—
Dawn broke.
Outside Xuǎn Zhēn Hall in the southeast of Àotiān Academy,
Students gathered from all directions.
The atmosphere was unlike any ordinary day.
—
Today was the annual Inner Court trial.
For the Outer Court,
It was both opportunity and judgment.
Those who entered the Inner Court
Would gain greater resources and inheritance,
And glimpse true masters and the source of cultivation.
Those who failed
Would wait another year.
—
The plaza already held eight phantom trial platforms.
Around them, a hundred stewards stood.
Arrays shimmered.
Qi interwove.
The entire ground sealed beneath a canopy of light.
None outside could see within.
—
Hundreds of Outer Court disciples registered.
They queued in order.
Waiting for entry.
All wore academy robes.
Identity jade at their waist.
Faces cold or heated,
Eyes burning with battle intent,
Or furrowed with worry.
Some confident.
Some desperate.
—
Beyond the candidates,
Inner Court students, teaching elders,
Even stewards of White Xuān Society and Silver Mirror
Watched from the sidelines.
—
The atmosphere was heavier than past years.
For this time,
It was not only a contest of strength,
But a subtle struggle among the three factions of the Outer Court.
—
Moments before the academy bell,
The plaza roared with voices.
Yet the noise carried no cheer.
Only gravity.
Only killing intent.
—
For beside each candidate
Might stand the rival
Who would seize their place in the Inner Court.
—
Familiar faces kept distance.
Strangers glared coldly.
Few exchanged words.
All observed in silence.
Seeking to mark threats.
—
—Enemies on all sides.
—
At the main gate of the trial grounds,
A white banner hung high.
Black words inscribed—
"The Inner Court is neither end nor beginning.
Those who can bear weight enter.
Those whose will is unfinished remain in the Outer Court,
Return next year.
Those who enter—greater burden.
Those who fail—resolve not delayed."
—
Plain words.
Yet they struck each candidate's heart
Like a heavy bell.
—
"The names for the Inner Court trial—
Now revealed!"
—
A vast crystal screen rose in the air.
Seven beams of light descended.
Upon the high platform,
A bronze list engraved with names.
A scroll of light projected before all.
Among them—
The name Shī Tóngbǎi.
—
"Sū Yìngyuè, Zhuó Yán, Sītú Yè…
Yes, that makes sense—"
"…Shī Tóngbǎi?"
"Impossible. That errand boy?
He passed qualification?"
"Must be a duplicate name…"
—
Silence.
Then laughter.
Mockery.
Voices of doubt erupted.
—
From Silver Mirror, a disciple scoffed—
"Three years in the Outer Court,
Suddenly on the list?
I suspect backdoor favors."
—
From White Xuān, whispers of disdain—
"To squeeze out a place like this…
Truly absurd."
—
A Silver Mirror steward frowned—
"This is no joke.
How did the office approve?"
—
Nearby, Dù Jīn muttered—
"…This one's movements have been strange.
Perhaps he truly broke through."
—
Steward Dù Jīn stood at the rear.
His gaze complex.
He was among the few
Who knew of Shī Tóngbǎi's recent change.
—
A teacher, seeing the name "Bǎishìtōng,"
Whispered—
"That boy is still in the Outer Court…
Hm? Lately…
He seems different."
—
Bǎishìtōng—true name Shī Tóngbǎi—
Stood in line at registration.
No anger.
No words.
Only a quiet fist clenched.
He heard the mockery.
He remembered the cold eyes.
—
"I will not remain in the Outer Court again…
I will show those who scorned me—
I too can stand at the front!"
—
He drew a deep breath.
Head held high.
He stepped toward the registration platform.
Entered the trial sequence.
—
As the names were read,
A sudden cry—
"Look there—"
—
Two familiar figures entered the crowd.
One was Xiǎo Chén,
Recently famed,
The one who lost control in Sword Hall.
The other—Xuán Chén,
The mysterious outsider,
His cultivation unfathomable.
Though he had not appeared during the Sword Hall upheaval,
None dared belittle him.
For the death-duel aftermath,
None had forgotten.
—
Eyes sharpened.
Whispers spread.
That duel long past,
Yet the broken stage,
Blood-stained ground,
And the vanished talisman cultivator
Remained fuel for rumor and fear.
—
Xiǎo Chén saw disciples quietly condensing qi,
Reciting heart methods.
Some palms damp with sweat.
He glanced at Xuán Chén.
The latter remained calm.
Eyes closed.
As if in meditation.
—
Xiǎo Chén whispered—
"You're not nervous?"
—
Xuán Chén turned with a smile—
"The wind is not in turmoil.
My heart is undisturbed."
—
As they sat,
Several gazes fell askew.
Some disdainful.
Some cold.
—
Sītú Jìng of Silver Mirror did not appear.
Yet his disciples watched in silence.
Members of White Xuān laughed openly—
"Ranked beyond eighty on the Hidden Dragon List,
And dares vie for Inner Court seats?
Do they think this place is for strays?"
—
"But there are two worth watching…"
"Silver Mirror's Fēng Wúmíng,
Ranked sixty-fifth.
Last time, nearly broke into the top sixty."
"White Xuān's Lán Xièchén,
Ranked seventy-third.
His heart method of yin—
Cruel, ruthless.
Few opponents last ten moves."
—
"With those two here… the air has changed."
Around them, the atmosphere shifted.
The trial had not yet begun,
Yet all knew—
Today's test was no ordinary one.
—
At that moment,
The presiding elder stepped onto the high platform.
His voice rang—
"The Inner Court is neither end nor beginning.
Those who can bear weight enter.
Those whose will is unfinished remain in the Outer Court,
Return next year.
Those who enter—greater burden.
Those who fail—resolve not delayed.
Remember: the Inner Court is responsibility, not glory."
—
He paused.
His gaze swept the crowd.
His tone chilled.
—
"This trial has three gates.
The first—
The test of heart.
Those who pass remain.
Those who fail, retreat.
Today you stand surrounded by enemies.
There is no room for self-deception.
The trial begins now!"
—
As his words fell,
The formations shifted.
Arrays opened chambers one by one.
Each candidate led by disciples of the array.
Each entered in turn.
—
Within every chamber lay the Heart-Question Illusion Array.
It drew forth emotions and memories.
Mirages without end.
Only the heart could break them.
—
Faces hardened.
The air tightened.
—
Guided by elders,
Disciples entered their chambers.
Each to face their own trial.
—
Xuán Chén and Xiǎo Chén walked side by side.
Silent.
Their eyes met.
—
The chamber doors opened.
They stepped within.
Separately.
—
—The trial had begun.
The arrays awakened.
Illusions surged like tides.
Each unfolded its own world.
—
What Fēng Wúmíng saw was a desolate snow ridge.
Snow fell in silence.
All around, pure white.
The sky heavy.
Wind piercing cold.
In the distance, a familiar figure stood upon the cliff.
Back turned.
Sword planted in snow.
It was his deceased elder brother.
—
Step by step, Fēng Wúmíng approached.
Around his brother lay fallen bodies—
All opponents he had once defeated.
Eyes wide.
Unclosing in death.
—
His brother turned slowly.
Asked—
"Do you truly believe… you can walk on in my place?"
—
Fēng Wúmíng was silent.
For a moment.
Then answered—
With his sword.
—
Within Lán Xièchén's illusion,
He returned to childhood.
Before entering the academy.
His father sat in the study.
His mother stood at the door.
His father's words cut like blades—
"You seek not strength, but face.
Such a man… will never go far."
—
He shouted.
He resisted.
He left in anger.
Entered Àotiān.
Swore to prove himself not an "empty shell."
—
Yet the illusion replayed it again.
And again.
Every effort.
Every victory.
Always returning to that study.
His father silent.
Eyes cold.
—
"…You still do not understand the meaning of strength."
—
The vision froze.
He fell into confusion.
—
Elsewhere, each candidate faced their own illusions.
Humiliation.
Failure.
False glory.
Some collapsed outright.
Driven from the array.
—
Within Xuán Chén's illusion…
Silence.
Mountains breathed.
Only wind brushed his face.
No images appeared.
All around, emptiness.
Birds and beasts passed by.
None drew near.
All circled away.
As if heaven and earth did not see him as a participant.
He was part of the illusion itself.
An extension of qi.
Nature embodied.
—
He sat unmoving.
Eyes closed.
Breath aligned with the world.
Outside, observers were puzzled.
Had the array failed?
Only one Inner Court elder whispered—
"This one… heart like still water.
No question.
No fear."
—
Xiǎo Chén entered his illusion.
Vision blurred.
A whisper at his ear—
"…Are you leaving?"
—
A woman's voice.
Soft as mist.
Yet bound with broken emotion.
He saw her—
That figure.
Smiling from the far shore.
Hand reaching.
Never touching.
—
Black mist spread.
From it stepped a figure—
His own likeness.
It spoke low—
"She is not yours.
She will not wait.
You will miss her again and again.
Helpless to turn back."
—
Xiǎo Chén drew his spear.
Cold light like stars.
No fear in his heart.
Only one vow—
"If you would bar me,
I will shatter the night!"
—
The illusion quaked.
Starlight flickered in his eyes.
Qi surged, unstable.
—
Outside, elders watching felt the shift.
One murmured—
"That child… his qi-mark trembles violently.
He is in fierce struggle of heart.
But the vision itself… unseen."
—
What Bǎishìtōng saw was not an ancient battlefield.
Nor blades flashing.
He stood in the corner of the Outer Court.
That path where he often carried supplies,
Ran errands for others.
—
Countless scenes replayed.
Ordered about.
Insulted.
Cold stares.
Mocking voices rose—
"You think yourself worthy of cultivation?"
"No roots, no background, useless trash."
"Dreaming of the Inner Court?
A toad lusting after swan's flesh."
—
Voices surged from all sides.
Encircled him.
He did not argue.
Did not rage.
Only one motion—
Fists clenched.
—
As the mocking figures pressed closer,
He lifted his head.
—
"I walked here not by your consent—
But by my own steps.
One by one."
—
He stepped forward.
Before his words fell,
The illusion shattered.
Silent.
Collapsed.
—
Outside, observers were astonished.
—
"This is… breaking illusion with calm heart?"
"His resolve… far beyond expectation."