The next dawn, a small crowd gathered at the practice grounds. An elder in gray sat on a stone, eyes hooded, presence like a muted bell. "Proceed," he said, voice indifferent.
Li Cangfeng began with the warding array, hands fast and flashy, strokes pretty as a dance. When he struck the final mark, the array flared, a translucent dome shimmering. The crowd oohed.
Qin Mo stepped into the dust with nothing but seven pebbles and a fallen willow leaf. He set each pebble with care, like planting a seed. His lines were ugly—uneven, rough. He shaped the qi not to dominate, but to befriend. He pressed the leaf into the center.
His array faded into the ground like rain.
"Is that it?" someone snorted.
A breeze carried a wasp into Li's dome. It bounced against the shimmer, angry, and the dome held.
Three ants reached the edge of Qin Mo's array and hesitated. They walked around. Then the wasp came near and… drifted away, lazy, forgetting what rage was.
The elder's eyebrows ticked up.
"Next," he said.
Li's healing array shone with a gentle green. He cut his palm and it knit in a blink. Polite clapping.
Qin Mo placed a cracked herb root in his pattern. He breathed into it. The root sighed and, for a moment, remembered being a flower. It unfolded one pale leaf and then, very quietly, died a good death.
The elder's eyes opened fully.
"Last," the elder said, voice slightly warmer.
Li's gathering array pulled qi in a whirl, greedy; dust danced, herbs bent their heads. It was strong. It was also hungry enough to strip the field if left unchecked.
Qin Mo drew a shallow spiral that looked like a child's drawing. He hummed, and the spiral hummed back. The qi came like rain to a lake, filling not only his circle but the surrounding ground; herbs lifted their faces and drank until they were content and then—this was the marvel—his array let the extra go.
The elder stood. "Winner: Qin Mo," he said. "You keep the plot. Li Cangfeng, you forfeit your assignment token for one season."
Li's face went white, then red. His smile died as if someone cut a string.
After the crowd dispersed, the elder lingered. He looked at Qin Mo long and slow. "What is your name?"
"Qin Mo."
"What is your teacher's name?"
Qin Mo smiled with old sadness. "The mountains, Elder."
The elder grunted. "Hmph. Mountains teach badly." He turned as if to go, then added, not unkindly, "Come to the array hall in three days. Bring your ugly lines."
Qin Mo bowed. Tang Yurou appeared at his elbow, eyes bright as coins in water. "Ugly wins," she whispered. "Let's go test pills."
He picked up his basket. The egg pulsed, warm against his side, as if laughing.