The morning mist still clung to the mountains when Xu Tian stepped onto the ancient stone steps of Heaven-Splitting Sword Sect.
Each slab of jade-gray rock bore scars of blades drawn centuries ago. Some cuts were shallow, like the marks of an impatient youth testing his strength; others were so deep the stone seemed cleaved to its marrow, leaving behind the whisper of sword intent that had never faded. Walking upon those steps was like treading into a sea of invisible blades — each one testing, questioning, watching.
Tian did not falter. His robe was plain white, unadorned by embroidery or clan sigils, but he carried himself with the calm poise of one born to stand above the crowd. His black hair, tied with a simple cord, swayed lightly in the breeze as his eyes lifted to the mist-veiled peaks ahead.
High above, a thousand waterfalls thundered down from jagged cliffs, their spray weaving silver threads in the dawn. Sword cries — metallic, sharp, and ringing with the pride of Heaven-Splitting Sect disciples — echoed from distant courtyards. Amid those echoes, Tian felt his blood stir, as though the fractured heavens themselves were calling to him.
At his side walked Lady Xue, his mother.
Her beauty had once been the pride of her clan, her grace famed across Spirit Valleys. But years of quiet sorrow had left her face pale, her eyes carrying shadows deeper than midnight lakes. A faint limp marred her otherwise fluid steps, a wound she never spoke of.
"Tian'er," she said softly, her voice like silk brushing stone. "From this day forward, you are no longer merely my son. You are a disciple of Heaven-Splitting Sword Sect. Your father once stood upon these very steps. His sword shook mountains, his name resounded in valleys. Promise me—" Her voice trembled. "—promise me you will tread carefully."
Xu Tian bowed his head. "Mother, I will walk with caution. But a blade that hides forever in its sheath grows dull. Father's path was cut short. I will carry it further."
Lady Xue's hand clenched tightly upon her sleeve, but she said nothing more.
The Outer Disciple Examination was held at the base of Sky-Splitting Peak. Thousands of youths gathered upon the training square, their robes a patchwork of clans and minor sects. Some whispered of glory, some of resources and manuals, others of vengeance they would one day enact after gaining strength.
In their midst, Xu Tian stood quietly, his posture unhurried, his gaze serene. To many, he seemed like any other scholar-born youth, frail and bookish. But to those who looked more carefully, there was an unshakable steadiness in the way he stood — like a sword laid flat upon a table, appearing harmless, yet capable of drawing blood with the lightest touch.
The examiner, an elder in black robes whose eyes were sharp as drawn steel, unfurled a scroll. "Outer Sect disciples shall be chosen today. Three trials will decide your fate: the Measure of Sword Bones, the Test of Comprehension, and the Trial of Edge. Fail any, and you may descend the mountain."
A ripple of nervous whispers spread. Some youths trembled, others clenched their fists. Xu Tian only raised his head, his eyes bright beneath the morning sun.
First Trial: Measure of Sword Bones
At the square's center stood a towering stone monument engraved with sword runes. One by one, disciples placed their palms upon it. The monument flared with light, measuring their physique — whether they possessed the so-called "Sword Bones" required for cultivation.
Some glowed faintly, their talent modest. Others blazed brightly, earning envious stares.
When Xu Tian's turn came, he placed his hand upon the cold stone. For a breath, nothing happened. The crowd whispered — was he merely ordinary? Then, suddenly, light erupted, not blazing outward, but drawing inward, coalescing into a single thin ray like a sword edge hidden within scabbard.
The examiner's eyes narrowed. "Sword Bones: fine and balanced. Not dazzling… yet sharp where it must be."
A strange silence lingered. Many dismissed him as merely "average," but a few elders in the shadows furrowed their brows, sensing something they could not name.
Xu Tian bowed politely and stepped aside, his expression calm.
Second Trial: Test of Comprehension
Rows of jade slips were laid upon low tables, each containing fragments of sword manuals. The disciples were to meditate upon them and demonstrate understanding.
Xu Tian selected a slip at random. His spiritual sense sank into the words: "A sword that cuts water adds flow; a sword that cuts wind leaves no trace."
Others around him furrowed brows, whispering interpretations, or muttering confusedly. But Xu Tian closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw his father's silhouette beneath a storm, sword in hand, slashing at the horizon. He felt the faint tremor within his bloodline, the inheritance his father had buried within him — a whisper of something deeper than mere words.
When his turn came to speak, his voice was steady: "The sword that cuts water teaches patience. The sword that cuts wind teaches silence. But both hide a truth: the sharpest sword does not cut what is seen, but what is unseen."
The examiner froze. Around them, disciples murmured. The phrase was simple, yet it carried a resonance that made even elders shift uncomfortably.
"Accepted," the examiner said curtly, though his gaze lingered longer than it should.
Third Trial: Trial of Edge
Here, disciples crossed swords. It was not a duel of victory or defeat, but of demonstrating intent and control.
Xu Tian faced a tall youth named Bai Heng, cousin of a sect elder. Bai Heng's arrogance was well known, his sword fierce but shallow. He sneered at Tian. "So you are the son of the fallen elder? Let us see if your blood carries even a drop of his worth."
Xu Tian merely inclined his head. "Please."
They clashed. Heng's strikes were loud, filled with aggression. Tian's movements were calm, minimal, each step perfectly placed. To the crowd, it seemed he was merely defending — but elders watching saw something else. Heng's strikes grew sloppy, his rhythm faltered, his strength leaked away.
It was as if some invisible hand was cutting the threads of his fortune, one by one.
With a single final parry, Xu Tian disarmed him. Heng stumbled, his blade clattering upon the stone floor.
The square fell silent.
Xu Tian saluted with courtesy. "Thank you for your guidance."
The examiner's face was unreadable. "Passed."
But in the shadows of the viewing platform, an elder's sleeve trembled. His eyes, sharp as eagles, fixed upon Xu Tian with hidden killing intent.
That night, when the new disciples were assigned their quarters, Xu Tian sat cross-legged by the window of his small courtyard. Moonlight poured like silver threads across the floor.
He gazed at his hand, remembering the moment he disarmed Bai Heng. It had not been pure technique. He had felt something — a thread of fate severing, unseen by all but him.
A whisper echoed in his blood, faint yet chilling:
The sword that cuts fate… will draw Heaven's gaze.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes darkening.
"So, Father… this is the path you left for me."
Outside, the mountain winds howled. In the depths of Heaven-Splitting Sword Sect, in hidden halls where disciples never tread, elders murmured. Some praised his brilliance. Others called him dangerous. And one, in a shadowed chamber, clenched his fist.
"The son survived… and inherited it."
A jade slip shattered in his hand.
"Then like the father, the son must die."