With the New Year Festival now only weeks away, the tension in the air was almost tangible. Every corner of the clan buzzed with preparations and anxious anticipation. For Yinmo, the approaching festival was not just a celebration—it was a critical evaluation. At twelve years old and still within the confines of the Second Qi stage, he knew that the clan leader's harsh decree would bar him from academy admission unless he reached the Third Qi stage. Every covert experiment, every furtive venture into the deep forest had led to this moment of reckoning.
Late one evening, deep in the safety of his secluded clearing, Yinmo resumed his nightly experiments. The effects of the Qi gathering pill—a potent boost that had sped up his internal energy flow over recent sessions—were now more evident. Once hesitant, his incantations had grown more confident, and the dark energy he summoned began to reveal a fragile structure. The raw power, previously chaotic, now pulsed rhythmically when he chanted:
"Tenebris Aperio!"
At first, only a cool ripple of shadow skimmed the air around him. But tonight, as if responding to his more precise modulations, the darkness cascaded in more persistent waves. Each iteration, carefully adjusted to mimic the observed patterns from wild magical confrontations, carved a clearer image of pure dark energy into his realm of control.
Yinmo's eyes scanned his worn notebook, where he had recorded every nuance of his experiment—the duration of the pulses, the changes in ambient temperature, and even the erratic shimmer that occasionally betrayed a hint of stability. With each passing hour, his experimental incantations edged closer to consistency. Though he was still not merging his wood magic with darkness, his sole focus on grasping the essence of dark magic was beginning to yield promising results.
Every experiment was a calculated risk. The forest, alive with its nightly symphony, almost seemed to encourage him as soft winds carried his words away and the blackened void in front of him pulsed in reply. In those precious moments, Yinmo felt a new kind of power—the ability to beckon and shape raw darkness, albeit tentatively. His advances not only had the potential to supplement his cultivation but—to fuel a spell so potent that it might help him overcome the clan leader's barring decree.
As the festival's preparatory fervor grew across the clan, whispers of the upcoming high-stakes evaluations stirred in every corridor. The New Year Festival was the ultimate stage—where talent, tradition, and the ambition of every young cultivator were measured. Rumors abounded about the duels to be held, the public demonstrations of prowess, and the subtle politics that determined one's future in the academy.
Yinmo's every heart-beat quickened in tandem with these developments. The projected evaluation wasn't merely a measure of his ability; it was a gateway to a future he had long been denied by the oppressive standards set on him. With the experimental breakthroughs in dark magic still developing under his careful control, he knew that every extra moment dedicated to refining his incantation could mean the difference between being overlooked and soaring past the boundaries imposed upon him.
To boost his chances, Yinmo had also been discreetly combining his healing work with his experimental routines. The secret location behind the old warehouse had become more than a way to earn modest gains—it was his haven to gather his thoughts and fortify his resolve. Now, armed with the advanced spell book he had purchased with his remaining resources, he studied its cryptic passages on dark incantation theory late into the night. Every diagram, every annotated footnote inspired him to push further, to learn not just to summon dark energy but to shape it precisely, in a way that was uniquely his.
In the days preceding the festival, the air crackled with expectancy. The clan's elite gathered to prepare their demonstrations and challenges, and among them, Feng Tao's presence loomed large in whispers and boasts. His previous duel against Yinmo was still remembered—a contest where the wind's ferocity had overwhelmed Yinmo's gentle, albeit promising, wood magic. Now, as the evaluation drew near, a simmering rivalry was reignited.
It was during one fateful evening, after a particularly arduous session of refining his dark incantation under the dense canopy of the forest, that Yinmo's thoughts turned resolutely toward his past defeat. The dark energy he had been coaxing into a steady flow now pulsed like a secret pulse within him—a subtle, yet stirring promise that his power could soon evolve into something formidable.
Walking along a narrow forest trail under the cloak of night, Yinmo felt the crisp air mingle with his accelerated Qi—a blend of determination and newfound energy. It wasn't long before he encountered an all-too-familiar figure emerging from the shadows. Feng Tao, his eyes alight with the same ruthless intensity as before, stood waiting near an ancient boulder—a silent challenge manifest in his stance.
Without a word, the tension between them was palpable—years of rivalry, the weight of clan expectations, and the promise of a turning point culminating in this charged moment. Yinmo's heart pounded not just with anticipation but with the steady undercurrent of his experimental dark magic—a force he was only beginning to command.
In that breathless silence, Yinmo spoke, his voice low and resolute:
"Feng Tao… I challenge you."
The words, simple yet defiant, echoed through the still air of the forest. It was a challenge not only against his old adversary, but against the very limitations that had been imposed on him. In that moment, as the forest seemed to hold its breath and the night darkened around them, Yinmo's promise was clear: he would break free of the boundaries that had held him back. Tonight, in the looming evaluation of the New Year Festival, he would show the clan that underestimating him was a mistake they could no longer afford.