The Trial Grounds of the Inner Sect were not a place of ceremony—they were a crucible.
Rows of watching disciples sat on tiered stone benches, their robes fluttering under the morning wind. In the center, the arena shimmered faintly with a restraining formation, meant to prevent "accidents" from spilling over into the crowd.
Yao Yi stood alone in the center.
A bell rang. The examiner from the previous night—still cold-eyed, still expressionless—stood on the edge of the platform.
"Begin."
The first challenger stepped forward.
"Shen Xu, mid-stage Spirit Spring Realm," he said with forced humility. "No offense, brother Yao."
Yao Yi nodded lightly. "Come."
Shen Xu moved first, fast. A spear of compressed spiritual force shot forward, followed by his real strike—lightning-fast palm aimed at Yao Yi's neck.
Too slow.
Yao Yi's body twisted; he moved like silk through rain. With a short exhale, he ducked, sidestepped, and tapped two fingers on Shen Xu's chest.
The challenger flew backward like a sack of grain, skidding across the arena floor.
A murmur passed through the crowd.
"Wasn't he supposed to just awaken?"
"He beat a Spirit Spring mid-stage with one move?!"
The examiner didn't react. She gestured. Another stepped in. Then another.
Three more challengers fell in the next fifteen minutes. Each stronger than the last. None forced Yao Yi to take more than two steps.
Then came silence.
From the crowd, someone muttered: "This isn't Spirit Spring Realm strength. He's fighting like… a Soul Merging cultivator."
The examiner raised a hand.
"Last phase," she said. "Group formation. Simulated survival trial. Four opponents. You may withdraw at any time."
Yao Yi remained still. "Proceed."
The arena changed. Stones shifted, creating uneven terrain and dead corners. Mist rose from hidden vents. A low gong sounded.
From opposite ends stepped four masked disciples in matching black combat robes.
Yao Yi inhaled deeply. Their pressure… it was different.
"Early Soul Merging stage… and that one on the left—mid-stage."
One launched a chain of red lightning. Another conjured flying daggers of wind. The other two flanked Yao Yi from both sides.
Yao Yi didn't flinch.
The mirror appeared. Energy roared. His blood surged, eyes gleaming with unnatural clarity.
The ground trembled.
Suddenly, his left palm burned. A drop of blood escaped a reopened scar—and hit the floor.
Click.
The arena halted. Beneath the arena stones, a concealed mechanism activated. A faintly glowing symbol bloomed—ten interlocking suns rotating around a hidden sigil.
"Only ten-sun bloodline may trigger this," the examiner muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
The fight resumed.
Yao Yi burst forward, steps guided by unknown instinct. His strikes blurred. One opponent hit the stone pillar behind him with a crunch of bone.
Another tried to escape—but the mirror reacted.
A whisper filled Yao Yi's mind:
"A sacrifice… or transcendence… Choose."
He roared. Light exploded from him like wildfire.
The remaining opponents fell. The mist cleared.
Silence reigned.
"Trial concluded," the examiner said, visibly shaken. "He passed all phases."
Yao Yi staggered slightly as the mirror vanished. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He smiled anyway.
Far away, beneath the Sect's main hall, a sealed cavern stirred. A crow landed on a stone pedestal. Its beak dripped golden liquid that hissed on contact with stone.
An old voice echoed: "He must not reach the fourth tier… or prophecy becomes fate."