The next morning, Haotian rose before dawn, washed, and stepped out into the icy streets. The air bit sharply at his skin, yet the city was already stirring. Disciples in pale-blue uniforms marched toward the central plaza, their steps crisp against the stone.
He followed the flow of the crowd until the streets opened into a grand square before the towering Cold River Sect Pavilion. Banners of glacial blue hung from high poles, each embroidered with a river motif that seemed to shimmer as though real water flowed through it.
At the heart of the square, a wide platform of ice had been erected, glowing faintly with spiritual inscriptions. Elders of the sect stood upon it, their robes pristine, their gazes cold as the northern wind.
One of them raised his hand, and the crowd silenced immediately.
"Today begins the recruitment test of the Cold River Sect. All who seek to enter, step forward and prove your worth. Strength, talent, and willpower—without these, you will not walk our halls."
Hundreds of hopefuls surged forward—young cultivators, mercenaries, and even rogue wanderers. Haotian stepped into their ranks, his straw hat shielding his face, his aura carefully restrained to nothing more than core condensation.
The first trial began with frozen pillars erected across the platform. Each candidate had to climb one while enduring a crushing cold qi that pressed into their bones. Many faltered halfway, their limbs stiffening as ice encased their hands. Only those who reached the top were allowed to continue.
Haotian placed his hand on the pillar. The cold bit into his skin immediately, gnawing at his bones, trying to freeze his meridians. Around him, candidates shivered, their teeth clattering as they climbed desperately.
But for Haotian, whose body had endured the agony of awakening dormant meridians, the chill was… trivial. He ascended with steady steps, neither rushing nor faltering, reaching the top without so much as a shiver.
A few nearby disciples glanced at him, their pride stung. "That wanderer in plain robes… he doesn't even look strained."
The second trial tested spiritual strength. Candidates were made to sit before icy mirrors that reflected not their appearance, but their flaws and fears. Many screamed or collapsed under the weight of their own demons.
Haotian sat calmly before his mirror. Reflections rose—images of Lianhua in chains, his sect burning, his child unborn. The illusions stabbed into him, but he breathed deeply, remembering Alter's words, remembering the vow he had made in the cave.
For them, I will not falter.
The images shattered, his reflection becoming clear once more.
The final trial was simple: demonstrate one's martial ability before the elders. One by one, candidates unleashed their techniques, filling the square with icy strikes and water-infused fists.
When Haotian's turn came, he stepped forward, bowing respectfully. His aura remained restrained, but the moment he gripped the testing sword provided by the sect, a subtle shift occurred. His presence deepened—calm, immovable, yet sharp as a river's hidden current.
He raised the blade, then lowered it.
A single strike.
The sword hummed, and a line of frost spread perfectly across the testing pillar before him. The cut was clean, seamless, without wasted energy. The elders exchanged glances—subtle nods of approval, though their expressions remained stern.
"This one understands restraint," one murmured.
Haotian stepped back into the crowd, his head lowered once more. Around him, whispers began—speculation about the quiet wanderer who showed such precise control.
By the time the trials ended, fewer than a third remained standing. Haotian among them.
The leading elder stepped forward, his voice carrying across the plaza.
"Those who remain, you are now outer disciples of the Cold River Sect. Strive, and one day you may climb further. Fail, and the river will wash you away."
The disciples bowed, their faces alight with pride. Haotian bowed as well, though his mind remained steady.
Haotian's first weeks as an outer disciple passed in quiet rhythm. He wore the pale-blue robes of the Cold River Sect, trained with the others, and bowed to the elders with unshakable humility. Where others postured, he kept silent. Where others tested their strength, he let them pass by.
But beneath the calm surface, his cultivation method never ceased. Each evening, while others bickered or collapsed in exhaustion, he sat cross-legged in meditation, stabilizing his fragile meridians with the Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture. He dared not push too far, but he allowed the flows of yin and yang from his dual cultivation memory with Lianhua to guide his breathing.
By day, he frequented the sect library. The keepers there came to recognize the quiet young man in a straw hat, slipping between rows of jade shelves. His fingers brushed ancient texts, his eyes skimming them with speed unnatural for a normal disciple. He absorbed line after line into his Golden Text Library, the mental construct Alter had once hinted was more than just a photographic memory.
Cultivation techniques. Forging methods. Alchemy recipes. Formation arrays. Rune inscriptions. Beast-taming practices. Haotian devoured them all. Each page became a mirror to compare against the knowledge he carried from Yulong Chunglu. He noted differences, contradictions, and hidden truths, weaving a tapestry of understanding far beyond what an outer disciple should ever have.
But he never flaunted it.
When others sparred, he parried just enough. When seniors barked orders, he obeyed. He blended into the current like a stone resting beneath rushing water—unseen, but enduring.
One day, while reviewing a tome on elemental interactions, he closed the scroll and murmured under his breath: "Their understanding of water-ice qi is deeper, but too specialized. The south ignores this balance entirely." He placed the scroll back, already knowing the entire text was stored in his inner library.
The library caretaker blinked at him, whispering to a fellow disciple. "That boy reads too fast… can he truly be absorbing it?"
But Haotian paid them no mind. His path was his own.
It was only when he turned toward the sect's Alchemy Hall that his routine shifted.
The hall stood apart from the training grounds, its roof carved in the shape of a lotus flower frozen in bloom. Even from outside, Haotian could smell the faint fragrance of herbs and pill smoke drifting into the air. The disciples who entered bore proud expressions, their hands stained faintly with powdered jade roots and ice orchids. Alchemists were treated with respect even among cultivators—vital to any sect's strength.
Haotian stepped inside quietly. Rows of cauldrons lined the chamber, each glowing faintly with inscriptions. Disciples bustled about, grinding, mixing, refining. An elder in pale robes walked between them, correcting stances and adjusting flames.
Haotian's gaze swept over the herbs stacked on shelves, his mind already cataloging them: Snowfire Lotus, Nine-Petal Orchid, Frostdew Ginseng. Each entry added itself into his golden library alongside the pill recipes carved into jade slips.
He moved toward an empty workbench.
But as he did, one of the disciples—a young man with a sharp jaw and the crest of Cold River embroidered proudly on his sleeve—stepped into his path. His eyes narrowed.
"You don't belong here. This hall is for alchemists. Not for every stray dog the sect picked up during recruitment."
The hall went silent, several other disciples looking up from their cauldrons with curiosity.
Haotian paused. His expression remained calm, his posture unthreatening. "The library said alchemy manuals are open to all disciples. I only wish to observe."
The young man sneered. "Observe? Alchemy is not for play. If you wish to waste herbs with your incompetence, best leave before you humiliate yourself."
Haotian's eyes flickered—just once, calm as still water. He neither argued nor retreated. Instead, he stepped aside and moved toward another open workbench, as though the insult hadn't even brushed him.
The alchemy elder raised his brow at this exchange, his gaze lingering on Haotian's back.
This one… does not anger easily. Either a coward, or a dragon biding its time.
Haotian said nothing more to the sneering disciple. He simply lowered his gaze and adjusted his straw hat, as though the words had never touched him. Quietly, he made his way to an unoccupied corner where the flickering light of several cauldrons danced across the stone floor.
From there, he observed.
The Cold River Sect's alchemy methods were unlike those of Yulong Chunglu. Where southern sects emphasized blazing fire and rapid refinement, here everything was conducted with patience and cold qi infusion. Flames were restrained, almost invisible, infused with icy spiritual force that slowed the reaction of herbs.
A cauldron that would have finished in an hour elsewhere took three here. Yet the result was… pure. The pills glistened with a translucent sheen, as if carved from jade ice, their medicinal essence preserved to a far higher degree.
"Water tempers, ice preserves," Haotian whispered under his breath. "Their philosophy is not speed, but perfection."
He watched one disciple struggle with the balance of flame and ice qi, overfreezing his cauldron until cracks spidered across the iron. Another failed to grind the Frostdew Ginseng fine enough, leaving the pill cloudy and uneven. The elder corrected them with stern words, occasionally striking his staff on the floor to punctuate the lesson.
Haotian's eyes never wavered. He noted every motion, every gesture, every failure. His Golden Text Library etched down entire sequences—the flicker of the flame when mixed with water qi, the shimmer of frost that signaled balance, the exact breath pattern of the elder when circulating qi into his cauldron.
The sneering disciple from earlier finished his batch with a flourish, pulling a tray of three pills from the cauldron. They gleamed faintly blue. He smirked, holding them high so the others could see. "Three pills. All successful. Remember my name—Han Yexun. One day, I'll be the pride of this hall."
A few fellow disciples clapped politely. The elder gave a short nod of approval, though not overly impressed.
Haotian merely watched. In his mind, he had already compared the process to the fire-driven methods of Yulong Chunglu. If the flame is yang and the frost is yin… then perhaps balance can bring more than preservation. Perhaps fusion.
He let the thought linger, then set it aside. This was not the time.
As the hall quieted, the elder's gaze drifted to Haotian once more. The boy hadn't touched a single herb, nor lit a cauldron. He only stood there, calm, absorbing everything with the stillness of a frozen lake.
Some disciples scoffed. "Too afraid to try."
Others whispered. "Perhaps he's dull."
But the elder thought differently. His eyes narrowed. No… this one is watching. And understanding.
Haotian inclined his head respectfully when the elder dismissed the group, then turned to leave the hall, his robes brushing lightly against the icy floor. He had seen enough for one day.
Outside, the cold wind cut across the sect's stone pathways. Haotian inhaled deeply, his breath misting in the air. Knowledge is a weapon. When the time comes, I will wield it. But not yet.
With that, he returned to his modest quarters, unnoticed by most, but already carving out a place in the Cold River Sect's hidden currents.
Days passed in quiet routine. Haotian returned again and again to the Alchemy Hall. While others sweated over their cauldrons, he stood in the corner, eyes tracing the rhythm of fire and frost, hands tucked calmly in his sleeves.
His silence grew infamous. Some disciples mocked him as useless. Others ignored him altogether. But every session, the elder in charge—Elder Bai Qingshan, an alchemist with a beard frosted white as snow—kept one eye on Haotian.
This boy… he does not come to play. He comes to learn.
On the seventh day, as Haotian once more observed the subtle interplay of icy flames and grinding herbs, Elder Bai finally approached.
"You," the elder's voice echoed through the chamber. "Do you only stand there to watch forever?"
Haotian turned calmly, bowing his head. "Elder, this disciple's hands are untested. It is better that I observe first before attempting."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Several disciples snickered."Untested? More like afraid.""Seven days and not a single cauldron touched."
Han Yexun, the sneering disciple, smirked from his bench. "Elder, why waste herbs on him? If he fails, that's good medicine ruined."
But Elder Bai silenced them with a sharp glare. Then he looked back to Haotian. "Observation without practice is like a blade never drawn—useless. You will try today. Now."
Haotian hesitated. He had wanted to keep a low profile. Yet under the elder's steady gaze, there was no way to refuse. Slowly, he inclined his head. "…As Elder commands."
The hall went silent as Haotian stepped forward. He approached an open workbench, the cauldron cold and waiting. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he were walking to the center of a battlefield.
Elder Bai stroked his beard. "We will keep it simple. Refine a basic Frostdew Healing Pill. The recipe is on the jade slip."
Haotian bowed slightly. "I have already memorized it, Elder."
A few disciples scoffed. "Memorized? Without even trying once?"Han Yexun leaned back smugly. "This will be amusing."
Haotian said nothing. He rolled up his sleeves, examined the herbs carefully—Frostdew Ginseng, Ice Orchid Petals, and Azure Snowleaf—then placed them beside the cauldron.
He closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath. His qi stirred, fragile but steady, weaving fire and frost together as he had seen the others fail to balance.
The flame ignited beneath the cauldron. It was not too strong, nor too weak—just a quiet, steady glow. Haotian added the first herbs in sequence, grinding and blending with a precision that came not from practice, but from knowledge absorbed, stored, and cross-referenced in his Golden Text Library.
The hall grew quiet. Even the sneers stopped as they realized his flame never wavered. The frost infused perfectly, the cauldron's lid trembling with subtle pressure.
Minutes later, a cool fragrance filled the hall.
Clink.
Haotian lifted the cauldron lid. Inside lay five pills, each round and luminous, glistening like pearls of frozen dew. Not three like Han Yexun had proudly displayed the other day, but five—pure and flawless.
The silence broke into gasps.
"Impossible…""Five pills? On a first attempt?"
Elder Bai's eyes narrowed in astonishment. Slowly, he reached forward, lifting one pill between his fingers, examining its clarity. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"This is… near perfect."
The hall erupted into whispers.
Haotian stepped back, bowed respectfully, and said in a calm, humble tone, "This disciple only followed the recipe as Elder instructed. The result is thanks to the sect's teachings, not my own skill."
But his humility only made the astonishment sharper. Even Elder Bai's expression shifted—half-pride, half-suspicion. This one… is hiding more than he shows.
And though Haotian turned quietly to clean his bench, he knew in his heart: he had just stepped out of the shadows.
The hall slowly emptied after the session. Disciples carried their herbs back to storage, others muttered among themselves about Haotian's unexpected success. Some threw him sharp glances of envy, others simply dismissed him as lucky.
Han Yexun scowled the hardest. Five pills… he dares to overshadow me? I'll expose him. Somehow, I will.
But Haotian ignored them all. He quietly washed the cauldron, placed the tools neatly back in order, and bowed to Elder Bai before preparing to leave.
"Stay."
The word struck like frost against stone.
Haotian halted, bowing once more. "Yes, Elder."
Elder Bai waved for the remaining disciples to leave. When the doors shut, the hall grew silent, lit only by the pale blue glow of the cauldron fires still simmering. The elder stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp as icicles.
"Tell me," Elder Bai said evenly, "was that truly your first attempt?"
Haotian lowered his gaze, calm but respectful. "Yes, Elder. I only followed what I had seen in the days past. Your teachings were clear."
The elder studied him a long moment. His instincts screamed otherwise. This boy's movements were too precise, his qi control too balanced for one untested. Yet he betrayed no arrogance, only quiet composure.
Finally, Elder Bai gave a small chuckle, stroking his beard. "You remind me of the deep rivers beneath the ice. On the surface, still. Beneath, currents that could sweep one away."
Haotian said nothing.
The elder stepped to a side table and retrieved a small jade vial. Inside was a single Bluefrost Vitality Pill, shimmering faintly with yin qi. He placed it in Haotian's hand.
"Take this," Elder Bai instructed. "It will help temper your meridians. No outer disciple earns such a thing lightly—but you have piqued this old man's interest."
Haotian bowed deeply. "This disciple is grateful for Elder's generosity."
Elder Bai narrowed his eyes, voice lowering. "I do not know who you are, nor why you came here with such… restraint. But mark this: in Cold River Sect, strength hidden too long becomes weakness. Do not mistake patience for safety."
Haotian met his gaze for the briefest moment, then bowed again. "Yes, Elder."
The elder nodded faintly. "Go. Rest. And return tomorrow. I expect to see you at the cauldron again."
As Haotian exited into the cold night air, snowflakes drifting through the lantern-lit paths of Hánjiān Chéng, his mind turned inward. Elder Bai had seen through his mask, at least in part.
Patience is still the key, he told himself. But perhaps… patience will be harder to maintain from now on.
The days in the Alchemy Hall shifted after that first pill.
Elder Bai's eyes followed Haotian everywhere. Where before he had allowed him to stand quietly at the back, now he summoned him forward, setting aside refined herbs and rarer formulas just for him to study. While the other disciples ground roots and learned to balance their flames, Haotian was tasked with refining Frostfire Spirit Pills and Snow Lotus Elixirs.
At first, the others thought it favoritism, a passing fancy of their eccentric elder. But when Haotian produced results—three flawless Frostfire pills in one attempt, a Snow Lotus elixir that shimmered clear instead of cloudy—whispers turned to resentment.
"Why him?""He's only been here for weeks.""I trained three years before Elder even allowed me to touch lotus seeds!"
Even Han Yexun, the most vocal, grew quiet in his scorn. His pride was being crushed, slowly, relentlessly.
But Haotian himself? He remained unchanged.
When Elder Bai praised him, Haotian bowed deeply, deflecting credit.When disciples mocked him behind his back, he did not answer.When jealousy burned in their eyes, his gaze remained calm, tranquil like the surface of a frozen lake.
The more he was envied, the humbler he became.
"Elder's guidance is what allowed this disciple to succeed," he would say. "Without the sect, without its teachings, I am nothing."
His humility only frustrated the others more.
One evening, after most had gone, Elder Bai dismissed the hall but kept Haotian behind. He gestured toward a private chamber lined with shelves of jade slips and sealed bottles.
"This," Elder Bai said gravely, "is the Inner Alchemy Repository. Only inner disciples and trusted hands may enter. From today, you will study here with me."
Haotian bowed, expression steady. "This disciple is honored, but… others will resent it."
Elder Bai chuckled, voice like ice cracking on a river. "Do you think I care for their resentment? Talent must be honed, or it rots. And you, boy… you are not one this sect can afford to waste."
Haotian gave no protest. He stepped into the chamber. The cool air smelled of herbs and frozen spirit jade. His Golden Text Library flickered faintly as his eyes passed over the wealth of knowledge around him.
Behind him, Elder Bai's gaze sharpened. This one walks as though he has seen it all before. Who exactly are you, boy?
Outside the chamber, however, resentment festered. Whispers spread through the Cold River Sect's outer halls like a chill wind:
"That newcomer is stealing the elder's attention.""He'll rise to inner disciple before any of us!""Why is he favored, when we've suffered years of toil?"
Envy sharpened into hatred. And though Haotian remained unmoved, calm and humble as ever, the seeds of conflict had already been sown.
It began with words.
Han Yexun's sneers echoed through the halls of the outer disciple quarters."Coward! Hiding behind Elder Bai's robes!""You dare call yourself a disciple when you refuse to face me?""You're nothing but a fraud, a lucky stray plucked from the streets!"
Each time, Haotian bowed his head slightly and walked on, neither acknowledging nor denying the jeers. His silence cut deeper than rebuttals ever could.
But when silence failed to provoke him, their hands turned to action.
His bedding was slashed.His meals came tainted with crawling insects.His robes were stolen, later found shredded and tossed into the snow.Once, he returned to his quarters to find all his scrolls soaked through with melted ice.
And yet—Haotian did not waver.
He calmly replaced what was destroyed. He ate what he could, discarded the rest, ordered new robes without complaint. Not once did his gaze sharpen or his voice rise. He continued his quiet routine: meditation at dawn, duties in the sect, then long hours in the library.
Every night, while others schemed or smirked at his humiliation, Haotian read by lamplight, golden characters flickering faintly in the depths of his eyes as he copied the sect's entire repository into his inner library.
His mind, steady as a mountain. His heart, unmoved as still water.
The bullying only grew more vicious. But it was as though their tricks were stones cast into a bottomless lake—each splash vanishing into silence.
And Elder Bai saw everything.
Standing once in the shadows of the Alchemy Hall balcony, the old man's eyes narrowed as Haotian quietly scrubbed spilled ink from his notes, as though nothing had happened.
Why do you endure this in silence, boy? Elder Bai thought. Where is the fire I know you hide beneath that calm surface? Show it to me…
But Haotian never did. He bowed when he was called upon, refined pills when asked, and returned to his scrolls without complaint.
Even as the sect whispered and mocked, he remained the same. A quiet shadow in the Cold River Sect, unreadable, unbreakable.
And in that silence, the tension only grew.