Eight days later.
The golden glow of the Awakening Spring had long faded, but the ripples it caused still moved through the clan like whispers in the wind.
The Xuan Clan's academy hall stood tall and ancient, carved from jade stone that shimmered faintly in the morning light.
Inside, dozens of newly awakened youths sat cross-legged, their faces filled with pride, curiosity, and a touch of arrogance. Among them sat Xuan-ray, his expression calm but his eyes bright with quiet determination.
At the front of the hall, the Academic Elder, an old man with silver hair tied in a knot and robes lined with runic threads, raised his hand for silence.
His voice carried the weight of centuries.
"Children of the Xuan Clan," he said slowly, "your awakening ceremony has ended. From this day onward, each of you has stepped upon the true path of cultivation the path of the Artifact Master."
A faint hum filled the air as the elder's finger traced a glowing sigil midair. The sigil burst into a thousand lights, forming the image of a sword, a ring, a cauldron, and a staff floating around the classroom like living spirits.
"Artifacts," the elder continued, "are not mere tools. They are the gifts of heaven and earth. When the two great forces of creation meet heaven's will and earth's essence they give birth to artifacts. Some are ancient as the stars, some are born from mortal hands. Yet each carries its own mystery."
The students leaned forward, eyes wide. Even the arrogant ones, who had mocked others during the ceremony, could not hide their curiosity.
"Every one of you now possesses a Rank-1 Artifact," the elder said, his tone firm. "That artifact is your soul's reflection. It will grow as you grow, evolve as you evolve. But remember"
His voice deepened.
"An artifact is not a servant. It is a partner. Only when you truly understand it its form, its will, its hunger will you become a true Artifact Master."
The air trembled slightly. A faint golden aura rose around the elder, and the artifacts hovering behind him flared to life, each radiating a distinct energy fire, wind, lightning, shadow.
The students gasped in awe.
"Those who can synchronize their spirit with their artifact completely," the elder said, "can bend heaven and earth to their will. But such mastery comes at a price. Power demands understanding, and understanding demands sacrifice."
"Listen carefully," the elder began, his deep voice echoing through the silent hall, "for this knowledge shall decide your future path."
He turned, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Every cultivator's journey is divided into three stages within each rank the Starting Stage, the Middle Stage, and the Peak Stage. You all… are at the beginning the Starting Stage of Rank One."
Murmurs spread across the students. Some looked nervous, others proud.
"From this stage onward," the elder continued, "your cultivation speed and strength will depend on your innate talent and your artifact's resonance with your inner stone."
He raised his palm, and a glowing crystal sphere appeared, spinning slowly in midair. Inside the sphere, shimmering wisps of qi danced like living flames.
"Your inner stone," he said, "is the vessel of your spirit. It stores the energy you absorb from heaven and earth. But its capacity depends entirely on your talent grade."
He pointed toward the students with a steady hand.
"Those with third-class talent can store only thirty to forty percent of the qi they absorb. Their journey will be long and bitter yet not impossible."
A few students lowered their heads. Some clenched their fists in silent frustration.
"Those with second-class talent," the elder's tone rose slightly, "can store sixty to seventy percent of qi. They are rare and respected, destined to reach higher ranks if they persevere."
The hall seemed to brighten. Several proud faces lifted at once the second-class talents smiling faintly at their own luck.
Then the elder's expression grew solemn, almost reverent.
"And those blessed with first-class talent…"
He paused, letting his words echo. The wind outside rustled through the hall like a whisper of gods.
"…they are the chosen ones of heaven. Their inner stones can store eighty to ninety percent of qi. They possess the potential to pierce through mortal limits… to reach Rank Five, and even beyond."
Gasps echoed around the room. The students' hearts thumped wildly.
"But remember," the elder said softly, "talent alone is not enough. The heavens are cruel. Even a genius can fall if his heart is weak, and even a third-class talent can rise if his will burns brighter than the stars."
For a long moment, silence ruled the hall.
Then the elder closed his eyes, his voice lowering into a calm whisper
"Cultivation is not about strength alone. It is the art of carrying your hope, your will, and your pain into eternity."
The students bowed respectfully.
Suddenly, one curious student raised his hand and asked,
"Elder, what about Rank-6 and above? What kind of cultivators are they?"
The elder paused for a long moment, his gaze turning distant as if he were staring into an endless sky that even he could not reach.
A sigh escaped his lips.
"Rank-6…" he whispered, his tone heavy with both respect and regret.
"To tell you the truth, even I do not know. Rank-6 and beyond… they are legends, beings who have stepped beyond the mortal realm. No one in our Xuan Clan has ever reached that level."
The class fell silent.
Only the soft rustling of robes could be heard.
"But," the elder continued, "our clan once had great Rank-4 and Rank-5 cultivators. They were the pillars that kept our clan standing. Their names are carved in our ancestral stone."
The students' eyes widened in awe.
Then, slowly, many of them turned their heads all gazes landing on one person.
Xuan-Ray.
He sat calmly near the center of the hall, his posture straight, his expression composed elegant, even regal. A faint, quiet light seemed to rest upon him.
Whispers spread among the students.
"So that's why the clan leader himself is giving Xuan-Ray personal training…" one of them muttered.
"Of course," another said softly, "he's the future of the Xuan Clan."
But then their attention drifted to the back of the hall where a young man was resting his head on the table, eyes closed.
Xuan-Ming.
"He's been doing that for the past seven days," a boy said with a mocking tone.
"I even heard he's been drinking a lot lately. Who would have thought the so-called genius of our clan turns out to be a third-class talent?"
Laughter spread like ripples through the hall.
"The younger brother rises to the heavens… while the elder brother falls into the dirt," another added cruelly.
Their words hung in the air, sharp as knives.
The elder at the front heard every whisper. His eyes flickered briefly toward Xuan-Ming, still asleep at the back.
For a moment, his expression softened then hardened again.
"He's been sleeping in class for an entire week," the elder thought coldly.
"He's lost all will to improve. Depression or not such a child is unworthy of the clan's resources."
He shook his head.
"Why waste precious qi stones and pills on a third-class talent? Even a single blow from fate, and he collapses. Such weakness has no place in our clan."
He turned away, pretending not to notice Xuan-Ming's still figure.