The violet arch deposited them onto the widest terrace Mei had ever seen.
A perfect circle of white marble, three hundred paces across, ringed by tiered seating that rose into mist-shrouded peaks. Thousands of spectators already filled the stands—outer disciples in green, inner in blue, elders and peak masters in white and silver. Banners of every sect fluttered like captured storm clouds.
In the exact center of the arena: a single massive cherry tree, branches heavy with unopened buds. Beneath it, a raised stone dais holding the final prize of the first day—the Heart-Blossom Token, a living flower carved from translucent jade, petals faintly pulsing with pink light.
The announcer's voice rolled from floating arrays, amplified to thunder.
"Final trial of the first gate: Arena Melee. One hundred entrants. One survivor standing beneath the tree when the petals fall. No killing blows. Yield or be carried out. Begin!"
A gong struck.
Chaos erupted.
Mei stayed at the edge—back to the violet arch, eyes scanning. No sign of Xīuyīng among the fighters; she had vanished after naming her on the bridge. But Mei felt her anyway—somewhere above, watching.
The first wave came fast.
A cluster of five outer-sect hopefuls charged her corner—swords drawn, qi flaring green and gold. Mei didn't meet them head-on.
She slipped left, used the momentum of the nearest boy's thrust to redirect his blade into his companion's guard. Steel clanged. One stumbled. Mei drove her elbow into the small of his back—hard enough to fold him, not break him. He dropped to his knees, gasping surrender.
The others turned.
She was already moving—low, fast, ugly like Sùyīn had taught her. A palm strike to a wrist. A knee to a thigh. A sweeping foot that dropped the last one onto his backside. No flourish. Just efficiency.
They yielded—one after another—hands raised, faces red with embarrassment and surprise.
Mei didn't stop to celebrate.
She circled toward the tree.
Half the arena was already a mess of flashing steel and bursting qi. Bodies hit the marble hard; medics in green robes darted between fallen fighters, dragging them to the edges. The cherry tree stood untouched—serene, waiting.
Then she saw her.
Not Xīuyīng.
A girl—no older than fifteen—short ash-brown hair, travel-stained cloak, wooden healer's box still slung across her back.
Sùyīn.
She had slipped in somehow—forged token, borrowed robes, sheer stubbornness. She wasn't fighting to win. She was fighting to reach the tree's edge—dodging blades, throwing powder smokescreens, using the chaos like cover.
Mei's heart lurched.
"Sùyīn!"
The shout carried farther than she intended.
Heads turned.
A tall boy with twin sabers pivoted toward Sùyīn—saw an easy target. He lunged.
Mei moved before thought finished.
She crossed thirty paces in four strides—body remembering every waterfall drench, every ugly drill. She intercepted him mid-swing, caught one saber on her practice sword, twisted, drove her free palm into his sternum. Qi backlash rippled outward. He flew backward—landed hard—yielded instantly.
Sùyīn spun, eyes wide behind a hastily donned half-mask.
"You—"
"Stay behind me," Mei said, breathless. "We're getting you out of here."
"I'm not here to hide."
"You're not here to die either."
They moved together—back to back now. Sùyīn threw a handful of paralytic dust at an approaching trio; Mei swept their legs while they coughed. Another pair charged; Mei parried, redirected, let their momentum carry them into each other. Sùyīn slipped a thin needle into one man's pressure point—non-lethal, instant collapse.
The arena thinned.
Fifty left.
Thirty.
Twenty.
The cherry buds began to tremble—pink light leaking between closed petals.
Mei and Sùyīn reached the tree's shadow together.
Only five others remained standing.
One—a scarred wanderer with a glaive—looked at them and raised both hands.
"I yield. You two fight like you've got something worth more than a token."
He stepped back.
The other four hesitated—then followed.
Silence fell—broken only by distant cheers from the stands and the soft creak of branches.
The cherry tree exhaled.
Petals opened—not falling yet, but blooming all at once. Pink light flooded the arena. The Heart-Blossom Token on the dais pulsed brighter.
The announcer's voice rang again—stunned.
"Winners… Lin Mei and… unidentified healer. Dual survival acknowledged. Tokens awarded to both."
Mei stared at Sùyīn.
"You weren't supposed to be here."
Sùyīn pulled off the half-mask. Her eyes were bright—fierce, fond, a little terrified.
"Neither were you."
Mei laughed—short, shaky.
Then she looked up—toward the highest tier.
Lán Xīuyīng stood at the railing now.
White training silks snapping in the wind.
Silver hair loose.
No mask.
Her gaze locked on Mei.
No frost this time.
Something softer.
Something that made Mei's cracked hairpin flare one last time—hot, desperate, almost pleading.
Then the petals began to fall.
Slow.
Gentle.
Thousands of them drifting down like late snow.
One landed on Mei's upturned palm—warm, alive.
She closed her fingers around it.
Looked back at Xīuyīng.
And—very quietly, mostly to herself—whispered:
"I'm still here."
The hairpin answered—faint, fading, content.
One piece left.
Give it wisely.
Petals continued to fall.
The trial was over.
But the real one—the one that mattered—was only beginning.