The first day passed quietly.
Su Yao returned to the river before dawn, as she always did. The stone was cold beneath her feet, the water colder still. She washed clothes, scrubbed stains, carried baskets—everything she had done before.
But she did it standing.
Her back ached by midday. By afternoon, her arms trembled from fatigue. More than once, she felt the familiar urge to lower herself, to rest her knees against stone and disappear into the habit that had defined her place in the village.
Each time, she stopped herself.
Not with anger.
With awareness.
Something inside her resisted—not forcefully, not violently—but with a quiet refusal to compress further.
Far from the river, Shen Yuan observed without being seen.
The seal remained tight.
But it no longer tightened.
That alone was progress.
On the second day, pressure arrived.
The villagers noticed the change.
"You're still standing?" an older woman muttered, half-amused, half-irritated."Careful," another warned. "People don't like it when you forget your place."
A cultivator passed by in the afternoon and paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You look different," he said. "Did someone put ideas in your head?"
Su Yao met his gaze.
Only briefly.
"No," she replied.
That single word carried weight.
The seal wavered.
For the first time, it did not immediately reassert itself.
Shen Yuan felt it from afar, faint but unmistakable.
Lin Qiu did not—but he sensed his master's attention sharpen, like a thread drawn taut.
The third day was the hardest.
It rained.
The river swelled, cold water splashing against the stone. Work doubled. Complaints sharpened. No one helped her carry the heavier baskets.
By evening, her legs shook uncontrollably.
Kneeling would have been easier.
Safer.
Accepted.
She stood anyway.
When night finally fell, Su Yao sat on the edge of the riverbank—not kneeling, not collapsing—just sitting, breathing through the ache.
And something inside her gave way.
Not shattered.
Unlocked.
The seal loosened—not fully, not dramatically—but enough for her spiritual energy to flow outward instead of folding in on itself. The sensation startled her, breath catching as warmth spread through her meridians.
"…What is this?" she whispered.
For the first time in years, cultivation did not hurt.
Shen Yuan appeared the next morning.
No sound announced him. He simply stood at the edge of the river, as if he had always been there.
Su Yao looked up—and froze.
"You came back," she said softly.
"Yes," Shen Yuan replied. "Because you didn't kneel."
Lin Qiu stood a step behind him, watching her carefully—not with judgment, but recognition.
Shen Yuan's gaze settled on Su Yao, measured and calm.
"The seal responded to your choice," he said. "Not enough to break. Enough to listen."
She swallowed. "So… I wasn't imagining it."
"No," Shen Yuan said. "You were suffocating."
The word landed gently.
Truth often did, when spoken without accusation.
Shen Yuan knelt once more—not in submission, but alignment—bringing himself to her level.
"If you follow me," he said, "your cultivation will be dismantled."
Her heart skipped.
"You will grow weaker before you grow stronger," he continued. "People here will laugh more than before."
She clenched her fists.
"And you will not be protected from that," Shen Yuan added.
Silence stretched.
Then Su Yao bowed—not deeply, not desperately.
"I don't want protection," she said. "I want… space."
That answer settled it.
Shen Yuan stood.
"Then stand," he said. "And come with us."
Su Yao rose.
This time, when she did, the seal did not resist.
Somewhere beyond sight,the Heavenly Sect Creation System acknowledged the shift.
"Second Disciple Candidate — Condition Met."(Founder-only confirmation)
No announcement followed.
No reward.
Only readiness.
Shen Yuan turned away, already walking.
"Pack what you need," he said. "We leave before noon."
Su Yao nodded, pulse racing—not with fear, but with something unfamiliar.
Possibility.
As they left the valley behind, Lin Qiu glanced at her once.
"…It hurts," he said quietly.
She managed a small smile. "Yes."
He nodded. "That's how you know it's working."
Ahead of them, the road stretched onward—still long, still uncertain.
But now, it carried three sets of footsteps.