Darkness had fallen over the citadel.
Eleven children remained in Bai Zixian's courtyard, illuminated by soft ambient glow from the crystalline structures around them. Artificial stars scattered across the pocket realm's sky cast faint silver light, painting shadows that stretched long and thin.
Ten of them had evolved.
All Resonance stage now. All carrying that subtle weight of presence that marked divine existences from mortals. All radiating power they probably didn't realize they were radiating.
Chen Yè was the only one who hadn't.
His hands were folded tight in his lap. His knuckles had gone white from pressure. Beneath his clenched fingers, his palms burned where his nails had broken skin. Blood seeped between his fingers—warm, wet, dripping slowly onto his robes in dark spreading stains.
His face glistened with sweat.
It ran down his temples, collected along his jaw, dripped from his chin onto his chest. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His breathing came shallow and quick, each exhale a controlled effort not to gasp, not to pant, not to show how close he was to the edge.
He laughed.
The sound erupted from him without permission—harsh, sudden, completely at odds with the tension in his body. It rang across the courtyard and stopped the quiet conversations dead.
Ten pairs of eyes turned toward him.
Confusion marked their faces. Kiran's grey eyes narrowed slightly. Noah's innocent features scrunched in bewilderment. Bai's pleasant mask flickered with something unreadable. Even Seren tilted his head with visible uncertainty.
Chen Yè didn't explain.
He couldn't.
Life isn't fair.
The thought burned through his mind as the laughter faded.
He hadn't considered this possibility. Hadn't imagined that evolution would create a pressure he couldn't endure. When the discomfort first started—that small uncomfortable feeling against his skin, that vague prickling sensation—he'd dismissed it as stress. As exhaustion.
Now he knew.
It was them.
Their presence. Their evolved state. The weight of ten Resonance-stage divine existences existing in the same space as him, their auras pressing against his mortal flesh without any of them even trying.
It hadn't been five minutes since they'd all gathered.
He was already on the verge of losing consciousness.
Was this it?
The question clawed at him.
He couldn't even stand being in their presence. Couldn't endure the passive radiation of their power, the unconscious pressure they exerted simply by existing. His head throbbed. His vision swam at the edges. His body screamed at him to run, to escape, to get away from these things that had once been children like him and were now something else entirely.
How was he going to dominate?
How was he supposed to control this group? To position himself at the center, to make himself indispensable, to build the network of influence that was supposed to keep him alive?
He couldn't show weakness.
If he collapsed now—if he fell unconscious in front of them—everything he'd built would crumble. They would see him for what he was: mortal, powerless, unable to evolve. The respect he'd cultivated would vanish. The trust would erode. They would start to wonder why they should follow someone who couldn't even stand in their presence.
Divine existences had pride.
They all did. Even these children, barely past their evolution, already carried that unconscious certainty that came with power. They wouldn't follow weakness. Couldn't follow it. It went against something fundamental in what they'd become.
Chen Yè had to endure.
He forced his breathing to slow. Forced his expression to smooth. Forced his bloody hands to unclench and rest casually on his knees, hiding the wounds in the folds of his robes.
The pain didn't ease.
The dizziness didn't fade.
But he pushed through anyway.
---
"Who wants to spar?"
His voice came out steady. Calm. Completely at odds with the screaming chaos inside his skull.
The others looked at him strangely.
"Am I the only one excited?" he added, letting a small smile touch his lips.
For a moment, no one responded. Then, slowly, heads began to nod. Agreement spread through the group—tentative at first, then more enthusiastic. They were curious about their new abilities. Eager to test themselves.
Within twenty minutes, the courtyard had transformed.
Cushions and tables pushed to the edges. A clear space carved out in the center. The ambient light seemed to brighten slightly, as if responding to their intent.
"No concepts," Chen Yè announced, keeping his voice steady despite the pressure crushing his consciousness. "Pure physical strength. We need to understand our baseline before we start adding abilities."
Nods all around.
"Two people step up. Show us what you can do."
---
Ash Wei moved first.
The bulky boy stepped into the cleared space, his scarred hands loose at his sides. He'd been a servant before the drafting—his body showed the evidence of years of hard labor. Thick arms. Broad shoulders. The kind of frame built for endurance.
Vera Lin followed.
She was smaller. Slighter. The kind of build that suggested speed rather than power. Her sharp eyes swept over Ash with calculating precision.
The contrast was stark.
Most observers expected a one-sided fight.
The fight proved otherwise.
Ash moved first—his fist driving toward Vera's center mass. A straightforward attack, lacking finesse but carrying devastating power. The air displaced by his movement made an audible sound.
Vera wasn't there.
She'd shifted to the side before his arm had fully extended, her feet gliding across the crystalline floor with impossible smoothness. Her counter came instantly—a palm strike toward his exposed ribs, fast enough that Chen Yè's eyes struggled to track it.
Ash blocked.
Somehow. His arm came down just in time, absorbing the impact with a meaty thud. The force pushed him back half a step.
Fast, Chen Yè noted. Both of them. Faster than any mortal should be.
The exchange continued.
Ash pressed forward, using his size and strength to crowd Vera's space. His attacks came in combinations—fist, elbow, knee—each one carrying enough power to shatter bone if it connected cleanly.
None of them connected cleanly.
Vera flowed around his strikes like water around stone. She ducked under a haymaker, sidestepped a knee, deflected a straight punch with a circular motion that redirected its force past her shoulder. Her movements were efficient, economical, wasting nothing.
And her counters were brutal.
She struck when Ash overextended—quick, precise blows to vulnerable points. His floating ribs. The inside of his thigh. The nerve cluster just below his ear. Each hit landed with a crack that made the observers wince.
But Ash kept coming.
The blows that should have slowed him barely registered. He shook off strikes that would have felled a mortal and pressed his attack with undiminished intensity.
Strength and speed beyond mortal limits, Chen Yè analyzed. Both of them.
The fight dragged on.
Neither combatant could secure an advantage. Injuries accumulated—a cut above Ash's eye from Vera's elbow, Vera's lip split from a glancing blow she hadn't quite dodged. Blood ran golden down their faces, but neither slowed.
Then—
Chen Yè stepped forward.
"Enough."
His voice cut through the rhythm of the fight. Both combatants froze mid-motion, then stepped back. They were breathing hard, sweat and blood mingling on their skin.
But they weren't exhausted.
Not truly. Despite the intensity, despite the injuries they'd accumulated, they looked like they could continue for hours.
Endurance beyond mortal limits too, Chen Yè noted.
---
He watched them return to the group.
The main reason he'd called for the spar wasn't entertainment. It was observation. He needed to understand what evolution had done to them—what changes separated divine existences from the mortals they'd once been.
He'd confirmed several things:
Healing. He watched their injuries already beginning to fade. The cut above Ash's eye had stopped bleeding. The edges were drawing together, slowly but visibly. Vera's split lip was closing. Divine existences at Resonance stage healed from minor injuries on their own. Not instantly, but faster than any mortal could.
Speed and strength. Both fighters had moved faster than mortals could track. Both had struck with force that exceeded what their frames should have been capable of.
Endurance. They should have been exhausted. Instead, they looked merely winded. Their reserves of stamina far exceeded anything a mortal could claim.
Lifespan. He couldn't observe this directly, but he knew it from the lectures. Divine existences lived longer than mortals. Centuries, potentially.
There were probably more differences he couldn't detect from the outside.
These were the baseline advantages that every divine existence possessed at Resonance stage, regardless of their concept.
And Chen Yè had none of them.
---
"Testing concepts tomorrow," he announced. "Everyone's tired. We should rest."
Nods around the circle. Murmurs of agreement.
They didn't question it. Didn't realize the true reason behind his words.
If they used their concepts—if they started manifesting abilities, channeling power—the pressure on him would increase. He was already barely holding on against their passive presence. Active concept use might push him over the edge entirely.
He would definitely pass out.
"I'd like to take the day off tomorrow," Seren said quietly.
Chen Yè's heart leaped with relief.
He hadn't wanted to suggest it himself. Hadn't wanted to give any indication that he needed respite. But someone else asking for a break—that was different. That gave him cover.
He sighed, letting the sound carry just enough reluctance to seem genuine.
"Does everyone agree?"
Nods. All of them.
"Same time the day after, then. Get some rest."
The group began to disperse.
Chen Yè waited until the others had started moving before rising. His legs trembled beneath him—the strain finally showing now that he didn't have to maintain appearances. He kept his pace steady, his expression calm, his body language relaxed.
Just another member of the group, heading home after a long day.
Not a mortal drowning in the presence of gods.
He walked toward his domain, blood still seeping from his palms, pressure still crushing his skull, and breathed a long, slow sigh of relief.
He'd survived.
For tonight, at least.
Tomorrow would bring its own challenges.
---
End of Chapter 28