Li Wei returned to the sect as dusk settled, the last streaks of sun still painting the horizon. His robe was torn at the sleeve, his arm bandaged where claws had grazed, but his steps were steady.
At the Mission Hall, the great doors stood open, spilling golden lamplight across the courtyard. Inside, disciples came and went in waves, tokens pressed to glowing plaques, clerks recording completions. The air buzzed with the usual mixture of relief, exhaustion, and whispered envy.
Li Wei kept to the edge of the room, hands clasped over the wooden token at his waist. The token had recorded everything on the ridge—the kills, the traces of qi, even the time and coordinates—now all he needed was the formal verification.
He approached one of the counters, sliding his jade token across. The elder in charge gave it a cursory glance, then placed it atop a stone platform inscribed with glowing runes.
Light flared.
"Broken Fang Ridge mission completed. 520 points recorded."
"Contribution points updated," the elder intoned.
Li Wei inclined his head slightly. When he glanced down, the token's surface glowed faintly:
Contribution Points: 2,225.
He closed his hand over it. It was progress—more than most of his peers ever touched in their first months—but still far short of what he required. A single Foundation Establishment Pill alone demanded three thousand. With protective medicines and a week in the Spirit Convergence Chamber, the total was closer to forty-eight hundred.
He had only just crossed halfway.
Not enough.
His climb on the Stele had earned him much already, and the stipend for his current rank would soon add more. But it would still not close the gap. Missions remained the only path forward if he wished to stand on solid ground when the Outer Sect Tournament arrived.
As he turned to leave, voices from a nearby group of disciples drifted over.
"Did you hear? Azure Sky Sect just had three disciples enter the Heaven's Rising List this year." A tall boy with a scar along his jaw said. "That's a statement."
"Hah, no wonder they've been making waves. For three under twenty-five to break in… the other sects will feel the pressure."
"Ha. They make noise. But don't forget—Heavenly Dragon Sect placed second in the last Grand Competition. Names or noise, the pillars remain." A calmer voice, older, rolled his eyes with the kind of world-worn amusement veterans wore like armor.
The group murmured agreement, though their tones carried both awe and envy.
Li Wei paused, his steps slowing.
The four great northern sects. He had heard the phrase often, but only now did the names settle clearly in his mind.
Heavenly Dragon Sect, his own — known for its discipline, martial strength, and unshaken foundations.
Azure Sky Sect, swift-rising, brilliant in sword and movement arts.
Ironheart Sect, famed for its impenetrable defenses and relentless body cultivators.
And Cold Moon Valley, steeped in mysticism and frost arts, their disciples as elusive as mist.
Together, they formed the four great powers of the north. Beyond them, no sect could claim equal standing.
The voices of the disciples drew him back.
"Still… it's a shame about Jian Chen. Ranked second on the Heaven's Rising List, yet he'll be too old by the time the next Sect Grand Competition arrives. What a waste."
"Maybe. Or maybe another monster will rise in his place. That's how these lists always go."
Li Wei caught the name as if it were a stone thrown into still water. Jian Cheng — not the prince who had appeared at the tournament months ago, but Heavenly Dragon's own prodigy, the one whispered of whenever the sect's elders met behind closed doors. The name had weight inside the hall.
The conversation continued as he passed lantern light and the ring of quiet training in the outer yards. Names were tossed like coins—each one an example, each one a path. The outer sect lived in these comparisons; they were both mirror and measuring stick.
Li Wei found himself thinking not about which sect was stronger, but about the clock. The Grand Competition happened once every three years. The Outer Sect's top one hundred — the ones carved in the top tiers of the Stele — earned eligibility to participate. From those hundred, the ten who proved themselves in those greater trials were invited into the inner sanctum: the inner sect.
But there was a blunt fact lying at the bottom of that ladder: if one had not yet secured a Foundation Establishment — if one's qi had not been condensed into a stable foundation — the odds in that contest were negligible. A peak Qi Refinement disciple against those with condensed foundations would be steam against wall.
Li Wei thought of the numbers again: a single Foundation Establishment pill — three thousand contribution points at the Treasury's price. Protective dantian medicines to stabilize the breakthrough, another thousand. A full week inside the Spirit Convergence Chamber, where qi density multiplied and the formation support reduced risk: eight hundred and forty. Four thousand eight hundred forty in total for a safe, basic push. A clean step forward. The reality of it sat in his chest colder than night.
The urgency sharpened him. Not a year. Not a leisurely stretch of seasons. He had to move faster.
The disciples conversation continued as Li Wei stepped out into the cool night, but at this distance he could hear them no longer.
He crossed the courtyards of the outer compound, the lanterns glowing soft along the paths. Near his residence, a familiar voice called out.
"Li Wei!"
Near the willow by the compound's central path, Mei Yun waited, leaning against the trunk with that small, habitual impatience she wore when anxious for news.
"You're back." Her voice was unadorned, but when she looked at him her eyes took him in: the torn sleeve, the thin line of blood at his wrist, the token he held. "You took it. 520?"
He nodded. "The ridge was worse than the notice made it sound. But I brought them down. The token recorded everything; the clerk verified it."
She exhaled, part relief, part thin smile. "You've moved so far ahead of the Xianglong batch… I checked the Stele this morning. Your name's climbing faster than I expected."
Her praise was simple, but it landed heavy with the echo of their shared past. Li Wei's smile was small.
"You've seen more than anyone how far ahead I've gone," he said. "But being ahead of our old classmates doesn't solve what I want. It doesn't answer why my parents—"
He didn't finish aloud. He didn't need to. The memory of smoke and screams and the helplessness of a child clung to him like a second skin. That ache had sharpened into a vow he carried against his ribs. Faster, stronger—those were the tools, not the goal.
Mei Yun's hand found his sleeve, fingers light on cloth. "I know," she said softly. "And I'll keep stepping with you where I can."
He met her gaze, steady. "I can't be content with a slow climb. If there's any hope of finding answers—of forcing the truth from whatever hands hold it—then I need to reach Foundation fast. The tournament, the Stele, the inner sect… all of it helps, but only if I gain my footing first."
Mei Yun murmured "I understand."
They walked back toward the newcomer quarters together, the path lit by moon and the faint glow of formation strands. In the courtyard, Li Wei's thoughts moved already to the list he would make: missions with high reward, careful alliances, nights spent training the Temple's new arts until blade and breath were a single instrument. Each small plan was a stone to be laid—slow, certain, necessary.
Above the compound, the mountain breathed cool and indifferent. The four great sects would continue their centuries-long dance of rivalry and prestige. Prodigies would rise and age; lists would be written and rewritten.
For Li Wei there was only one simple equation: time, strength, and the truth of his parents' end. The shorter the time, the fewer the chances for that truth to gather dust.
Father. Mother. Whoever ended your lives… I will uncover it. But not as I am now.
I need power. Faster. Higher.