The early morning mist coiled around the sect like the breath of a sleeping dragon. Dew clung to worn flagstones, and spiritual birds chirped faintly from the trees above the courtyard. A thin hush had settled over the outer disciple arena — not from peace, but anticipation.
Today, the sect would witness a match no one expected.
Xiao An, a boy once dismissed as cultivation trash, was to face Qi Yue, the star student of Instructor Liu Fen.
And standing silently beneath the shade of a dying plum tree… was Lin Zian.
Lin Zian's gaze lingered on the arena. Stone platforms weathered by time. Iron training poles half-rusted. He had fought here, once. Bled here. Taught here.
Now, he returned not as an instructor of rank… but as one of shame.
A presence approached.
"Instructor Lin," Xiao An said softly, dressed in clean but plain robes. His face was pale, but his eyes had changed. There was steel in them now — faint, but forming.
"Are you afraid?" Lin Zian asked without looking at him.
Xiao An lowered his head. "Yes. But I also… want to prove I don't belong in the shadows."
Lin Zian turned and studied him.
"You're not here to prove yourself to the sect," he said. "You're here to listen to your own breath. To feel the rhythm of your Qi. Whether you win or lose, make sure your spirit remains upright. That alone is victory."
Xiao An nodded.
Lin Zian stepped forward and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Breathe through the soles of your feet. Gather Qi in your lower dantian. Anchor your will."
Golden light shimmered faintly between them — the presence of the Vault of Heaven, unseen by others but known to Lin Zian.
> [Disciple Resonance Stable. Qi Channels Aligned.]
A soft hum rippled through the boy's meridians.
The sect's outer courtyard overflowed with spectators. Outer disciples sat on fences, leaned against pillars, and whispered in disbelief.
"That's really Xiao An?"
"He was Qi-less a week ago!"
"What's that fallen instructor planning?"
In the stands above, Liu Fen lounged like a coiled serpent, dressed in elegant robes, a silver-threaded fan flicking idly in his hand. He grinned when he saw Lin Zian arrive.
"So, you actually showed," Liu Fen called out. "I thought you'd flee in shame after today."
Lin Zian offered no response. He simply walked to the stone bench near the dueling platform and sat, arms crossed, eyes calm.
A silver-bearded elder raised his palm. "This match shall be witnessed by the sect. No spiritual treasures. No interference. Blade against blade. Qi against Qi. Life will not be taken — but pain may be freely dealt."
Both disciples stepped forward.
Qi Yue was confident — visibly so. His saber was forged by an inner court smith, its edge clean and balanced. His steps were fluid. His meridians pulsed with strength, Qi channeled effortlessly through each limb.
"You'll regret stepping onto this platform," Qi Yue sneered. "Try not to break in half."
Xiao An unwrapped his blade slowly. It was ordinary — no brilliant metal, no engraved script. But it had weight. Spiritual weight. Polished through sweat and correction. Tempered under Lin Zian's guidance.
His stance was silent.
Qi flared from Qi Yue like a flame — aggressive, proud.
The watching crowd tensed.
"Begin," the elder called.
Qi Yue struck instantly, saber whistling through the air with a technique called Falling Leaf Blade, a popular outer sect move — fast, downward, and cruel to the untrained.
Xiao An stepped to the side.
Barely.
The blade missed by a breath.
Clang! A quick parry — weak, but precise.
Qi Yue's eyes narrowed.