Han Long allowed himself a faint smile and lifted the wine flask that seemed to accompany him everywhere. "Good." His laughter rolled out one more time, echoing like distant thunder, as he faded back into the light and vanished entirely.
Two days later, morning sunlight spilt across the sect's arena, and disciples had already begun gathering in dense clusters around the platform long before the sun had fully cleared the mountains. Whispers spread rapidly through the crowd.
"Have you heard? Mo Xuan is taking his Inner Court test today."
"I heard even Elder Han Long and the Sect Master are watching."
The excitement in the stands climbed steadily until Mo Xuan finally stepped into view, and the entire arena fell quiet almost instantly. His hair, now permanently split between black and white, shimmered under the morning light with every step he took, his pace calm and entirely unhurried despite the hundreds of eyes tracking his every movement. The boy who had once slipped quietly into the sect years ago, barely noticed by anyone, was now someone impossible to ignore.
Several girls in the stands leaned toward each other, whispering behind raised hands. Others watched him with poorly concealed jealousy written across their faces.
"Show-off," someone muttered.
"Let's see if he can even last an incense stick," another added, loud enough to carry.
Mo Xuan paid none of it any mind. He walked to the centre of the arena, closed his eyes, and waited.
Moments later, the elders arrived to take their seats around the platform, followed by the Sect Master himself, with Han Long beside him. The gathered crowd bowed in unison the instant they appeared.
An elder raised his hand, and a wave of pressure swept outward across the arena, silencing what little chatter remained. "The rules are simple," he announced, his voice carrying easily to every corner of the stands. "Last one incense stick's time against a senior, and you pass. Admit defeat, and you fail."
The examiner stepped forward, drawing breath to announce the formal start of the match.
Then—
Whoosh!
"Wait."
A figure dropped onto the platform without warning, landing gracefully. His aura was calm on the surface, but sharp enough beneath that calm.
He cupped his hands respectfully toward the elders. "I am Qin Hao. Inner Court disciple." His gaze shifted, settling squarely on Mo Xuan, and a faint smile spread slowly across his face. "One regret I've carried since the examination is never getting the chance to cross blades with Junior Brother Mo Xuan." He turned back toward the elders. "Allow me to serve as his examiner today."
Excited murmurs erupted across the arena almost instantly, the crowd splitting into competing factions within seconds. Half the stands began shouting Qin Hao's name, while the other half rallied behind Mo Xuan, the noise building into something close to chaos.
Through all of it, Mo Xuan remained perfectly still, his eyes still closed.
Qin Hao studied him for a moment. Amusement flickered across his face before sharpening into something more pointed. "Junior Brother seems awfully calm." He let the observation hang in the air before continuing. "Or perhaps you simply don't see me as an opponent worth your attention." His grip tightened visibly around his spear.
Mo Xuan finally opened his eyes.
His gaze held neither arrogance nor contempt—only calm, unhurried appraisal as he looked over at Qin Hao. "The fight won't be worth it for now," he said evenly. "Wait until you catch up. Then we can."
Qin Hao went momentarily rigid with disbelief, and murmurs rippled through the crowd at the sheer audacity of the response. Without another word, he unleashed his full cultivation for everyone present to see — level 38, late-stage Soul Master, a display meant to settle the matter outright.
Mo Xuan shook his head. "Still not enough."
Understanding dawned on Qin Hao, recalling the commotion some days ago. Words seemed to catch in Qin Hao's throat for a moment, his pride visibly stung, but he refused to back down that easily. "Do you dare fight me at the same level, then?" When Mo Xuan didn't answer right away, he pressed further, his voice edged with challenge. "Or are you scared?"
Mo Xuan turned toward the presiding elder instead of responding directly. "Will this also count as my test?"
The elder hesitated, clearly caught off guard by the request.
Heads turned across the arena as disciples exchanged incredulous looks, everyone waiting to see how this would be resolved.
Up in the stands, the Sect Master glanced toward Han Long, silently inviting his opinion. The old man merely took another sip from his flask, pointedly pretending not to have heard the question at all.
The Sect Master let out a quiet sigh, murmuring something toward the examiner that only the man could hear. After a moment's consideration, the examiner nodded and turned back to address both disciples. "Yes," he announced, "this will count as Mo Xuan's test. His cultivation will be temporarily sealed down to match Qin Hao's level for the duration of the match. But the terms of the test have changed — instead of simply enduring for one incense stick's time, Mo Xuan will need to defeat Qin Hao outright to be considered passing."
Qin Hao looked at him, satisfaction plain in his eyes. This was exactly what he'd wanted.
The elder raised his hand a final time, and a subtle pressure settled briefly over Mo Xuan as his cultivation was locked into place, matched precisely to Qin Hao's level. A moment later, the elder's voice rang out. "Begin."
The spear in Qin Hao's hand rose slowly as he rotated the long weapon with practised ease. Its tip traced a faint, unhurried arc through the air before settling to point directly at Mo Xuan. Behind him, a silver phantom flickered into existence for the briefest instant before dissolving back into nothing, and his eyes shone with unmistakable, hungry battle intent.
Mo Xuan met his gaze without flinching, his own composure unshaken even as a current of battle intent surged from both of them simultaneously, colliding somewhere in the space between their bodies and pressing outward across the arena.
Then the silver phantom solidified.
The Heavenly Wolf Soul materialised fully behind Qin Hao — an enormous silver wolf, its head lowering as its glowing eyes locked onto Mo Xuan with the fixed, predatory focus of something that had already decided its prey couldn't escape. The disciples nearest the platform instinctively retreated several steps, the pressure radiating from the pairing simply too much to stand comfortably close to.
"So this is Senior Brother Qin's Heavenly Wolf Soul," someone murmured from the stands.
"The pressure from both of them is suffocating," another added, barely above a whisper.
The elders watched in complete silence, their expressions carefully neutral. Han Long merely took another sip of wine, giving away nothing.
Without warning—
Boom!
The arena floor cracked beneath Qin Hao's feet as he vanished from his starting position entirely. Gasps rippled outward in every direction.
"So fast!" someone shouted, the words barely out before the fight had already moved past that moment.
In the next instant, the spear appeared directly before Mo Xuan's chest — a single thrust, simple and direct in its design, yet carrying speed that made the simplicity itself terrifying. Mo Xuan finally moved, his body shifting half a step to the side just as the spearhead cut through the space where he'd stood, the tip grazing close enough to stir the fabric of his robe.
Qin Hao's eyes narrowed at the near-miss, and without hesitation he redirected the spear's trajectory mid-motion, the thrust smoothly transforming into a sweeping horizontal strike. Mo Xuan leaned backwards in response, and the spear passed inches from his face, close enough that his black-and-white hair stirred violently from the force of displaced air rushing past.
The crowd held its collective breath, no one daring to make a sound.
Qin Hao didn't slow down. His spear became a blur of motion — thrust, sweep, hook, reverse thrust, each strike flowing directly into the next without the smallest gap for Mo Xuan to exploit. The Heavenly Wolf Soul mirrored every movement, lunging and snapping alongside each attack as though two separate predators were converging on the same target at once.
Mo Xuan kept retreating through it all — one step, then another, never rushed, never flustered, his movements unsettling. He seemed to already know, with unnerving precision, exactly where each strike would land before Qin Hao had even fully committed, adjusting his position by the barest possible margin each time rather than wasting motion on anything more dramatic.
Murmurs began spreading through the arena.
Qin Hao's confident smile began to fade. "This..." he muttered, the word trailing off as frustration crept into his voice.
No matter how he attacked, the distance between them never seemed to change.
Then, abruptly, he stopped his assault entirely.
Qin Hao lowered his spear.
The arena fell silent. He looked across the space separating them at Mo Xuan, studying him.
For one heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then a loud, carefree laugh rolled out of him, echoing across the stands. "Good!" His Spiritual Energy surged upward again, doubling in intensity, and behind him the silver wolf raised its head and let loose a howl that shook the very foundations of the arena.
Awooooo!
The pressure in the air doubled instantly. This time, Qin Hao meant to go all out. His spear began gathering silver Spiritual Energy along its length, the wolf phantom folding itself directly into the weapon until the spearhead emitted a terrifying, near-blinding glow.
"Wolf King's Descent," Qin Hao announced, his voice ringing clearly across the arena — and then he vanished.