The illusion trials ended.
Participants stepped from the stone chambers.
Some dazed.
Some with sweat upon their brow.
Others calm, hearts clarified.
Some emerged with tears yet unspent.
Others with smiles,
Like butterflies breaking from cocoons.
Success was not only cultivation.
It lay in the heart's gate.
—
The presiding elder nodded briefly.
Then declared—
"The first trial is complete.
Of one hundred thirty-two who entered,
Over sixty fell.
The rest proceed to the second gate:
The Stele of Strength."
—
His gaze swept the crowd.
His voice steady—
"Three years past,
By decree of the Headmaster and elders,
The Inner Court trial was revised.
Henceforth, all who seek entry
Must meet two conditions—
First, the test of heart.
Second, strength at least of the Meridian Mark Realm.
Only then may one be named to the Inner Court."
—
His words rang slow,
Like evening bells.
Resonating in every ear—
"These two rules are for protection.
When conflict within the academy grows fierce,
Low-level disciples cannot defend themselves."
—
At the plaza's center,
Eight circular platforms rose.
Upon each, a stele one zhang high.
Sigils like dragons and serpents coiled across its face.
Light flowed.
These were the academy's Steles of Strength.
They responded to qi.
Revealed the stage of fate-marks.
Judged attributes and root.
—
Stewards called names.
Candidates stepped forth in turn.
Testing one by one.
—
The first few new entrants performed modestly.
Most between two and three marks.
Murmurs spread—
—
"Hm? That one is four marks mid-stage.
No fame before… hidden too well."
"That girl—Zhuó Yán?
Two years, yet only three marks perfected?"
"Patience.
The true spectacle lies ahead—
Fēng Wúmíng and Lán Xièchén."
—
Moments later—
"Fēng Wúmíng, step forward."
—
The Silver Mirror representative, tall and sharp-eyed, strode forth.
Qi surged.
The stele flared.
Five rings appeared, each steady as mountains.
Five Marks, initial stage.
—
The crowd stirred—
"Ranked sixty-fifth on the Hidden Dragon List—truly deserved!"
"With such strength, he could already enter the Inner Court's higher ranks…"
—
Next came Lán Xièchén of Silver Mirror.
His aura restrained.
Eyes like stars.
He released qi.
Four rings shone.
The fifth flickered, half-shown, half-hidden.
Between Four Marks perfected and Five Marks initial.
Whispers rose—
"He has nearly reached five marks…"
"They say he once lost to Shěn Zǐyù, his heart changed.
This time, he may return stronger."
—
The trial pressed on.
Focus shifted to the remaining three—
Xuán Chén, Xiǎo Chén, and Bǎishìtōng.
—
The presiding elder spoke calmly—
"Xuán Chén, step forward."
—
He stood before the stele.
Breath steady.
Unmoving.
He raised his hand.
No surge of qi.
Yet the stele trembled.
—
Someone murmured—
"He… he didn't even exert force.
Why does the stele move?"
—
On its surface, circles of dark ripples spread.
From his fingertip outward.
Not as if qi was injected,
But as if something long-sleeping was awakened.
—
Observers saw him like a lone pine.
Qi like the deep sea beneath the moon.
The stele seemed to feel
An indescribable pressure.
It glowed faintly.
Ancient patterns reappearing.
Gray light rising.
—
The stele rippled like a quiet pool.
Each wave dimmed its sigils.
Moments later,
The monument sank into shadow.
Qi hidden.
As if in slumber.
—
Sharp eyes saw—
The central pattern, once radiant,
Now slowly closed.
Like an ancient beast's eye,
Opening, then shutting.
A chill spread.
Hearts trembled.
—
Dù Jīn whispered—
"…It chose to sleep."
—
Gǔ Líng's gaze deepened.
A tremor stirred within—
"This stele… sensed a force it could not bear."
—
Stewards startled.
Elders spoke low—
"Pause the test.
Next."
—
Xuán Chén nodded.
Stepped aside.
Eyes deep as an ancient well.
—
The presiding elder called again—
"Xiǎo Chén, step forward."
—
He ascended silently.
Qi infused.
The stele shook.
Then repeated the scene—
Black ripples spread.
All response swallowed.
The monument fell silent.
—
"Again."
The elder's brow furrowed.
Voice heavy.
—
By command, Xiǎo Chén pressed qi once more.
Dark light surged.
The stele blackened.
Silent.
—
The crowd erupted—
"Again? Both of them?"
"Is the stele broken?
Or… is their qi too strange?"
—
The elder pondered long.
Exchanged glances with Dù Jīn.
His face grave.
Silent.
—
The next disciple stepped forward.
The stele returned to normal.
Clear display—
Three Marks, initial stage.
—
"It's not the stele's fault…"
"Then their qi must have interfered with the test?"
—
Gǔ Líng's brow furrowed.
He raised his hand.
A hidden sigil flowed into the void behind the presiding elder.
His gaze deepened.
Fingers moved.
Silent transmission to Dù Jīn and others.
—
Dù Jīn started.
Then bowed low.
Answered—
"Disciple understands."
—
From then,
The elder spoke no more.
Only judgment—
"Their tests showed anomalies.
Yet their pressure is not weak.
By rule, they are marked Specially Passed.
Their records will not enter the public list.
Stored in private scrolls.
The stele's change will be examined later.
None shall spread rumor."
—
Outsiders knew nothing.
Within, the verdict was set.
The words shook the crowd.
None dared object.
—
At last,
The final candidate stepped forth—
Known as Bǎishìtōng, true name Shī Tóngbǎi.
—
He drew a deep breath.
Placed his palm upon the stele.
Qi surged.
Light rippled.
—
"One mark… two… three…"
—
The crowd held breath.
—
A fourth ring appeared.
Not fully solid.
Yet clear.
—
"Four Marks, initial stage…"
—
The plaza erupted.
—
"Wasn't he the one who never even showed a single mark?"
"Isn't that Shī Tóngbǎi, the errand boy from Wàncè Hall… how is he at four marks?"
—
Faces shifted among White Xuān and Silver Mirror.
A figure once uncounted,
Now a variable.
—
Bǎishìtōng clenched his fist.
Whispered—
"This is only the beginning…"
—
As the trial neared its end,
A Silver Mirror disciple stepped forth.
Voice loud—
"Since some failed to complete the test,
Yet were still passed,
Silver Mirror has the right to question!"
—
Dù Jīn slammed the table.
Roared—
"Fool! Who are you?
The elders agreed.
You dare challenge their judgment?"
—
Then Fēng Wúmíng strode forward.
Calm.
Eyes fixed on Xiǎo Chén.
Voice steady—
"Fēng Wúmíng does not question the elders.
But since this is the Trial of Xuǎn Zhēn,
I ask the committee to permit me,
In the next test,
To challenge Xiǎo Chén.
If I lose, I yield.
His strength proven.
If I win,
Let all see whether that 'anomaly'
Was but a veil of trickery."
—
Another stepped from Silver Mirror.
Cold voice—
"Senior Brother Fēng speaks true.
I, Silver Mirror's Qū Rán,
Challenge Xuán Chén."
—
Eyes turned toward White Xuān.
Lán Xièchén only smiled.
Silent.
Neither assent nor denial.
—
Xuán Chén stood with hands behind his back.
Glanced at Qū Rán.
Mouth curved—
"Before you provoke me,
Choose the size of your coffin."
—
Xiǎo Chén laughed.
Spoke—
"Challenge me? Welcome.
Write your death pact.
Choose your coffin.
That is the condition.
We do not seek trouble.
But we do not fear it.
Prepare your last rites.
If you dare death, then come."
—
The crowd gasped.
Four corners shaken.
—
Qū Rán, seeing Xuán Chén unmoved,
Raised his voice higher—
"Xuán Chén!
Do you dare accept my challenge!"
—
At that moment, Xuán Chén lifted his eyes.
Cold as untouched snow.
He spoke—
"I have your name.
When the time comes, do not run."
—
The words fell heavy.
Like a stone cast into the crowd.
Qū Rán's face stiffened.
Silenced by the chill.
—
Beside them, Dù Jīn felt the shift.
His eyelids twitched.
At last he slammed the table.
Shouted—
"You two again!
Talking of coffins—
This is the academy, not a death arena!
If every few days someone dies,
How can Àotiān Academy continue?"
—
His tone was harsh.
Yet beneath it lay helplessness.
Headache long endured.
—
After his roar, Xiǎo Chén spread his hands.
Spoke innocently—
"Steward Dù, this isn't our fault.
If someone wants to kill us,
Should we smile and offer our necks,
Let them choose the angle?
You should speak to that… that Fēng-something."
—
Fēng Wúmíng retorted coldly—
"I have a name. Fēng Wúmíng!"
—
Xiǎo Chén shrugged, feigning innocence—
"Yes, Fēng-something.
'Wúmíng'—doesn't that mean nothing?
What should I call you then?
A thing?"
—
Fēng Wúmíng stared straight at Qū Rán.
Blurted—
"I, Fēng Wúmíng, am not a thing!"
—
Silence fell.
Then muffled laughter broke.
One elder tried to hide his smile.
Coughed twice to cover.
—
Xiǎo Chén froze for half a beat.
Then burst out laughing.
Clapped his hands—
"Hahaha… I knew you weren't a thing.
But I never thought you'd say it yourself!"
—
Fēng Wúmíng's face darkened.
Eyes sharp as blades.
"You…"
—
Below the stage,
Many disciples already covered their mouths,
Suppressing laughter.
Some nearly burst aloud.
From White Xuān's side,
There was no restraint.
They laughed openly,
Bent double.
—
Eyes turned toward White Xuān.
Lán Xièchén only smiled faintly.
Silent.
Watching the scene unfold.
Neither word nor gesture.
—
Thus the second trial ended.
—
The next—
The true key of selection.
The trial of combat.
Who enters, who falls,
All decided by strength.
—
Yet beneath the surface,
An unseen current gathered.
Waiting.
For the coming storm.