Morning light crept over the courtyard tiles.
Dew still clung to the bamboo eaves.
In the side yard,
A clear talisman glow spun gently in the air—
Then dropped.
Water burst outward,
Drenching the figure sprawled across the courtyard stone.
Xiǎo Chén jolted awake,
Coughed twice,
Struggled upright from the large stone slab.
His face dripped,
Hair plastered to his forehead.
He glared forward—
"…Brother!
Can't you wake me like a normal person?"
In the shadow of the courtyard wall,
Xuán Chén's sleeve still shimmered with fading talisman light.
His voice was calm—
"I tried calling three times.
You didn't move."
"Can't leave you here for the mosquitoes to carry off."
Beside them,
Shī Tóngbǎi clutched a bundle of bamboo scrolls,
Trying not to laugh.
His ears were red,
Shoulders shaking as he pretended to read.
Xiǎo Chén pushed back his wet hair,
Grumbling as he laid the Dragon Soul Spear across his knees—
"…Fine, fine.
You win."
"Next time it rains,
Just dump a bucket of thunderwater on me."
Xuán Chén snorted softly,
Nodded toward Shī Tóngbǎi to hand over the scrolls.
He passed along last night's surveillance notes,
Plus fresh intel from their resident informant.
"After Silver Mirror's steward left,
Sītú Jìng didn't pull back."
"He left a nail outside the courtyard.
I brushed it off this morning."
Xiǎo Chén listened,
Squeezing water from his sleeve,
One brow raised—
"…He afraid we'll run?"
Xuán Chén flicked talisman sand from his fingers,
Voice steady—
"He's not afraid we'll run.
And we don't need to."
"He just wants to watch us and Bái Shī tear into each other—
So he can reap the spoils."
Shī Tóngbǎi leaned in,
Grinning—
"Oh, and senior brother—
Word from White Profound says they're looking to 'spar' soon."
"Betting odds from the last match haven't settled yet…"
"Heh.
Looks like we've got a show coming."
Xiǎo Chén snorted,
Tapped the spear's shaft,
Exhaled long—
"…Perfect."
"I should thank Sītú Jìng for leaving me some warm-up opponents."
"Just in time to turn last night's pain into practice."
"You've no idea, brother—
That killing goddess nearly trained me to death."
"I only made it to dawn before she let me go."
"Why do you think I didn't wake up?"
Xuán Chén
glanced at Xiǎo Chén,
Tone calm and unhurried—
"Soup's gone.
Water's poured.
Still not heading to class?"
Xiǎo Chén rolled his eyes,
Pointed at his dripping tunic—
"You dumped a whole basin on me.
You expect me to walk in like this?"
"Lend me a dry shirt, at least?"
Shī Tóngbǎi grinned,
Already holding out a clean outer robe,
Laughing so hard his gums nearly showed—
"Heh…
Had it ready."
Xiǎo Chén grabbed it,
Threw it over his shoulders,
Patted his chest—
"Let's go.
See you in class."
—
Morning light filtered through the bamboo slats,
Casting a soft glow on the rows of wooden desks.
Students whispered about last night's arena match,
Some murmured of the tension between White Profound and Silver Mirror.
Suddenly—
A quiet cough.
Like a stone dropped into water.
It silenced the room.
Gǔ Gēngmò stepped onto the front stone platform,
Wearing a pale green robe,
Old scrolls tucked under one arm.
Talisman light shimmered faintly from his sleeves.
White strands at his temples caught the morning light,
Bringing a chill to the air.
He swept his gaze across the hall—
No one dared meet his eyes.
As he opened the scroll,
His fingers paused briefly at the edge.
His white hair shifted with his shoulders.
In that moment,
A flicker of emotion pressed between his brows—
But he swallowed it whole.
His voice was calm,
Like cold water dropped into ink—
"Last class, we spoke of meridian forms.
Today, we continue with fate marks."
"…Some of you may think
One more mark, one less—
Just a matter of speed in cultivation."
"But without resources,
Without guidance,
Without a place to test your path—
Even an extra mark is just an empty shell."
He raised a hand toward the lecture wall,
Eyes sharp as blades—
"Let's begin with Shěn Zǐyù."
The hall fell silent.
Gǔ Gēngmò's voice deepened,
Like an old bell—
"Shěn Zǐyù—
When he first entered Ao Tiān,
He had only meridian talent."
"The academy gave him resources,
Masters trained him.
Five marks opened early."
"Yet in three years,
He never broke into the top ten of the Hidden Dragon List."
"Such a pity…"
He paused.
Fingers tapped the edge of the scroll.
His voice turned cold—
"Later, Supreme Academy poached him—
Fed him resources, opened channels,
Helped him break into five marks,
Sweep the arena…"
"And now he turns to crush our own students."
"Isn't that laughable?"
A chill ran through the hall.
Some students broke into cold sweat.
Pens trembled in their hands.
In the back row,
Xiǎo Chén leaned toward Xuán Chén, whispering—
"Brother…
Should I go flash my spear at Supreme's gates someday?"
Xuán Chén's eyes didn't ripple.
He tapped the desk lightly,
Thinking—
"…If this game truly moves,
It won't be broken by a spear."
Gǔ Gēngmò looked up,
His gaze swept the hall like cold light—
"Remember—
Ao Tiān does not raise traitors,
Nor lend shoulders for others to climb."
"Ao Tiān is Ao Tiān.
Supreme is Supreme."
"Where the road lies,
Where your fate marks sharpen—
That's for you to find."
He tapped the scroll again,
Voice steady but firm—
"Remember—
Fate scars can be refined.
Fate marks can be awakened."
"Talent can be hidden—
Or wielded."
"Some race ahead with a single mark,
Like blades unsheathed."
"Some build slowly with many,
Like cities laid stone by stone."
"Shěn Zǐyù is an example…"
His gaze swept from one student to another.
Then a hand rose in the front row—
"Teacher,
Is there a limit to the number of marks?"
"Some say ten marks lead to a creation scar…"
Gǔ Gēngmò let out a cold laugh—
"Creation scar?"
"Even Star Scar Sect never dared claim ten marks as the peak."
"Life moves between birth and death.
Marks shift with insight and transformation."
"…We'll speak of this later."
Another student asked—
"Teacher,
Who is the strongest in the Central Plains now?"
Gǔ Gēngmò scanned the room,
Voice steady—
"After Meridian Scar,
Come Root, Insight, Star, Fate, Image, Creation…"
"Each stage is a wall."
"If we speak only of the Central Plains—
The current strongest is Yǔ Dàoyún,
Former head of Dào Rú Xuān."
He paused,
Tapped the desk—
Voice like a dusk bell—
"Rumor says—
Born with five marks.
Formed shape at fifteen.
Opened meridians to seven marks by thirty.
Reached nine-mark mastery before fifty.
Image scar began to form."
He swept the hall with a cold glance,
As if to shake their souls awake—
"But since taking the head seat at eighty,
He's secluded in the Star Sea,
Refining root qi and star signs,
Trying to breach the Creation gate…"
"And now, at one hundred forty-three—
Sixty-three years without progress."
"How much life remains?"
"Perhaps all of it
Will be buried at that gate."
Whispers stirred in the hall,
But no one dared speak up.
Only the sound of pages turning remained.
In the back row,
Xiǎo Chén's eyes flickered.
He murmured—
"…Decades in seclusion?
Is that even a real barrier?"
Xuán Chén tapped the desk lightly,
His gaze deep and still—
Lost in thought.
Xiǎo Chén, curious, raised his hand—
"Teacher…
In the legends—
Did someone truly reach ten marks and ascend beyond the realm?"
Gǔ Gēngmò's brow twitched.
He didn't answer immediately.
He closed the bamboo scroll gently,
Eyes drifting to something long past.
After a pause,
His voice came low and slow—
"…The name of ten marks is recorded in Star Scar Sect's old texts."
"In those days,
Only those of true blood from the main lineage
Could touch the extreme mark."
"But that sect's downfall—
You've heard of it."
"How many truths remain in the records?"
He swept his gaze across the room,
Voice like bronze striking stone—
"Ten marks are not a myth.
But having the talent
Doesn't mean you have the fate."
"Ascension…
May have happened."
"But where did they go?
Who dares claim to know?"
"If you truly seek that path—
Before fate scars,
Ask how many trials your heart scar can endure."
The hall fell silent.
Some students gripped their talisman pens unconsciously.
Xiǎo Chén and Xuán Chén exchanged a glance—
Both understood how much blood and shadow lay behind those words.
Gǔ Gēngmò's gaze swept downward.
His voice sank again,
Tapping the desk—
"From now on,
Anyone who dares spout 'ten-mark ascension'—
Go stand before the Star Wall for two days."
"Let your brain air out."
Silence returned.
After a long moment,
A student spoke, voice low and uncertain—
"Teacher…
For someone like me, with three marks—
How many years to reach Meridian Scar?"
Gǔ Gēngmò didn't answer right away.
He flipped through the thin scroll,
Eyes scanning the pages.
Then he looked up,
Voice cold—
"With bone and courage—
Five years to meridian."
"With fate and fortune—
Three years to root."
"But if your heart isn't steady—
Meridian and root
Will remain someone else's dream."
Another student asked, voice trembling—
"Then…
If we reach five marks or more—
Will the academy… value us?"
A flicker of scorn passed through Gǔ Gēngmò's eyes—
"Value?"
"What do you think Ao Tiān stands on?"
"Resources and trials
Are never given freely."
"Those above five marks
Go through the outer halls first."
"Then we watch your meridian pulse."
"If you truly have the bone to reach nine—
There are border posts and trial fields waiting."
"If your fate breaks—
You bear it alone."
Many in the hall lowered their heads,
Swallowing quietly.
In the back row,
Xiǎo Chén cradled his spear,
Leaning against the chair's edge.
He smirked,
Whispered to Xuán Chén—
"Brother…
Looks like we'll need to sharpen our blades too."
"But after last night…
I'm starting to enjoy this."
Xuán Chén tapped the desk lightly,
Voice calm—
"Whether it works or not
Isn't decided by a few words."
Xiǎo Chén chuckled,
Tapped his Dragon Soul Spear against the chair leg.
A flicker of starlight passed through his eyes.
As Gǔ Gēngmò closed his scroll,
A lingering tension hung in the air.
No one dared move first.
Morning light filtered through the side curtain,
Stretching his pale green robe's shadow long across the stone wall—
Like a thread of darkness that refused to break.
"…This class ends here."
His voice was soft,
Like a stone falling—
But carried undeniable weight.
Chairs creaked.
Whispers began to ripple outward like tide.
Xiǎo Chén reached to tug Xuán Chén's sleeve,
Barely said "Brother—"
When the door burst open a crack,
As if a long-sealed blade had just broken free.
A young man stepped in,
Wearing Silver Mirror's standard short robe.
A mirror crest embroidered on his shoulder.
His eyes were narrow,
Smile sharp.
He held a wooden box sealed with talisman lacquer.
"Master Gǔ is present—
Forgive my intrusion."
He bowed,
But showed no hint of retreat.
Gǔ Gēngmò glanced at him sideways,
Fingers resting on the scroll spine.
He said nothing.
The youth turned his gaze to Xiǎo Chén and Xuán Chén,
Smile like wind behind a bamboo screen—
"You two have been quite the talk lately."
"Someone in Silver Mirror couldn't resist—
Sent me to deliver a gift."
"A challenge scroll.
Arena papers."
Before he finished,
He placed the box on the front desk.
The lacquer cracked the moment it touched wood—
Revealing two white silk scrolls,
Edges still damp with fresh ink.
This was no whim.
Shī Tóngbǎi had already slipped forward from the crowd.
He saw the seal,
Gasped softly—
"…Silver Mirror really stirred the hornet's nest this time."
Xiǎo Chén
raised a brow,
Flicked the two challenge scrolls with his fingers.
As he brushed the seal,
A flicker of fire sparked in his eyes—
Like cold light off a spear tip.
"Two scrolls?"
He looked at the Silver Mirror youth,
A cold smile tugging at his lips—
"How thoughtful."
The youth smiled,
But only replied softly—
"Someone thought one fight wouldn't be enough."
Just then,
A cough echoed from outside the hall—
Lazy, like someone tapping dust off the eaves.
A broad-shouldered youth stepped in,
Wearing White Profound Society robes.
A lion crest blazed on his shoulder.
His gaze swept past Xiǎo Chén,
Landed on Xuán Chén,
Voice cold and steady—
"One fight each.
No borrowed hands."
"If you can hold your ground, fight.
If not—
Get off the Hidden Dragon List and stop embarrassing yourselves."
The air froze.
That lion crest sliced through the tension—
A silent tear between Silver Mirror and White Profound.
Shī Tóngbǎi shrank behind Xuán Chén,
Muttering—
"…Real blades now.
Even Silver Mirror can't talk their way out of this."
Xiǎo Chén was about to speak,
Hand reaching for the scrolls,
A cold smirk forming—
But Xuán Chén's sleeve flicked.
Talisman sand dropped to the desk.
A soft sound—
Like locking the air in place.
His voice was calm,
Cold as spring snow seeping through stone—
"Hidden Dragon List has rules."
"No forced challenges within the month—
Unless a life-and-death pact is signed."
"White Profound, Silver Mirror—
If you want to break that rule,
Bring the pact."
"Don't wave paper-thin provocations
And call it a fight."
Before he finished,
The hall's whispers froze—
Like ice scraping across throats.
Shī Tóngbǎi widened his eyes,
Held back a laugh,
Tapped the desk quietly—
"…That shut Bái Shī and Sītú Jìng right up."
The Silver Mirror youth stiffened,
Tried to speak—
But Xuán Chén's glance cut him short.
He swallowed his words,
Forced a dry smile.
The White Profound lion-crest youth
Had another sharp line ready—
But the phrase "life-and-death pact"
Made his brow twitch.
He grunted,
Said nothing more.
He swept up one scroll,
Voice low—
"…Fine."
"One month from now—
Let's see if you still have the guts."
Xuán Chén
didn't look back.
Talisman sand flicked into his palm.
He turned, voice low—
"Let's go.
Class is over."
Xiǎo Chén tapped the desk with his spear's tail.
The weapon sealed his lingering fire into its spine.
He smirked coldly—
"Leave it.
We'll settle the score later."
He turned and walked out.
The White Profound envoy bowed and stepped aside.
Only the two challenge scrolls remained on the desk—
Like blades etched into every student's sight,
A promise of blood and steel to come.
Xiǎo Chén slapped one scroll lightly,
Turned to Xuán Chén with a grin.
His spear intent glinted between his teeth—
"Brother—
This one's mine to answer."
Xuán Chén tapped his sleeve,
Voice soft as lingering night wind—
"No life pact,
No real fight."
"But if someone dares to name it—
Then answer it.
Clean and final."
At the back of the hall,
Gǔ Gēngmò tapped the spine of his scroll.
White hair shifted at his temple.
His gaze was still—
Like an old well,
Depth unknown.
He said nothing.
But as he turned,
He left one line behind—
"If you can win—
Then fight."
"If not…
Remember—
You still have this old face behind you."
The eaves cast long shadows.
The youth stood with his spear.
Light hadn't faded—
But the blade had already begun to form.