Upon the open ground,
Morning light faintly glimmered.
At the Inner Court plaza of Àotiān Academy,
A platform three zhang high had been raised.
Sigils circled its edges.
Upon it, the words "Xuǎn Zhēn" carved.
Qi flowed.
All eyes gathered.
—
The presiding elder stood at its head.
Sleeves swept.
Voice like a great bell—
"The second trial of strength is complete.
Seventy-three passed.
This is the new round of selection for the Inner Court.
All at Meridian Mark initial stage or higher
May contend for Xuǎn Zhēn.
But only thirty-six may enter.
The rest must wait another year."
—
The plaza erupted.
Faces bright with joy.
Others furrowed in worry.
A youth muttered—
"Thirty-six?
I thought it was only strength.
So there are limits…
Will it be by lot?"
—
The elder, unshaken, continued—
"Today's battles are on the arena.
Each has but one fight.
Victory advances.
Defeat ends.
Only one, by uneven numbers,
Will advance without battle."
—
At once, tension rose.
From the distant stands,
Inner Court disciples appeared.
White Xuān's Bái Shī stood with hands behind his back.
Aura released.
Silver Mirror's Sītú Jìng narrowed his gaze.
Silent.
Both eyes fixed upon certain names below.
—
The war of Xuǎn Zhēn was about to begin.
A heavy bell tolled.
The decisive trial commenced.
The elder declared—
"Today's battles, by lot—begin!"
—
At his words,
The jade box of tokens stirred.
Light swirled.
The first match—
Lán Xièchén versus Xià Chénzhōu.
—
Both stepped onto the arena.
Lán Xièchén in white robes.
Silver bands at his wrists.
Eyes cold as stars.
Aura sharp as frost.
At his waist,
A sigil-etched sword.
Ununsheathed.
Yet thunder whispered.
Storms gathering.
—
He spoke no word.
Only stood.
Invisible pressure surged like waves.
Swept the crowd.
—
"White-robed Thunder Sword… it is Lán Xièchén!"
Cries rose.
Voices tinged with awe.
"White Xuān sends him this year.
They mean to claim victory."
—
Xià Chénzhōu tightened his stance.
Qi shield formed.
Yet before he steadied—
A flash of lightning.
Sword qi not yet struck.
But its force pressed first.
With a thunderclap,
Silver lightning shattered the shield.
In but three breaths,
Xià Chénzhōu spat blood.
His body hurled from the arena.
Lán Xièchén—victorious.
—
Silence fell.
Then whispers of awe—
"Ranked seventy-third on the Hidden Dragon List… deserved."
"That strike was no ordinary thunder qi…
It held a lightning array within the blade!"
—
The presiding elder's face remained calm.
Yet his eyes grew grave.
He nodded softly.
"Lán Xièchén advances.
Next match—Lín Shuò versus Sū Yún."
—
The second battle proved fiercer.
Blades and flames clashed.
Qi collided.
Sword shadows and firelight entwined.
Nearly a hundred breaths passed
Before Lín Shuò claimed narrow victory.
—
The following matches quickened.
Some won with ease.
Others fell in bitter struggle.
Proud ones, defeated,
Covered their faces,
Leaving the stage in shame.
—
Spectators crowded.
Some cheered.
Others silent.
—
"…It seems only those ranked will advance steadily."
"White Xuān and Silver Mirror—each has its champions."
—
After Lán Xièchén's single-sword victory,
The tension did not fade.
Newcomers ranked beyond seventy
Took the stage.
Results varied.
Some dazzled.
Others fell hard.
—
One, named Chén Xuányǔ,
Wielded twin hammers.
Aura surging.
Forced his opponent back three zhang.
Spectators praised—
"Chén Xuányǔ trains the martial meridians.
Fourth Mark peak…
He should have entered long ago!"
Another added—
"He was always too low-key.
This time, he may enter Xuǎn Zhēn directly."
—
In another bout,
Disciple Sòng Zhǐxuě faced Hè Chōng of Iron Gate.
They fought ten exchanges.
At last she fell.
Yet her brows showed no despair.
She wiped her sword.
Left the stage in silence.
—
Below, a student shook his head—
"Her battle heart is too weak.
Her moves clever,
But against Hè Chōng's body-forged strength,
She was at a loss."
Another murmured—
"Had her will been stronger,
The outcome might have been different."
—
Match after match continued.
The crowd murmured.
Tension rose.
The elder raised his hand.
Light fell upon the next token.
"Shī Tóngbǎi versus Lín Yuǎndào."
—
When Bǎishìtōng stepped onto the stage,
His face was still dazed.
Steps unsteady.
Mind unfocused.
Across from him, Lín Yuǎndào smirked.
Eyes contemptuous.
Sword in hand.
Tip trembling.
Clearly dismissive.
—
"This fool… with such bearing,
He dares fight for a place?"
He sneered inwardly.
At once, qi surged.
Sword shadow lunged for Bǎishìtōng's chest.
—
Bǎishìtōng seemed startled.
Body shrank.
Yet just enough to evade the fatal strike.
—
"Quick to dodge… mere luck."
Lín Yuǎndào's disdain deepened.
His sword rained down.
Each blow lethal.
—
Yet at every instant,
Bǎishìtōng slipped away.
Barely.
At the edge of death.
—
The crowd erupted—
"Is he dancing?
Or a genius of evasion?"
"Hahaha… is this comedy?"
"How has he not been struck once?"
—
Sweat drenched his face.
His heart more chaotic.
Feet faltered.
Rhythm nearly lost.
—
Then—
A chill surged.
From the viewing stands.
Killing intent pierced his back.
His heart jolted.
That aura—familiar.
No need to turn.
He knew.
Xuānyuán Dié had come.
—
In his mind, words echoed—
"My Sword Hall does not keep trash.
Nor raise trash.
When the time comes,
I will cleanse it myself.
Spare us the shame."
—
His eyes sharpened.
Tension snapped.
Clarity bloomed.
When the next strike came,
He no longer fled.
Sword raised in defense.
Body turned.
Step light.
Blade lifted—
Lín Yuǎndào's edge deflected.
—
"He… he's fighting back?"
The crowd gasped.
—
Lín Yuǎndào's brows furrowed.
His sword grew faster.
Attacks like waves.
Yet Bǎishìtōng's swordplay changed.
Steps like butterflies.
Blade like wind.
Each move neither orthodox nor strange.
Yet unbroken.
Flowing.
Pressing closer.
—
From the stands, an elder cried—
"This is… the Butterfly Sword!"
Another narrowed his eyes—
"No. His footwork is unrefined.
But the sword intent is formed…
This boy was guided by Xuānyuán Dié!"
—
The crowd's whispers shifted.
Shock spread.
"Wasn't he just an errand boy?
How could he…"
"That footwork… only Sword Hall disciples know it!"
—
Pressure mounted on Lín Yuǎndào.
His rhythm faltered.
Bǎishìtōng, mind clear,
Moves smoother.
One strike drove him to the edge.
Sword raised.
Point at his throat.
—
Lín Yuǎndào's body trembled.
Lips pale.
Cold sweat fell.
—
"This battle—Shī Tóngbǎi wins!"
The elder's voice rang.
Silence fell.
—
Bǎishìtōng's sword lowered.
He turned.
Sensed something.
Looked toward the stands.
Empty.
Xuānyuán Dié's aura had vanished.
He smirked.
Whispered—
"That pressure… truly harsh…"
—
He leapt lightly from the stage.
Steps steadier than when he ascended.
"Next match—Qū Rán versus Lín Ténghào!"
—
At the elder's voice,
The crowd stirred.
"It's Silver Mirror's Qū Rán!
He takes the stage!"
—
Clad in bronze-red garb,
Eyes gleamed with confidence and pride.
A faint smile at his lips.
He stepped forward.
—
Whispers rose—
"They say last year he missed the trial due to injury.
This time, he comes prepared…"
—
Lín Ténghào's aura was steady.
Qi thick.
A heavy-backed axe in hand.
He charged straight in.
—
Qū Rán snorted.
Steps agile, like flame.
Three flashes.
Sword gleamed.
A strike—Shadow-Breaking Thunder Arc—
Split the air.
—
Boom!
Dust surged.
Lín Ténghào, about to counter,
Was struck at the shoulder.
Driven back three zhang.
Stumbling.
—
Another strike—Skyfire Piercing Void.
Sword light like serpents of flame.
Unbroken.
Relentless.
—
"Stop!"
The elder's voice rang.
Eyes faintly surprised.
"Qū Rán wins."
—
The crowd roared.
Silver Mirror's strike—
Swift.
Merciless.
—
Qū Rán sheathed his blade.
Face calm.
As if victory were natural.
He stepped down.
Passing the crowd.
Then a voice reached his ear—
"…Xuán Chén was not drawn.
He advances directly."
—
His step faltered.
Brows lifted.
"Advance without battle?"
—
He turned.
Saw Xuán Chén standing quietly.
Eyes calm as water.
Unmoved by whispers.
—
Cold light flickered in Qū Rán's gaze.
He spoke—
"Advance without battle?
This is Xuǎn Zhēn?
A joke.
Is he worthy?"
—
He strode toward the platform.
Bowed to the elder.
Voice loud—
"Presiding elder, disciple Qū Rán requests an extra match.
I challenge Xuán Chén—to prove truth."
—
The crowd gasped.
—
"Challenge Xuán Chén? Is he mad?"
"Qū Rán is Silver Mirror's first disciple of the Sword Hall… does he not know who Xuán Chén is?"
—
The presiding elder frowned.
"None outside the draw may begin battle.
That is the rule."
—
Qū Rán bowed, unyielding.
"Disciple means no disruption.
Only seeks a duel to decide.
If he enters Xuǎn Zhēn without battle,
While I fight yet must wait another year,
Is this trial not mockery?"
—
Whispers spread.
Some nodded.
The crowd stirred.
—
The elder hesitated.
His gaze turned,
Unwillingly, toward Xuán Chén.
—
Yet Xuán Chén spoke no word.
He turned.
Walked slowly to the arena.
Robes lifted by the air.
Silent, yet louder than sound.
—
The crowd fell silent.
—
At the center,
He turned slightly.
Eyes calm.
Voice steady—
"Are you not coming up?"
—
The elder looked to Dù Jīn and others.
—
Then a voice rang.
Deep.
Resonant.
Across the plaza—
"Permit the duel."
—
It was Gǔ Líng's voice.
Suppressing all debate.
The crowd stilled.
—
Dù Jīn rose.
Voice clear—
"This match is granted as an extra trial.
Neither may strike to kill.
Stop at the point.
Else punishment severe."
—
The words seemed fair.
Yet carried warning—
A reminder to Xuán Chén not to unleash too far.
—
Qū Rán's eyes blazed.
He snorted.
Leapt like wind.
Landing opposite.
—
Xuán Chén stood calm.
Hands behind his back.
A faint smile at his lips.
—
Qū Rán's aura condensed.
Eyes sharp.
Sword pointed.
Battle intent blazing.
—
The crowd hushed.
All eyes fixed upon the platform.
—
This duel—
Unwritten in the lot.
Yet more watched than any other.