Chapter Four – The Rumor's Weight
The following days under the Scarlet Ember Moon passed in restless silence. Jesse Jordan nursed his bruised body in the shadows of the Abandoned Courtyard, repeating the imprints of the Ninefold Void Sutra. Each breath carried a faint shimmer of qi, each exhale steadying him more than the last.
Yet the mark Elder Morris burned into his chest pulsed faintly every night, a reminder of the impossible weight he now carried. The man's words echoed: "When the Silent Frost Moon arrives, I will test you again. Fail, and you will die."
Every whisper in the sect carried sharper edges now.
"Did you hear? Someone saw light in the abandoned ground again."
"I swear, it's haunted. Maybe the spirits are angry."
"No, no. They say a disciple touched qi there…"
"Impossible. That place belongs to failures."
The laughter that followed cut Jesse more deeply than kicks ever had. But this time, he kept his head low, his expression cold. None of them knew the storm raging inside him.
In the mess hall, Jesse sat quietly in a corner, pushing plain rice around his bowl. The chatter of disciples filled the air. At a nearby table, Ken Miles leaned back arrogantly, his entourage laughing at his every word.
Ken's sharp eyes slid toward Jesse, narrowing. "Strange, isn't it? The useless orphan has been quieter than usual. Hiding something, maybe?"
His cousin, Den Miles, smirked. "If he dares pretend at cultivation, he'll be crushed soon enough."
The other disciples snickered, their voices deliberately loud. Jesse kept his gaze down, his chopsticks steady. But inside, his heart burned. Sooner or later, they'll choke on their words.
That night, Jesse returned once more to the abandoned courtyard. He sat cross-legged, cracked sword across his lap, guiding qi with painstaking care. His body still screamed in protest from Elder Morris's forced infusion, but slowly, steadily, he refined it into his own.
Hours passed. Sweat soaked his robes. At last, a faint ripple of qi pulsed from his chest again. The Second Thread stabilized, and the faint warmth spread throughout his limbs. His strikes with the broken sword grew slightly sharper, the hum a touch clearer.
Still, it wasn't enough. Elder Morris's mark throbbed, reminding him time was against him.
Jesse exhaled harshly. I must climb faster. If I falter, death awaits.
The next morning, the sect grounds buzzed with unusual activity. Disciples gathered in clusters, pointing toward the notice board near the training fields. Jesse approached cautiously, weaving between sneering faces until the words became clear.
ANNOUNCEMENT:
All outer disciples are required to attend the Quarterly Combat Trials.
Venue: Main Arena.
Time: Under the first light of the Verdant Bloom Moon.
Jesse's stomach dropped. The trials. A stage where outer disciples clashed before elders, each fight judged, each weakness exploited. He had been humiliated there before, beaten down to the cheers of the crowd.
This time would be no different—unless…
A voice cut into his thoughts, soft yet firm.
"Are you joining the trials too?"
Jesse turned.
Standing beside him was a young woman he hadn't seen before. Her robes were neat but plain, her dark hair tied back simply, her eyes bright yet steady. She was not laughing like the others, nor sneering. She looked directly at him, as though trying to measure his heart.
"I…" Jesse hesitated. His usual response would have been silence, avoidance. But something in her calm gaze steadied him. "…Yes."
She smiled faintly. "Then I wish you strength."
And with that, she walked away, blending into the crowd.
Jesse stood frozen for a long moment. Few had ever spoken to him without mockery. Her words lingered, a spark against the cold walls of his heart.
He didn't know her name then. But he would never forget that moment.
By evening, Ken Miles and his circle were already whispering with glee.
"So the trash will enter the trials again?" Den laughed cruelly. "He won't last a single round."
Ken smirked. "All the better. I'll make sure his humiliation is unforgettable this time. Before everyone. Before the elders."
Their laughter echoed across the sect like a drumbeat of doom.
Back in the courtyard, Jesse tightened the wrappings around the cracked sword's hilt. His hands shook, but not from fear. From resolve.
"Quarterly Combat Trials…" he murmured, the words like a vow.
The jade slip's legacy burned within him, guiding his breath, his will. He remembered the girl's brief smile, her quiet blessing. For the first time, he had a reason beyond survival to stand tall.
But even as his determination solidified, the shadows thickened. Elder Morris's mark pulsed faintly, and somewhere in the sect halls, other elders debated the strange aura they had felt in recent nights.
The storm tightened its grip around Jesse Jordan.
And when the first light of the Verdant Bloom Moon shone upon the sect arena, his fate would change forever.