At first, it was only whispers. Disciples passing by the Alchemy Hall muttered about strange lights within, glowing runes flickering through the windows at night. Others swore they had smelled unusual chi signatures drifting into the air—neither flame nor frost, but something other.
"Elder Bai is hiding something."
"…No, he's training that new outer disciple, the quiet one."
"Haotian? Impossible. He's barely Core Condensation."
"Then explain why the Elder shuts himself away with him every day!"
The gossip spread like frost across the sect.
Within weeks, the rumors reached the inner elders' ears. Elder Yun, who oversaw beast handling, was the first to raise suspicion at a council meeting.
"Bai, your hall has been closed too long. Are you hoarding new methods? Or hiding failures?"
Elder Bai merely stroked his beard. "My hall is under my authority. As long as my duties are met, you need not pry."
But Elder Yun wasn't alone. Elder Mo of the forging hall joined in, his tone sharp, "The disciples complain of favoritism. You spend more time with an outer disciple than the sect's promising inner disciples. If this continues, they will grow resentful."
Bai's eyes flashed, but he held back. They smell the smoke already. If I don't handle this carefully, they'll come for the fire.
Outside the council, disciples fueled the storm. Jealous eyes often lingered on Haotian when he walked the sect grounds. Some whispered he had stolen Elder Bai's favor through trickery. Others claimed they had seen him carrying sealed jade boxes late at night.
Han Yexun, the loudest among them, openly spat insults when Haotian passed.
"Dog lucky to have caught Elder Bai's pity. Without him, you're nothing."
Haotian, as always, gave no reaction. He returned to his reading, his meditations, his endless quiet labor. But the more he ignored them, the sharper the rumors grew.
Finally, Elder Bai was cornered again—this time by three elders at once. They met him outside the Alchemy Hall, their expressions tight with false courtesy.
"Bai, enough secrecy. If you've uncovered something new, the sect deserves to know."
"Surely you don't mean to keep an invention hidden from the Sect Master?"
"Or are you protecting your pet disciple too much?"
Bai's face hardened. For a moment, Haotian—watching from the hall steps—thought he might explode then and there. But instead, Bai exhaled slowly.
"If you demand proof…" His eyes flicked to Haotian, then back to the elders. "…then you shall have it. At the next sect alchemy gathering, Haotian will demonstrate. Until then, keep your speculation to yourselves."
The elders exchanged looks, half-satisfied, half-predatory. They bowed stiffly and departed.
Haotian turned to Bai, brow furrowed. "Elder… why reveal this?"
Bai clasped his shoulder. "Because, boy, they won't stop until they see it for themselves. Better to control the fire than let it burn the whole forest."
Haotian lowered his gaze, silent. In his heart, he felt it—this would be the turning point.
The plaza of Hánjiān Chéng's Cold River Sect stirred with excitement. Once every season, the sect held its Alchemy Gathering, a tradition older than the sect's walls themselves. Cauldrons were placed in rows, spiritual fires burning cold and bright. Disciples bustled about, preparing ingredients, showing off their skill to elders, and hoping to earn recognition.
But this time, the atmosphere was different. The rumors had spread too far. Everyone knew that Elder Bai was hiding something.
Even the Sect Master, Lord Xuan He, arrived personally—his aura of icy authority sweeping over the crowd. The moment he took his seat upon the dais, silence fell. His sharp eyes flicked to Elder Bai.
"Bai," the Sect Master's voice cut like a blade of frost, "you have stirred the sect with whispers. Today, we see whether they hold substance or are empty wind."
Elder Bai bowed deeply. "Yes, Sect Master. I have nurtured a disciple… one who has grasped something new. Today, I present him to the sect."
A murmur rolled through the disciples.
Haotian Steps Forward
When Haotian walked out from behind Elder Bai, silence fell again. It was him. The quiet one. The humble one. The disciple they had mocked.
"Haotian?"
"That's the one?"
"No… impossible!"
Jealous faces soured. Curious eyes widened. Even Elder Yun and Elder Mo leaned forward, eager to see him fail.
Haotian bowed calmly to the Sect Master and elders. "This disciple greets the honored masters."
Lord Xuan He's gaze lingered on him, cold and weighing.
"Show us, then. If Elder Bai dares to claim you've touched a new path, let us see whether it is truth or falsehood."
A cauldron was set before him, cold flames already lit beneath it. Elder Bai handed him a prepared set of herbs.
"Refine the Frostveil Restoration Pill," he instructed softly.
Haotian nodded. He placed the herbs in, guiding the flame with steady chi. At first, it looked ordinary. The disciples began to sneer.
But then Haotian raised his hand. Fingers traced in the air, weaving strokes of golden light. Runes.
The onlookers gasped. Symbols of ancient power pressed into the cauldron's aura, fusing with the process itself. The flame surged—not wildly, but with precise rhythm, harmonizing with the pill embryo.
Crack—Snap—The sound of herbs breaking down cleanly echoed like music.
Moments later, Haotian withdrew his hand. The lid of the cauldron lifted. From within rose three perfect Frostveil Restoration Pills—each glowing faintly with etched runes, their medicinal potency leagues above the norm.
The crowd erupted.
"Rune-pills?! He engraved runes into the medicinal essence itself!"
"Impossible—only grandmasters of alchemy could attempt this!"
"But… he's just at Core Condensation!"
Elder Mo shot to his feet. "Blasphemy! How can a mere boy—"But he stopped. Because even Lord Xuan He had risen from his seat, eyes sharp with shock and… interest.
The Sect Master stepped down, slowly. He lifted one of the pills in his palm, inspecting the rune glimmering within. His frosty aura stirred, and yet—the pill did not shatter. It harmonized with his chi.
"…It is genuine." His voice carried over the plaza. "A new alchemical path."
Gasps broke through the crowd.
Lord Xuan He turned to Haotian. "From this day, you are no longer an outer disciple. You will be raised to Inner Disciple of the Cold River Sect. Your name will be recorded in the sect annals."
The plaza erupted. Cheers, envy, rage, disbelief—emotions clashed like storms.
Haotian bowed humbly, though his eyes remained calm, unwavering.
The Alchemy Gathering had ended, but its impact lingered like a storm that refused to settle.
All throughout the sect grounds, disciples buzzed in hushed tones.
"Did you see the runes? I thought only masters in the Central Continent could attempt that!"
"He's only at Core Condensation—this doesn't make sense."
"He's either a genius… or a demon in human skin."
Younger disciples looked at Haotian with awe, some even bowing their heads when he passed. But others—those who once mocked him—now burned with resentment. Among them, Han Yexun clenched his fists until his knuckles bled. "Damn him… one day, I'll tear that calm face apart."
While disciples gossiped, the elders convened privately. Elder Mo paced angrily. "Rune-pills? This brat has stolen the limelight! Bai, what are you planning, parading him like this?"
Elder Yun narrowed his eyes. "No. Bai isn't reckless. That boy truly has something. But if his fame grows, whose faction will he serve? Surely not ours."
Their voices carried envy and suspicion, already twisting Haotian's rise into political ammunition.
In contrast, Elder Bai sat quietly, his hands folded, expression serene. When the whispers of rivalry turned toward him, he finally spoke: "Whether you accept it or not, Haotian's skill cannot be denied. His talent is the sect's fortune, not my personal possession."
The words silenced the room—but not the jealousy in their hearts.
Later that night, Elder Bai sat alone in his quarters, sipping warm spirit tea. He thought back to Haotian's performance, the calm way the boy withstood scrutiny from the Sect Master himself, and the brilliance in his eyes when runes danced through the cauldron.
A smile tugged at Bai's lips. "I was right to test you, boy. You truly are extraordinary."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing in thought.
"But extraordinary talent brings extraordinary enemies. Stay humble, Haotian. For the higher you climb, the more storms will gather at your feet."
The bells tolled at dawn.
Not the bells of gathering or alarm, but the deep, sonorous peals reserved for the Sect Master alone. Their reverberations rolled through the mountains like waves across a cold sea, stirring disciples from meditation and freezing conversations mid-sentence. Every ear knew what that sound meant: the Cold River Throne had summoned someone.
And that someone… was Haotian.
Two azure-robed envoys appeared at his quarters before the mist had fully risen. Their faces were expressionless, their gestures sharp as blades.
"Disciple Haotian," one said, his tone formal, "the Sect Master requires your presence in the Cold River Hall. Immediately."
Whispers already followed him as he walked the stone paths with the envoys. Disciples leaned out of courtyards, some in awe, others with scorn masked by forced bows.
"Summoned by the Throne?"
"No one below the Core Elders is ever called there…"
"Does he even realize what he's walking into?"
Haotian's steps never faltered, but his pulse quickened. He had not expected recognition to come this swiftly, nor in so absolute a form. His fingers brushed against the simple storage pouch at his side, where a few of his rune-marked pill experiments still rested. A reminder of what had placed him here… and what could just as easily damn him.
The Cold River Hall loomed before him at last, carved directly into the mountain's heart. Its gates, wrought of jade and dragonbone, shimmered faintly with ancient runes said to have been inscribed by the sect's founder. The air within was cool and sharp, as though even the wind dared not disturb the stillness.
Inside, the hall stretched vast and empty save for a single dais at its center: the Cold River Throne. There sat the Sect Master, robes of indigo and silver flowing like water, his silver-streaked hair falling loose across his shoulders. His eyes were half-lidded, yet in their depths gleamed the weight of mountains and seas.
Elders lined the chamber, silent, seated along the periphery like carved statues. Among them, Elder Bai sat with hands folded, gaze calm yet heavy with meaning when it flicked to Haotian.
Haotian stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and cupped his fists.
"Disciple Haotian greets the Sect Master."
The silence that followed stretched like a bowstring. At last, the Sect Master spoke, his voice calm but resonant.
"At the gathering, you carved runes upon a pill. The elders are divided. Some call it brilliance. Others, blasphemy. I care little for their squabbling. I summoned you to ask one thing: what is it you seek by walking this path?"
Haotian lifted his gaze slightly. He could feel the scrutiny of dozens of elder eyes on him, pressing like a mountain. Yet he kept his voice steady.
"I seek neither fame nor rebellion, Sect Master. Only to push beyond the limits that cage us. Pills, formations, cultivation — they are all fragments of the same whole. Why should they remain separate if they can be one?"
A murmur rippled through the elders. Some scoffed under their breath. Others leaned forward, intrigued.
The Sect Master's gaze deepened. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he raised his hand.
The Cold River Throne pulsed. Runes blazed across the hall's floor, spiraling outward in a grand formation that made the air vibrate. Three cauldrons rose from the ground, each filled with volatile ingredients. A testing field crafted from ancient arrays.
"You will not prove yourself with words," the Sect Master said, his tone carrying finality. "Refine here, before my throne. Show me not just craft, but resolve. If your method collapses, then you collapse with it. If it succeeds…" His eyes narrowed slightly, a faint gleam of something unreadable within them. "Then the sect itself may have to change."
The hall fell silent. The elders' eyes burned into Haotian, some with hunger, others with venom. Elder Bai's staff tapped once against the stone floor, as though offering silent strength.
Haotian's breath steadied. He stepped toward the first cauldron.
So this is it, he thought. Not the whispers of disciples, not the daggers of jealous elders. But the Sect Master himself, weighing me on the scales of heaven and ruin.
The flames roared to life. The trial had begun.
The first cauldron's flames ignited with a thunderous WHOOOM, tongues of azure fire coiling upward like serpents eager to strike. The entire hall trembled faintly as the Sect Master's formation flared to life, the carved runes on the jade floor pulsing in rhythm with the cauldron's heartbeats.
Haotian stood before it, calm but unyielding, his hands poised above the roiling heat. Ingredients hovered in shimmering arrays — stalks of flamegrass, petals that glowed faintly with frost, crystalline essence that crackled with lightning chi. Individually, each was volatile. Together, they threatened to explode if mishandled by even a seasoned master.
He inhaled slowly. His chi poured outward, steady and deliberate, weaving through the hall's pressure like a blade cutting a path through storm winds. The first herb touched the flame. Instantly, the cauldron shuddered, light rippling as heat lashed outward. Disciples watching from the gallery flinched, even some elders furrowing their brows.
"Core Condensation level, handling a royal cauldron?" Elder Mo muttered with disdain. "He will burn himself before he finishes."
But Elder Bai sat still, lips pressed thin, eyes sharp.
Haotian's hands moved in precise arcs. Each flick of his fingers drew faint golden runes, which he pressed one by one into the cauldron. Every rune entered with a resonant DONG, like temple bells echoing through mountains.
The flame no longer lashed. It bent. Each rune forced the violent essences to kneel, aligning them into a harmony that should have been impossible.
Gasps rippled among the elders.
"Impossible… those are stabilizing glyphs!"
"At his stage? He should not even see such patterns."
"Did Bai feed him some ancient inheritance?"
The mixture thickened, swirling with colors that would normally repel each other — red flame, blue frost, silver lightning. Yet instead of rejecting, they spiraled inward, condensing. The cauldron gave a deep, rolling hum, like a dragon clearing its throat.
Haotian's expression remained tranquil, though sweat prickled along his temples. The runes danced from his fingertips faster now, glowing brighter, intertwining into a lattice that sealed the pill's form. The flame roared once more, then stilled — as though it recognized the will guiding it.
When he lifted the lid, three pills floated upward, each glowing faintly with runes etched into their surface. The fragrance spread instantly, crisp and clear, like mountain air after thunder.
Silence.
Then an elder stood abruptly, his voice shaking.
"This… this defies balance. Three conflicting attributes in one body, stable enough to hold their power. That's beyond advanced grade—!"
Another elder cut him off, scoffing, though his eyes betrayed unease.
"Hmph. A trick! He cannot repeat this feat more than once. It is luck!"
The Sect Master raised a hand. Instantly the hall fell silent again. His expression was unreadable, but the faint gleam in his eyes had sharpened.
"Continue," he commanded.
The second cauldron erupted alive, this time with a flame of pale silver, colder than ice, sharper than steel. The ingredients here were even more merciless — venom-laced lotus, shards of ghostly ore, sap from a thousand-year dead tree. The kind of recipe meant to test not just technique, but endurance.
Haotian stepped forward again. His breath deepened. His core whirled like a storm. He pressed his palm down, chi flooding into the cauldron. The flames snarled, fighting him, but the runes carved into his spirit lit one after another. His veins thrummed with power, golden light flashing faintly through his sleeves.
He forced the flame into submission. The mixture boiled. This time the runes he traced weren't stabilizers, but binders, locking the violent venoms and ghost-energies into a single shell. His movements blurred, hands flicking like a weaver stitching a tapestry of light.
DONG. DONG. DONG.
The cauldron roared louder with each stroke. Elders leaned forward despite themselves. Sweat gleamed down Haotian's brow, dripping onto the jade floor.
Finally, with a sharp gesture, he sealed the cauldron. The hall shook as a wave of spiritual pressure rippled outward. When the lid lifted, a single pill rose, black as night with faintly glowing runes etched like constellations across its surface.
The fragrance was sharp, cutting through the hall like a blade.
Gasps erupted.
"A pill with venom and ghost-essence… harmonized?!"
"Impossible. That should collapse into poison!"
"Even I would not dare attempt such!"
The Sect Master's eyes narrowed slightly. "And yet, here it stands."
Elder Mo's face flushed with fury, but he bit down his words, teeth grinding audibly. Elder Bai's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
The third cauldron flared. Its flame was golden-white, pure and merciless. Its ingredients were sacred herbs reserved only for sect masters' trials — phoenix plume grass, crystal marrow, and celestial dew. A recipe meant for divine-grade foundation pills.
The hall went silent. Even the elders ceased their whispers. This was no longer a test of novelty — it was a crucible of life and death.
Haotian placed both hands on the cauldron. His chi surged violently, shaking the hall. For a moment, the disciples watching could not even breathe — the pressure radiating from him did not feel like Core Condensation, but something far heavier, as though a dragon coiled unseen behind his back.
Runes flared from his fingers like meteors. The flame roared in protest, then bent in submission. The herbs melted, merged, danced under his command. The fragrance grew radiant, filling the chamber until even the sternest elders were forced to admit awe in their eyes.
When the cauldron finally opened, a single pill rose into the air, brilliant as a star, runes gleaming across its body in perfect symmetry. Its light reflected in every eye, silencing even the whispers of envy.
The Sect Master reached out. The pill floated into his palm. He studied it for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, at last, he spoke.
"This is no trick. No heresy. This is a step into the unknown." His gaze lifted to Haotian, sharp as a blade drawn in moonlight. "You have forged something new, and for that, the sect must decide what to do with you. But know this—" His voice grew colder, heavier. "Every path beyond the known carries blood and ruin in its wake. If you fall, you fall alone. If you rise…"
He closed his hand, the pill vanishing into his sleeve.
"…then the sect itself may one day rise with you."
The hall remained silent, the weight of his words pressing upon all. Haotian stood still, heart pounding, sweat dripping down his jawline, but his gaze never wavered.
He had survived the Cold River Hall.
But the storm was only beginning.
The Cold River Hall had long since emptied. Disciples had been dismissed, their chatter echoing down the stone corridors as they spilled back into the sect. The grand runic formation on the jade floor had dimmed, leaving only faint traces of light like dying starlight.
Yet the elders remained.
One by one, they took their seats along the inner circle of the chamber. The torches guttered low, throwing their faces into stark relief. Some carried awe thinly veiled by caution. Others, jealousy cloaked in reason. Only the Sect Master sat serene at the throne, his robes flowing in stillness, his hand resting idly on the armrest carved into a dragon's claw.
It was Elder Mo who broke first, his voice sharp enough to cut the silence.
"Sect Master, I refuse to believe what we saw is safe. A disciple of mere Core Condensation should not wield such techniques. Rune-pills—if spread—will destabilize every foundation we've built. Shall we allow every reckless youth to scribble glyphs on medicine until half the sect burns alive?"
He swept his gaze across the chamber, seeking allies. Several elders nodded grimly.
Elder Yun leaned forward, voice smoother but no less weighted.
"Elder Mo speaks with reason. Bai may see fortune in the boy, but fortune easily rots into calamity. Today was spectacle, yes. But tomorrow? Will our alchemists abandon centuries of refinement to chase after unstable runes?"
Across the hall, Elder Bai's staff tapped once against the stone, the sound echoing. His eyes burned with restrained fire.
"You speak as though you fear the sect's collapse from one boy's talent. Pathetic. What we saw today was no parlor trick. His method did not collapse—it held. Even under the Sect Master's own trial cauldrons."
Mo sneered. "And what of his motives? Such ambition rarely serves loyalty. You would wager the sect's stability on the whims of a branch family child?"
Bai's voice thundered back, shaking the hall.
"I would wager on truth where others cling to dust! This 'branch family child' dared what none of you have in decades: to step beyond fear."
The chamber flared with noise—elders muttering, scoffing, arguing over lineage, danger, pride. The tension thickened like storm clouds.
Then the Sect Master raised his hand. Silence fell instantly, every tongue stilled by the invisible weight of authority pressing against their chests. His eyes swept the hall slowly, measuring each elder in turn.
"You bicker like merchants quarreling over coin," he said, his voice calm yet heavy. "The question is not whether Haotian's method is safe. The question is whether this sect has the courage to wield it."
Mo stiffened. "Sect Master—"
But the Sect Master's gaze cut to him, silencing the protest. He continued, his tone colder now.
"We are heirs of the Cold River Sect, not keepers of stagnant tradition. If what Haotian has shown us can be refined, mastered, and controlled, then it is a weapon that could elevate this sect above all rivals."
A faint gleam entered his eyes, sharp as a drawn blade.
"But brilliance attracts ruin. You all know this. The Central Continent's sects would kill to bury such a path before it matures. Even within these mountains, ambition will breed daggers. If the boy survives those daggers, then he was meant to ascend. If not… then he was never worthy of the sky."
Elder Yun's brow furrowed. "You would gamble so boldly, Sect Master? Allow him to grow unchecked?"
"Unchecked?" The Sect Master's lips curved faintly. "No. Watched. Always watched." He gestured to the shadows of the chamber, where robed figures bowed silently—sect enforcers, hidden until now. "From this day, he is to be observed. Any step that hints at betrayal, I will know before his second breath."
The torches flickered. Elder Bai's jaw tightened, but he bowed slightly. Even he understood: this was the best protection Haotian could be granted. To be acknowledged by the Sect Master was both shield and chain.
Finally, the Sect Master rose. His presence filled the hall, towering though his body did not move.
"Prepare the next trials. Not petty examinations, but crucibles that will either break or forge him. Let the disciples of this sect watch. Let the elders watch. And let the heavens themselves decide."
He turned, his robe sweeping like a wave, and ascended the steps beyond the throne. His final words lingered in the hall long after he vanished.
"If Haotian survives… then the Cold River Sect will have birthed a storm the world cannot ignore."
The elders sat in silence, each heart pulled between awe and fear. Some eyes burned with ambition. Others with malice. And in the quiet that followed, unspoken oaths were made—some to guard the boy's path, others to end it.