The morning of the Sect Evaluation arrived with a biting frost that clung to the black basalt tiles of the Great Martial Arena.
In the Cloud-Mist Sect, this day was a culling. Hundreds of outer disciples stood in rigid rows, their breaths hitching in the cold air. At the head of the plaza sat the Elders on elevated stone thrones, draped in furs and silk, looking down at the "mortal seeds" with the detached indifference of gods watching ants.
"Next! Li Wei!" the Proctor shouted, his voice amplified by Qi.
Li Wei stepped forward, his chest puffed out. He cast a sneering glance toward the back of the crowd, searching for a specific face. When he spotted Han Feng standing quietly in a corner, he ran a finger across his throat in a universal gesture of execution.
Li Wei approached the Strength-Testing Monolith—a ten-foot pillar of obsidian inscribed with ancient runes.
"Hah!"
With a guttural roar, Li Wei channeled his True Essence. His fist glowed with a faint, muddy brown light—the sign of an earth-attribute cultivation.
BOOM.
The Monolith shuddered. Three runes flared into a bright, steady amber.
"Li Wei! Body Tempering: Stage 3 (Peak)! Strength: 800 jin!" the Proctor announced.
A ripple of admiration went through the crowd. For an outer disciple, 800 jin (approx. 400kg) of force was formidable. Li Wei smirked, bowing deeply to his father, Elder Li, who sat among the judges with a satisfied nod.
"Next..." the Proctor's voice turned cold, "The 'Eternal Trash'... Han Feng."
The Walking Joke
Laughter erupted. It wasn't just a few people; it was a wave of mockery that echoed off the mountain peaks.
"Is he still here? I heard he was found hanging off a cliff like a bat last week."
"Maybe he's going to beg the Monolith for mercy!"
"Just expel him already. He's wasting the sect's air."
Han Feng walked through the crowd. He didn't run. He didn't bow his head. His gait was steady, his shoulders squared. To the untrained eye, he looked the same—thin and pale. But to anyone truly observant, his movements were too fluid, like a leopard stalking through tall grass.
He stopped before the obsidian pillar.
"Go on, Junior Brother," Li Wei whispered as he walked past Han Feng. "Hit it hard. Maybe you'll manage to break a fingernail before you're kicked out of the mountains."
Han Feng ignored him. He looked at the Monolith. In his mind, he could see the "impurities" within the stone—tiny fractures and dense pockets of unrefined ore. Thanks to the Purification Mirror hidden against his chest, his perception had reached a terrifying level.
He didn't take a stance. He didn't shout.
He simply drew back his right fist.
Whoosh.
For a split second, the air around Han Feng's fist didn't just move—it vanished. It was a vacuum created by sheer speed.
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound was not the dull thud of Li Wei's strike. It was the sound of a thunderclap inside a closed room.
The Monolith didn't just light up. The first rune flashed. The second. The third. Then, with a violent shriek of metal on stone, the fourth and fifth runes ignited with a blinding, pure white light.
The Arena went deathly silent.
The Silent Arena
The Proctor stood frozen, his scroll slipping from his numb fingers.
"Five... five runes?" someone whispered. "That's... Body Tempering: Stage 5? And 1,500 jin of force?"
"Impossible!" Elder Li bolted upright from his throne, his face twisted in disbelief. "The boy was at Stage 0 three days ago! He must be using a forbidden pharmaceutical! Proctor! Search him for illegal stimulants!"
Han Feng turned slowly, his eyes meeting Elder Li's. There was no fear in those eyes—only a cold, piercing indifference that made the Elder flinch.
"Elder Li," Han Feng's voice carried across the silent plaza, "is it the sect's law that talent is 'illegal' if it doesn't belong to your son?"
"You... you brat!" Elder Li's Qi flared, his pressure descending like a mountain onto Han Feng.
But Han Feng didn't buckle. He stood straight, the Mirror against his skin pulsing with a rhythmic warmth, neutralizing the Elder's overbearing pressure.
"The rules of the evaluation are simple," Han Feng continued, stepping away from the glowing Monolith. "Strength speaks. I have proven mine. Does anyone else wish to... 'evaluate' me?"
Li Wei, driven by a cocktail of humiliation and rage, lost his mind. "You cheated! You're still a dog!"
Li Wei lunged forward, his fingers hooked into claws, aiming for Han Feng's throat. He used the Cloud-Mist Claw, a mid-tier martial technique.
Han Feng didn't even use a technique. He simply stepped to the left—a movement so precise it looked like he had teleported.
As Li Wei sailed past, Han Feng's elbow connected with Li Wei's ribs.
CRACK.
The sound of snapping bone was sickeningly clear in the silence. Li Wei was sent skidding across the basalt tiles like a skipped stone, coughing up blood and fragments of his own pride.
"Clean your mouth before you speak to me, Li Wei," Han Feng said, not even looking back at the fallen boy. "It's full of filth."
The Proctor finally found his voice, though it trembled. "Han Feng... passes. Ranked... Number One in the Outer Sect."
Han Feng walked back into the crowd, but the path opened before him like the Red Sea. Nobody laughed. Nobody mocked.
He had the strength. He had the Mirror. And most importantly, he now had the attention of the entire sect—a dangerous thing for a man with a secret.