The sparring ground was already occupied when Lu Yan arrived.
Not crowded. Deliberately so.
Only a few inner disciples stood at the perimeter, arranged too evenly, their attention too focused to be casual. No idle chatter. No wagers. Even the wind felt moderated, as if it had been instructed to behave.
Zhao Qingyue walked beside him, her stride steady, but the line of her shoulders was tight. She hadn't spoken since they left the courtyard. Hadn't looked at him either.
At the center of the stone platform stood Elder Zhao.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair bound with a jade clasp old enough to have stories no one remembered anymore. His hands were folded behind his back, posture relaxed in the way only someone terrifying could manage.
He turned as they approached.
"Lu Yan," he said. Not loud. Not warm. Just… exact.
"Elder Zhao," Lu Yan replied, bowing the correct amount. Not more.
Zhao Qingyue bowed deeper. "Uncle."
Elder Zhao's eyes flicked to her. Lingered. Not unkindly. Then back to Lu Yan.
"You're popular," he said.
Lu Yan smiled faintly. "I try not to be."
A ripple moved through the onlookers. Subtle. A few breaths drawn too quickly.
Elder Zhao's mouth twitched. "Step onto the platform."
Lu Yan did.
The stone was warm underfoot, veins of pale mineral running through it like old scars. Formation lines, half-worn by time, pulsed faintly when his weight settled.
They shouldn't react to him.
They did.
A whisper of pressure brushed his skin. Not qi. Something else. Alignment. Resistance.
Foundation Establishment — Late Stage. External interference detected.
Lu Yan ignored the Manual. Kept his gaze steady.
Elder Zhao circled him once. Slowly. The way a craftsman inspects a blade.
"Your cultivation is… uneven," he said.
Lu Yan didn't answer.
"Not unstable," Elder Zhao continued. "But… inconvenient."
Zhao Qingyue's fingers curled.
"Inconvenient how?" Lu Yan asked.
Elder Zhao stopped in front of him. "It doesn't fit."
Silence stretched.
Lu Yan felt it then. Not killing intent. Not suppression.
Disapproval.
From the stone. The air. The space itself.
He breathed through it.
"Begin," Elder Zhao said.
No signal. No countdown.
Just presence.
Elder Zhao moved.
Not fast.
Precise.
A palm strike, aimed not at Lu Yan's body, but the space beside his shoulder—where reaction would matter more than defense.
Lu Yan shifted, foot sliding half a step, rotation smooth. The palm passed close enough that heat brushed his skin.
The ground hummed.
Again—another strike. Then a sweep. Then a pause that wasn't a pause.
Lu Yan responded instinctively, body remembering patterns he hadn't learned in this life. His movements were economical, almost lazy. He let Elder Zhao feel close. Let the distance compress.
The onlookers leaned forward without realizing it.
Zhao Qingyue's breath was shallow.
Elder Zhao's brows furrowed.
"You don't avoid," he said mid-exchange. "You… accept."
Lu Yan smiled. "I adjust."
A sudden pressure slammed down.
Not from Elder Zhao.
From above.
The formation lines flared—too bright, too sudden. A ripple of force distorted the air, bending trajectories, making the ground feel subtly off-balance.
A coincidence.
Lu Yan felt the Manual stir, irritated.
Deviation amplifies environmental correction.
"Interesting," Elder Zhao murmured.
The pressure made movement harder. Not impossible. Just… costly.
Lu Yan shifted again, closer this time. Too close.
Their sleeves brushed.
Elder Zhao's eyes sharpened.
"You cultivate through connection," he said softly. "Not accumulation."
Lu Yan didn't deny it.
Elder Zhao struck again—this time straight at his chest.
Lu Yan didn't block.
He stepped in.
The strike landed—barely—glancing off his shoulder instead of his heart. The impact rattled his bones, sent a tremor through his core.
Pain bloomed.
And with it—
A memory.
Lin Yue's fingers brushing his sleeve. Zhao Qingyue's gaze, sharp with unspoken claim. The space between them. The refusal to choose.
The pressure twisted.
The formation lines flickered, then surged.
Emotional resonance detected. Yield increased.
Qi flooded his limbs, warm and sharp, responding not to intent but to attachment. His footing stabilized. The distortion lessened.
Elder Zhao froze.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand.
The platform fell silent.
The onlookers stared.
Zhao Qingyue's eyes widened.
"That shouldn't have worked," Elder Zhao said quietly.
Lu Yan exhaled. "It rarely does."
The elder studied him for a long moment. Then he stepped back.
"That will be all," he said.
A dismissal. Abrupt.
The pressure lifted. The formation lines dimmed, almost sulking.
Zhao Qingyue followed Lu Yan off the platform, her gaze burning into his profile.
They didn't speak until they reached the shadowed corridor leading away from the sparring ground.
"That formation," she said tightly. "It wasn't calibrated for you."
"No."
"They were testing something else."
"Yes."
She stopped walking. He stopped too.
"You didn't tell me it was like this," she said.
Lu Yan turned to face her. "I didn't know it would be."
Her jaw clenched. "You always say that."
"And it's always true."
She searched his face, looking for something—certainty, perhaps. Found none.
"Lin Yue," she said suddenly. "She was watching."
Lu Yan felt it then. The faint shift in the air. The awareness.
He turned.
Lin Yue stood at the corridor's far end, half in shadow, half in light. She hadn't approached. Hadn't interrupted.
Had witnessed everything.
Their eyes met.
She didn't smile.
She didn't frown.
She simply… understood.
And that understanding carried weight.
Zhao Qingyue followed his gaze. Her shoulders stiffened.
Lin Yue stepped forward at last. Slowly. Measured.
"That formation reacted to you," she said. "Not to the strike."
"Yes," Lu Yan replied.
"It corrected," she continued. "As if you were wrong."
Lu Yan's smile was thin. "I'm used to that."
She stopped a few steps away. Close enough that her presence pressed against him. Close enough that Zhao Qingyue felt it too.
"That correction will escalate," Lin Yue said. "The sect won't ignore it."
"I know."
"And if it escalates…" Her voice softened. "It won't hit you first."
Silence.
Zhao Qingyue's hand moved—just slightly—toward Lu Yan's sleeve. Didn't touch.
"You're a liability," she said, not unkindly. "To anyone close."
Lu Yan didn't look away. "I warned you."
"No," Zhao Qingyue said. "You didn't."
Lin Yue's gaze flicked between them. Calculating. Then she took a step back, creating space where there had been pressure.
"Be careful," she said. To him. To both of them.
Then she turned and walked away.
Zhao Qingyue watched her go. Something unsettled crossed her expression.
When she looked back at Lu Yan, the jealousy wasn't loud.
It was precise.
"They'll make us choose," she said.
Lu Yan met her gaze, the weight in his core tightening again, not from qi—but from inevitability.
"Let them try."
Above them, unseen, the air shifted—just slightly—as if something had taken note.
And decided to watch more closely.