, the sect's mountain gate loomed — an archway cut into the cliffside, guarded by two towering qilin statues whose jeweled eyes glimmered in the dawn light.
A horn sounded, low and resonant. The disciples straightened.
From the center of the group, an elder stepped forward. His hair was the color of ash, bound in a high crown knot, his long beard swaying in the wind. His gaze locked on Haotian — not with warmth, but with the sharp scrutiny of a sword drawn halfway from its sheath.
"You…" His voice carried easily across the distance, as if the mountain itself bore the sound. "Are the one who passed the Ninth Flame."
Haotian did not bow immediately. He stood at the cliff's edge, the wind tugging at his robes, his expression calm, almost detached. The golden-red light of the Ninth Flame still shimmered faintly in his eyes, though most could not recognize it.
The elder's brow creased — just slightly — at the boy's lack of deference. But before he could speak again, the murmurs began.
"That's him?""He looks too young—""No… look at the way the heat rolls off him. That's not ordinary fire qi."
Even the qilin statues at the sect gate seemed to respond. The gemstones in their eyes flared briefly, as if acknowledging a presence they could not ignore.
Haotian finally moved. He descended the stone steps carved into the cliff face with unhurried steps, the distance between him and the sect narrowing with each measured pace. By the time he reached the base, the air around him carried a faint, steady heat — not oppressive, but undeniable, like standing near the heart of a forge.
He stopped three paces from the elder. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the mountain wind died.
"I am here," Haotian said quietly, but the words carried weight. "Where is the path you promised?"
The elder's lips twitched — not into a smile, but into something more dangerous: approval.
"Follow me," he said at last. "From this day, you walk the path of the Burning Sun Sect."
The gates swung open behind him, revealing the sect's inner mountain — terraced halls, training fields carved into cliffsides, waterfalls spilling down into crystal pools, and at the highest peak, the Grand Hall shrouded in drifting flame-like banners.
Haotian stepped forward without hesitation, crossing beneath the archway as the qilin statues' eyes flared once more. The murmurs of the watching disciples followed him in, but he did not look back.
The Valley of the Nine Flames was behind him.The sect's trials lay ahead.
The moment Haotian crossed the threshold of the Burning Sun Sect's great gate, the world shifted. The wind here smelled different — a blend of mountain pine, heated stone, and faint incense drifting from the higher halls. Every step took him deeper into a realm shaped by centuries of cultivation, where the air itself thrummed with concentrated spiritual energy.
The elder who had escorted him did not pause. His long sleeves swept the ground as he led Haotian across the first terrace, where hundreds of disciples in crimson and black were already assembled. Waiting among them, as he had expected, was Lianhua — standing tall despite the fatigue in her shoulders — and the guards who had accompanied them. Their eyes brightened when they saw him, though they held their tongues until the elder spoke.
"All of you," the elder's voice cut across the terrace like a blade, "stand before the Flame Columns."
The columns were towering monoliths of black basalt, each veined with molten gold. Carved symbols spiraled up their height, glowing faintly like embers beneath ash. These were the Sect's Testing Pillars — designed to measure one's elemental affinity, qi circulation, and mental fortitude in a single trial.
One by one, the new entrants stepped forward. Hands pressed to the stone, they poured their qi into the column. Most drew muted glows — a steady orange here, a pale blue there — enough for entry, but nothing that stirred whispers.
Then came Haotian.
He pressed his palm lightly to the stone. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as if the pillar itself took a breath, the golden veins surged with blinding light.
CRACK.A sound like stone splitting under a hammer echoed across the terrace. Flames erupted upward along the column's height, mingling with shards of icy mist, arcs of lightning, and streaks of emerald wind. The entire spectrum of the Nine Elements danced in chaotic harmony, spiraling upward until they crowned the column in a golden-red blaze.
The assembled disciples froze. Murmurs swept through the crowd. Even some inner disciples who had been watching from the training balconies above leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
By the time the light dimmed, the elder was no longer frowning. His eyes held something sharper — calculation. "Accepted," he said simply.
Lianhua stepped up next, followed by her guards. To their credit, each passed without hesitation. Their flames burned steady and strong enough to earn approving nods. No one was rejected.
With the formalities done, the elder gestured to two waiting attendants — a young man and a young woman, both in the crimson-trimmed robes of outer disciples.
"Uniforms and emblems," he ordered. "Then quarters."
The group was led through a side gate into the outfitting hall, a long structure lined with folded robes and lacquered chests. The scent of fresh-dyed fabric mixed with sandalwood oil hung in the air.
Haotian accepted the bundle handed to him — deep black robes lined with crimson at the collar and sleeves, the chest embroidered with the sect's burning sun emblem in fine gold thread. Along with it came a bronze emblem badge carved into the shape of a sun's disk, its edges etched with flame-like patterns.
"Wear it at all times," the male attendant instructed. "Lose it, and you will answer to the Disciplinary Hall."
Once everyone was fitted, they emerged into the courtyard. There, the female attendant bowed to Lianhua and the other women. "Follow me. The women's quarters are on the east side of the sect grounds, overlooking the Jade Waterfall."
Lianhua glanced back at Haotian briefly, a flicker of unspoken acknowledgment passing between them, before turning to lead her group away. The faint sway of their uniforms disappeared into the eastern path.
The male attendant gestured to Haotian and the remaining men. "This way. The men's quarters are to the west, near the lower training fields."
They followed him down a sloping stone path, the distant sound of weapons clashing and shouted drills growing louder with each step. Beyond a grove of flame-leafed trees, the path opened into a cluster of sturdy, two-story wooden halls. Each was fronted by a training yard, the ground worn smooth by years of footwork and sparring.
The attendant stopped at one of the larger halls and turned to them. "Your bunks are upstairs. Keep your uniforms clean, your badges visible, and report to the Lower Assembly Hall at dawn tomorrow for your first assignments. Fail to arrive on time, and you will answer to me — and I am not forgiving."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Haotian inclined his head slightly, but said nothing. His gaze swept over the yard, the nearby training halls, the line of mountains beyond. His first day within the sect had only just begun, but already the currents beneath its surface were clear — power was everywhere, but so were the eyes watching him.
The first bell of the Burning Sun Sect rang before the sun had fully crested the eastern peaks. Its deep, metallic tone rolled through the mountain halls, stirring the outer disciple quarters into life. Robes rustled, footsteps thudded on wooden floors, and murmured greetings mixed with yawns as the newly inducted disciples scrambled to gather in the Lower Assembly Hall.
When Haotian stepped outside, the morning air was cool and thin, tasting faintly of pine and incense. Already, eyes followed him. Some glanced away quickly when he met their gaze; others held it with open curiosity. Whispers trailed in his wake, soft as the brush of wind against a blade.
"That's the one who passed the Ninth Flame.""Impossible at his age.""Even so… he's just another outer disciple now."
The truth of that last statement was plain enough. No special summons, no escorts, no mark of rank — just the same uniform and badge as every other initiate.
Inside the assembly courtyard, rows of disciples stood in orderly formation. The marble floor was veined with gold, the pillars carved into twisting columns of fire and cloud. At the head of the courtyard stood three elders, their hands folded behind their backs. The central elder, a tall man with a weathered face and a gaze like tempered steel, stepped forward to speak.
His voice carried easily over the crowd."Outer disciples. As of today, you have entered the Burning Sun Sect. You will be given no privileges beyond the path you carve for yourselves. Your duties and opportunities are as follows."
He began the litany. Outer disciples were permitted to enter the first floor of the Sect Library, where they could choose techniques to cultivate. They could visit the Mission Hall to sign up for tasks — escort work, beast subjugation, gathering rare herbs — all rewarded in contribution points, the currency of advancement.
Those inclined could apply to join specialized branches — alchemy, forging, array crafting — each with its own trials and masters. Such affiliations could grant resources, training, and influence, but only if one earned their place.
The explanations stretched on, weaving through rules, curfews, and the punishments for breaking them. By the end, the sun had climbed well above the peaks, gilding the courtyard in light.
"Dismissed."
The rows broke apart in rippling motion.
Haotian moved easily through the dispersing crowd until he spotted Lianhua and the guards near one of the side gates. She looked up as he approached, her expression softening in relief. The guards straightened instinctively, their eyes scanning the flow of disciples around them.
Before any of them could speak, a group of older outer disciples approached — three men and two women, all wearing easy smiles. The tallest of them gave a polite bow. "We heard you're new to the sect. Thought we might welcome you properly — show you the grounds, the shortcuts, the places worth knowing. Better than wandering blind, eh?"
Haotian studied them for a moment. Their postures were relaxed, but their eyes measured him carefully. He inclined his head. "Very well."
He stepped closer to Lianhua and, without hesitation, took her hand. "Come," he said simply.
A faint flush rose to her cheeks, and she started to speak — "Haotian, this isn't—" — but his grip was steady, and after a heartbeat, she let out a quiet breath and allowed him to lead her.
The guards exchanged glances, their expressions caught between surprise and something more guarded. Around them, whispers flared again, sharper this time.
"They're… close?""Who is she to him?""Even in front of everyone…"
The older disciples only smiled wider, though one of them arched an eyebrow with clear curiosity. "This way, then," the tall one said, turning toward the westward path. "We'll start with the training fields. After that — the library, if you'd like."
Haotian gave a single nod. His hand remained in Lianhua's as they followed, the guards trailing a half-step behind, the air thick with curiosity and the sound of hushed voices.
The westward path curved between flame-leaf trees, their crimson canopies whispering in the wind. The older disciples led the way with an easy familiarity, pointing out minor landmarks as they walked — a side trail to the kitchens, a cliffside garden tended by retired elders, a stone stairway that supposedly cut the trip to the upper terraces in half.
The training fields came into view first. Spread across multiple terraces, they formed a patchwork of activity: open sparring courts where pairs of disciples traded blurring strikes; elemental ranges where fire, wind, and ice blasted against reinforced targets; obstacle yards filled with moving platforms and illusory opponents.
The clang of weapons and the roar of qi techniques filled the air, punctuated by sharp calls from supervising instructors.
Haotian's gaze moved slowly over the scene. Even without opening the Eyes of the Universe, he could read the patterns — the spacing of duels, the subtle hierarchies in who trained where, the clusters of disciples who avoided certain corners entirely. The strongest among them gravitated toward the high stone platforms in the center, their every movement watched by others below. That was where prestige collected… and where challenges brewed.
They moved on, climbing a gradual slope toward a building whose dark wooden facade was carved with rolling clouds and open scrolls. The air here was cooler, quieter. A plaque above the entrance read: Sect Library – First Floor Access.
Inside, rows of tall shelves stretched into the shadows, their surfaces lined with bamboo scrolls and stitched manuals. The scent of old paper and sandalwood oil hung in the still air. Disciples wandered between the aisles, some seated at low tables, copying passages into their own journals.
"This floor holds the basic techniques," one of their guides explained. "Entry-level martial arts, foundational qi methods, simple elemental forms. Enough to build a base, not enough to set you apart."
Haotian didn't reply, but his eyes scanned the shelves. His fingers brushed the spines of several manuals as they passed — memorizing the titles, weighing their worth. His Nine Elemental Body already exceeded anything here, but knowing what others would learn was its own advantage.
When they emerged into the sunlight again, the path wound downward toward a broad square dominated by a hall of black stone and gold trim. The air here buzzed with voices — merchants calling prices, disciples shouting over posted notices, the constant shuffle of boots over stone.
The Mission Hall was alive with movement. The far wall was plastered with mission slips: beast hunts, escort requests, medicinal herb gathering, resource deliveries. Each was marked with its required rank and contribution reward.
"Points are everything," their tallest guide said. "Enough points buys better quarters, better manuals, better weapons. And, of course, access to higher floors of the library."
Haotian listened without interruption, watching the crowd. Most came in pairs or small groups — few dared to take missions alone. The walls here had ears; scraps of overheard conversation painted an unspoken map of alliances, rivalries, and debts unpaid.
When the group turned to lead them toward the next stop, Haotian's gaze lingered a moment longer on a side balcony above the mission boards. A man in deep crimson robes leaned there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him. The weight of that look was deliberate — a challenge without words.
Haotian met it briefly, then turned away, his hand tightening faintly around Lianhua's.
The tour continued, but the air between the high walls of the sect seemed to grow heavier.
The morning mist still clung to the sect's upper terraces when Haotian and his group made their way to the library. Disciples in crimson and black passed them on the stone paths, some carrying bundles of bamboo scrolls, others deep in discussion about cultivation methods. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood oil and old paper — the scent that seemed to follow those who had spent too many hours here.
The first floor of the Sect Library was as silent as it had been during the tour, but this time the air carried the charged stillness of concentrated study. Disciples moved slowly between the tall shelves, pausing now and then to pull down a scroll, weigh it in their hands, and return it after a glance. The rule was simple: each outer disciple could select two techniques to take back for study.
Haotian began like the others — walking the aisles, pausing at shelves, scanning titles. His eyes traced over rows of calligraphy: Blazing Palm Method, Wind Step Form, Amber Shield Technique. But as soon as the others drifted deeper into the stacks, he quietly slipped into a side aisle, one of the less-lit corners where the shelves stood taller and the air felt undisturbed.
There, with no one in sight, his right eye shifted. The iris shimmered like a slow-turning starfield. The Eyes of the Universe awoke.
He reached for a scroll and unrolled it on the narrow reading table. As his gaze passed over the ink, something familiar stirred — the same phenomenon he had experienced once before in the alchemy library. The written words shimmered faintly, then dissolved into golden motes of light that streamed directly into his consciousness.
In his inner world, the Golden Text Library stirred to life. The scroll's contents manifested there instantly, preserved in perfect detail — diagrams, annotations, even the faint brushstrokes of the original calligraphy.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
He set the scroll aside and reached for another. The same thing happened. Again, and again. His hands moved faster now, flipping through the shelves in a quiet but relentless rhythm — unroll, glance, absorb, set aside. A small pile of displaced books and scrolls began to form beside him, a testament to the speed of his silent harvesting.
It was in the midst of this that Lianhua's voice broke the silence.
"Haotian?"
He glanced up to see her standing a few steps away, holding two neatly bound manuals against her chest. Her eyes darted to the small mountain of books by his elbow before returning to his face.
"You're… busy," she said dryly.
He straightened slightly. "I am," he replied, then after a moment, added, "These books are already inside my mind."
Her brows drew together in mild confusion. "Inside your mind?"
He met her gaze steadily. "The eyes. They don't just find weaknesses. They remember everything. Perfectly. Once I look at a page, it becomes mine to keep."
Lianhua blinked, then let out a soft laugh of disbelief. "So you're telling me… you're planning to learn everything in this library?"
"Yes." The answer came without hesitation.
For a moment, she just looked at him — that unshakable calm, the faint light still lingering in his eye, the absolute certainty in his voice. Then she shook her head and smiled wryly. "Your shut-in personality is showing again."
He only returned to the next scroll, the faintest curve at the corner of his lips.
Lianhua tilted her head at him, still holding her manuals. Haotian's gaze flicked toward them.
"What books are you planning to take?" he asked.
She stepped closer and placed the two manuals on the table beside his scattered pile. "These," she said simply.
He picked up the first. The title read Flowing Step of the Sparrow, a light-footwork movement skill. He flipped through it, the calligraphy and diagrams spilling instantly into the golden shelves of his inner library. His brow lowered slightly.
"This is… serviceable," he murmured, "but the acceleration curve is too shallow. You'll be quick at the start, but plateau early. Against a skilled opponent, they'll adapt before you can close the gap."
He set it aside and reached for the second: Seven Petal Blade Dance, a sword art heavy on flourishes and rhythm-based attacks. Again, the golden text in his mind lit up as he scanned it. A faint exhale left him.
"This one is worse. Too much wasted motion. It looks elegant, but in a fight, elegance without purpose is just… a weakness."
Lianhua's lips parted slightly, caught between surprise and mild offense. "And what would you suggest instead?"
Haotian leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting briefly toward the shelves towering over them. "With the information in this library," he said slowly, "I could develop a sword art and movement skill designed for you — your reach, your strength curve, your way of reading an opponent. Not something pulled from a scroll meant for anyone… but something that belongs only to you."
Her breath caught. "You could do that?"
The faintest curve touched his lips — not boastful, but absolute. "I can."
For a moment, she studied him in silence. She had seen him cut through the Ninth Flame's illusions, walk unharmed through heat that melted stone, and pass trials meant for seasoned cultivators. Yet there was something in the way he said it now — quiet, measured, unshaken — that made her believe him completely.
She glanced at the manuals she had chosen, then back at him, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. "Then I suppose I'll trust you more than these old scrolls."
Haotian returned his attention to the shelves, already reaching for another volume. In his mind, the golden library grew — and somewhere within it, the foundation of her future techniques had already begun to take shape.