A single question echoed endlessly in Xiǎo Chén's mind—
"Is she… truly the same girl?"
The tremor in his chest,
the confusion rising like a tide,
nearly swallowed him whole.
Just then,
a hand rested on his shoulder,
halting his steps.
Xiǎo Chén reacted instinctively,
almost striking—
but when he turned,
he saw Xuán Chén.
"Brother…"
Xuán Chén's expression was calm as still water.
He spoke lightly—
"Xiǎo Chén, some things cannot be forced.
If fate has not arrived,
no amount of urgency will change it.
Settle the matter of entering the Inner Court first."
With that,
he turned and walked toward the arena.
Xiǎo Chén looked at his brother's back,
then turned once more toward Yǔxī.
In the end, he said nothing,
and followed Xuán Chén away.
Yǔxī watched him leave,
a faint ache rising in her chest.
She understood his helplessness.
—
At that moment,
Xuānyuán Dié stood beside Yǔxī,
her gaze shifting between the two youths,
growing deeper and sharper.
Finally, she spoke—
"Yǔxī, what exactly is your relationship with Xiǎo Chén?
He was in a near‑demonic state,
yet your voice alone pulled him back.
Don't brush this aside.
If you truly want to help him,
you'd better be honest.
If he loses control again,
I may not be able to save him."
Yǔxī's heart tightened.
She knew she could no longer hide behind silence.
Softly, she recounted the memory—
How, as a child, she was attacked by a bear in the forest,
How Xiǎo Chén appeared,
slaying the beast,
and how under the moonlight
they made a promise to protect each other.
Beyond that,
she could not—
dared not—
say more.
As for the truth that defied all reason,
no one would believe it.
Xuānyuán Dié listened,
her gaze sharpening like a drawn blade.
"Yǔxī…
you've fallen for him, haven't you?"
Yǔxī froze.
Her lips trembled—
but no sound came.
Her silence
was answer enough.
Xuānyuán Dié's voice lowered,
cutting through the air—
"Does he know your identity?
Does he know…
you already have a marriage contract?"
Yǔxī's fingers trembled.
She lowered her gaze,
and slowly shook her head.
She knew—
one day, Xiǎo Chén would learn everything.
She simply didn't dare imagine
what expression he would wear
when that day came.
—
When the presiding elder saw the two brothers step down from the stage,
his deep voice spread across the arena—
"The Inner Court assessment ends here!
Those who passed shall enter the Inner Court.
Those who failed—do not despair.
You may challenge again next year!"
The crowd erupted—
some cheering,
some hanging their heads,
joy and disappointment mixing into a chaotic chorus.
Dù Jīn strode forward,
sweeping his gaze across the gathered students.
"Follow me!"
He led the group toward the Inner Court.
Halfway there, he spotted a dorm steward in grey robes
and beckoned him over.
"You there—"
The steward hurried forward, bowing respectfully.
"Chief Dù, what are your orders?"
Dù Jīn nodded lightly.
"Take these students who passed the assessment
to the new Inner Court dormitories.
I have other matters to handle."
As he spoke,
his gaze fell upon three figures in the crowd.
His voice dropped lower—
"Xiǎo Chén, Xuán Chén, Shī Tóngbǎi—stay behind."
The students exchanged looks—
some stifling laughter,
others whispering.
Being singled out like this…
surely meant they were about to be scolded.
With a wave of the steward's hand,
the rest of the students filed away.
The open space fell into a heavy silence.
Xiǎo Chén frowned, unable to hold back.
"Chief Dù, about earlier—"
But Dù Jīn raised a hand,
silencing him.
He clasped his hands behind his back,
closed his eyes,
and stood motionless.
Only after a long moment,
once he seemed certain no one else was nearby,
did he open his eyes again.
His gaze swept across the three youths.
"Ask nothing.
I am simply following orders—
the three of you are to be placed together."
He paused,
voice dropping even lower.
"Additionally, I'll arrange a private dorm for you three.
I'd rather not see another conflict…
or another life‑and‑death duel."
With that, he turned and walked away,
back straight as ever.
"Come with me."
The three exchanged glances—
confused,
but silent.
They followed as Dù Jīn led them off the main road,
down a quiet, secluded path.
He guided them past a stone walkway,
his steps steady,
his mouth closed.
The surroundings were eerily quiet,
broken only by the distant chime of the Inner Court bell.
Xiǎo Chén's thoughts churned.
Why only us?
Is it really because of the duel…
or does he have another purpose?
He kept his head lowered,
but the unease in his heart only grew.
Suddenly—
Xuán Chén's voice echoed in Xiǎo Chén's mind.
"Xiǎo Chén, this is no random decision.
Someone instructed Dù Jīn to do this."
Xiǎo Chén's heart jolted.
He replied mentally—
"Instructed?
Could it be… Gǔ Líng?"
Xuán Chén gave the faintest nod,
expression unchanged as he walked.
"No need to guess.
Once we arrive, you'll understand."
Shī Tóngbǎi glanced up,
catching the flicker of tension between Xiǎo Chén's brows.
He assumed Xiǎo Chén was still brooding over the duel.
This guy…
He just won,
so why does he look even more troubled?
They walked in silence for some time
until they reached a secluded corner of the Inner Court.
Dù Jīn halted.
The three lifted their eyes—
before them stood the entrance to an ancient stone cavern.
The mouth of the cave was weathered and mottled,
and carved upon the stone wall were three large characters:
[Xuánxīng Cave]
From the cracks of the stone,
faint starlight seeped outward,
as though a fragment of the night sky had fallen here.
Dù Jīn turned,
his gaze sweeping across the three youths.
His tone was calm,
yet carried a subtle weight.
"This will be your residence in the Inner Court.
As for why you three were placed here—
you will understand once you enter."
He led them deeper into the cavern.
The spiritual energy grew denser,
and ancient sigils lined the walls,
as though guarding some long‑sealed restriction.
At the end of the passage,
a three‑story stone tower emerged from the darkness.
Carved from a single massive boulder,
its surface was worn yet unyielding—
no ornate decorations,
only a heavy, oppressive presence.
Before they even approached,
Xiǎo Chén, Xuán Chén, and Shī Tóngbǎi
felt a jolt run through their bodies.
The pressure did not come from the tower itself—
but from the sword intent
radiating from within.
At first, it was faint,
like a breeze brushing past at night.
But the closer they drew,
the sharper it became—
as if thousands of invisible blades
were aimed at their throats.
Xuán Chén and Shī Tóngbǎi's hearts tightened.
Their spiritual energy churned restlessly,
a subtle rejection rising within them—
as though the tower itself
refused to let them near.
Xuán Chén narrowed his eyes,
circulating his spiritual breath—
but the sword intent only intensified,
nearly piercing through his chest.
Shī Tóngbǎi gritted his teeth,
face growing pale.
Only Xiǎo Chén stood unaffected—
as though the sword intent
held no hostility toward him.
Xuán Chén and Shī Tóngbǎi tried several times
to resist the pressure,
but found no solution.
Xuán Chén sent a voice transmission—
"Xiǎo Chén…
this sword intent acknowledges only you."
Xiǎo Chén paused,
then said quietly,
"Then… I'll go in first."
He reached out
and pushed open the stone door.
—
Boom!
A surge of sword force exploded outward—
far sharper than anything before.
It was destruction incarnate,
so fast he could barely react.
The Dragon‑Soul Spear trembled violently in his hand.
His instincts forced him to raise it—
but he was too slow.
The strike was about to cleave him in two—
When suddenly,
just as it reached him,
the sword force shifted.
The killing intent dissolved,
softening into a gentle breeze
that brushed his cheek—
like a mother welcoming her child home.
His heart pounded wildly.
Cold sweat drenched his back.
His breath came in sharp bursts.
For a moment,
he had truly stepped across death's threshold.
He lifted his gaze.
The tower's interior was empty—
yet the walls, floor, and ceiling
were covered in sword marks.
Deep and shallow,
straight and curved,
each stroke carried lethal intent.
The accumulated sword aura
was like an ocean pressing down.
One mark in particular—
directly facing the entrance—
was cold as a glacier,
its presence like ten thousand troops
charging at once.
Xiǎo Chén's heart trembled.
These sword marks were familiar—
yet unlike any technique he knew.
They felt like something
from a memory deeper than memory.
As he held his breath,
a voice suddenly rang out—
Clear, steady, unmistakable.
From the second floor.
Xiǎo Chén's heart jolted.
He recognized that voice instantly.
It was Gǔ Líng,
the Academy Head.
Xiǎo Chén ascended the stone steps.
The second floor was quiet and bright.
There, Gǔ Líng sat behind a stone table,
slowly brewing a pot of spiritual tea.
Fragrance curled through the air,
soft mist rising—
a stark contrast to the cold, violent sword marks
etched throughout the tower.
He lifted his eyes with a gentle smile
and motioned for Xiǎo Chén to sit.
Xiǎo Chén took the seat opposite him,
unable to hold back his question.
"Dean… what is this place?"
But Gǔ Líng did not answer.
Instead, he asked calmly—
"When you stepped through the door just now,
what did you feel?"
Xiǎo Chén recalled the sword force
that nearly cleaved him in half.
Cold sweat slid down his brow again.
"…A familiar sword intent.
But I don't recognize the technique."
Gǔ Líng smiled without speaking.
Tea fragrance drifted between them
as he finally said—
"That was the Tiānhén Sword Art.
And those sword marks were left by your grandfather—
Nìxíng Sì—
many years ago."
Xiǎo Chén's heart jolted.
Confusion followed.
"But… why is it different
from the sword techniques my father taught me?"
Gǔ Líng lowered his gaze to the tea cup in his hand.
The surface of the tea reflected his eyes,
as though memories rose and sank within it.
He asked instead—
"Xiǎo Chén, tell me—
if two people learn the same sword technique,
will their strength differ?"
Xiǎo Chén thought for a long moment,
then nodded.
"Yes.
Different talent, different habits—"
"Wrong."
Gǔ Líng raised a hand,
cutting him off.
His tone was not harsh,
but carried an unshakable certainty.
Xiǎo Chén froze,
confusion deepening.
He cupped his hands respectfully.
"Please enlighten me, Dean."
Gǔ Líng looked at him,
a faint warmth flickering in his eyes.
He stroked his beard, smiling.
"Good.
You are teachable."
He paused.
Then his voice flowed out
like the fragrance of the tea—
gentle, yet piercing straight into the heart.
"The difference does not lie in talent,
nor in habit—
but in the heart."
He continued, smiling softly.
"The level of one's swordsmanship
is not determined by how exquisite the technique is,
but by whether the heart can remain steady.
If the heart clings to victory,
to reputation,
or to the fleeting gains before one's eyes—
the sword will waver.
It will stray."
Xiǎo Chén listened in a daze.
From the depths of his mind,
the illusion of the second floor of the Fate‑Mark Tower—
Greed—
suddenly resurfaced.
He had nearly been dragged
into the abyss of his own obsession.
Had he not awakened at the final moment,
he would have perished there.
His heart trembled.
So that trial…
was not merely a test of will.
It was a warning about the heart.
If the heart is bound by greed,
the sword loses clarity.
If the heart remains steady,
the sword becomes invincible.
He lifted his gaze toward Gǔ Líng,
realizing that these words
were far more than swordsmanship—
they revealed the essence of cultivation itself.
Gǔ Líng raised his tea cup,
gently blowing away the foam.
His voice drifted like a quiet stream—
"Sword intent
is merely the extension of one's heart.
Your grandfather's heart was like blazing sun—
his sword moved forward without hesitation.
Thus the marks he left
were like a broken dam,
a flood unstoppable.
Your father was different.
His heart held compassion for the world.
His sword moved with benevolence,
soft yet unyielding—
like a river that nourishes all things."
Gǔ Líng paused for a moment,
as though waiting for you to savor the bitterness and sweetness of the tea
before continuing—
"The Tiānhén Sword Art is the same,
yet because the hearts behind it differ,
it evolves into entirely different paths.
As for you…"
His gaze settled on Xiǎo Chén—
a gaze that seemed to pierce through worldly illusions,
yet carried a faint expectation.
"You carry the Dragon Soul,
yet your heart still holds confusion and attachment.
Your sword intent has not yet taken form.
But precisely because of that—
your path will not be a simple inheritance
of your father or grandfather.
You must carve out a sword that belongs to you alone."
His voice deepened.
"Remember this, Xiǎo Chén—
the height of swordsmanship lies only in the heart.
If the heart is lost,
even the finest sword becomes a mortal blade.
If the heart is steady,
even a broken branch
can split the heavens."
With those words,
Gǔ Líng turned and left the stone tower.
Outside, he glanced at Xuán Chén and Shī Tóngbǎi,
who were still struggling to enter the tower,
and said lightly—
"Do not always resist.
Think instead of how to respond.
Resistance is not always the most effective way."
With that, he rose into the air,
his figure drifting away like a crane,
leaving behind a cool, lingering presence.
Xiǎo Chén watched him disappear into the horizon
before walking to Xuán Chén's side.
"Brother," he asked softly,
"do you need me to tell you the Star‑Mark Sect's method?"
Xuán Chén shook his head,
expression calm.
"No need.
You still have someone to meet, don't you?
Go on.
I'll try again."
Warmth stirred in Xiǎo Chén's chest.
He turned to Shī Tóngbǎi.
"What about you?
Do you need me to tell you how to break through?"
For once, Shī Tóngbǎi straightened with rare pride.
"Senior brother, I can still hold on.
Go handle your matters first.
Don't worry about me.
I want to try again."
Xiǎo Chén couldn't help but smile,
raising a thumb in approval.
"Good spirit.
Then I'll leave you to it."
He turned and walked away,
his footsteps growing distant.
Exiting the Xuánxīng Cave,
the star‑patterns on the stone walls shimmered faintly,
as though silently watching him—
their presence carrying an invisible pressure.
He lifted his gaze.
In the distance stood a towering stone structure,
its grey‑white walls scarred by time,
its height piercing the clouds,
a faint aura of oppression radiating from it.
This was the heart of the Inner Court—
The Xuánxīng Stone Tower.
A tremor passed through Xiǎo Chén's heart,
but he did not linger.
As he walked on,
he suddenly realized—
He had no idea
where the Sword Hall even was.
Disciples passed by in a steady flow,
robes brushing,
none stopping.
Xiǎo Chén frowned slightly,
wondering whom he should ask—
when a faint sensation stirred in his chest.
A pull.
Subtle, distant,
yet unmistakably familiar.
As though telling him—
The path ahead
was not only the path to the Sword Hall.
It was the path
toward someone destined to meet him.