The dawn mist curled low over Sky-Splitting Peak, veiling the courtyards like drifting silk. Disciples stirred to the clang of bells, their white and gray robes fluttering as they rushed toward the Outer Training Grounds.
Xu Tian walked among them with unhurried steps. His bearing was calm, his eyes deep as still waters. To the casual gaze, he seemed no different from the other youths, but those who had seen him stand beneath the Waterfall of Ten Thousand Blades whispered in hushed tones.
"Did you hear? He parted the water, as if his blade was invisible.""Impossible. He's just a new disciple.""Then why has Bai Heng been failing every spar since? His fortune's dried up!""Shhh, don't speak too loudly — he might hear."
The whispers were like fine threads of silk, weaving through the air wherever Xu Tian walked. Some were filled with awe, some with suspicion, some with envy sharp as poisoned daggers.
Zhou Wei hurried to his side, clutching a bamboo scroll. "Tian-ge," he whispered, "the elders have announced the First Sparring Rankings. If we place well, we'll earn access to the Sword Pavilion's manuals."
Xu Tian inclined his head. "Then it seems the true contest begins today."
The training ground was a wide expanse of polished stone, sword marks etched across its surface from countless battles. Disciples lined its edges as Elder Ming strode forward, his voice carrying like thunder.
"Outer Disciples! Today, you will be tested. Each of you will step onto this platform and cross blades. Your victories, your losses, your conduct, will determine your place. From the rankings, resources shall be given. From the rankings, destiny shall shift!"
Excitement rippled through the crowd. In the sect, rankings were life. Resources meant pills, manuals, and prestige. Prestige meant opportunities. And opportunities meant survival.
The first matches began. Swords clashed, sparks flew, shouts rang out. Young geniuses displayed their techniques, each hoping to catch the eye of watching elders.
When Bai Heng's turn came, he strode onto the stage with a sneer, his blade gleaming. His opponent, a timid youth, barely lasted three exchanges before collapsing under Heng's aggressive strikes.
Bai Heng laughed arrogantly. "This is the fate of mediocrity." Yet as he left the platform, his eyes darted toward Xu Tian, sharp with venom.
Elder Ming called the next names.
"Xu Tian! Step forward."
The murmurs swelled. All eyes turned toward him.
Xu Tian stepped onto the platform, his plain white robe fluttering in the morning breeze. His expression was calm, but within his sleeve his fingers tightened ever so slightly. He could feel gazes pressing upon him — admiration, envy, suspicion, and somewhere in the crowd, a murderous intent that chilled the air.
His opponent was a stocky youth from a minor clan, his sword gripped with both hands. "I won't hold back, Xu Tian!"
"Good," Tian said lightly. "Nor will I."
The match began.
The youth lunged, his strikes fierce but predictable. Xu Tian moved like flowing water, his blade tracing arcs of simplicity. Each parry redirected force, each step led his opponent astray. Soon the youth's strikes grew wild, his footing faltered, and with a single flick, Tian's sword kissed his wrist. The opponent's weapon clattered to the floor.
"Winner: Xu Tian," Elder Ming declared.
A wave of murmurs swept the crowd. Too simple. Too effortless.
Tian's next match came swiftly, this time against a cunning youth whose sword was like a coiled serpent, darting at openings. But Tian flowed calmly, every movement precise. The serpent's fangs never found flesh; instead, its head was tapped lightly aside until the boy fell to his knees in frustration.
Again, victory.
By the third match, whispers had grown louder.
"Too clean. He wins without striking to wound.""Does he even use force? It's as if his opponents collapse on their own.""No… it's worse. It's as if their fate collapses."
Bai Heng's face twisted with rage as he watched.
Finally, the inevitable came.
"Xu Tian versus Bai Heng!"
The crowd roared. Rivalry had been clear since the trials, and every disciple leaned forward eagerly.
Bai Heng leapt onto the stage, his blade gleaming with killing intent. "This time, I will cut you down, pretender."
Xu Tian raised his sword in a polite salute. "Please."
They clashed. Bai Heng's strikes were fierce, driven by pride and fury. His blade howled with wind, his steps heavy with power. But each time, Xu Tian's sword intercepted with minimal effort, redirecting strength, letting Heng exhaust himself.
Sparks flew, the ring of steel resounded like thunder.
But as the match dragged on, Bai Heng's movements began to stumble. His blade slipped, his balance wavered. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"No… not again!"
Xu Tian's sword tip rested gently upon Heng's throat.
The crowd fell silent.
"Winner: Xu Tian," Elder Ming announced.
Gasps erupted, followed by a surge of whispers.
"Bai Heng lost again?""No… more than that. His luck faltered mid-battle. Just like before.""Is it coincidence… or something darker?"
Bai Heng's face turned pale, then red with shame. He staggered back, hatred burning in his eyes. "You… you cursed me!"
Xu Tian only bowed with grace, his voice calm: "It was your own imbalance that cut you down, not I."
But inwardly, his blood churned. Again, he had felt it: the unseen threads snapping one by one. His father's Dao whispering within his veins.
That night, as the rankings were announced, Xu Tian's name was placed among the top ten of the outer disciples. Gasps echoed across the square — no newcomer had risen so high in decades.
But not all eyes gleamed with admiration.
In a shadowed pavilion above, the Supreme Elder watched with narrowed eyes. At his side, another elder whispered, "Shall we cultivate him, Supreme Elder? His talent is unmatched."
The Supreme Elder's gaze was cold as winter steel. "Talent that defies Heaven is not a gift. It is a calamity. He walks the same path as his father… and we buried that path once before."
His hand closed around his jade pendant, crushing it to dust.
"Prepare the nets. Let him shine… so that when he falls, no one will question why."
In his courtyard, Xu Tian lit a single lantern. Its flame danced, casting long shadows upon the wall.
He unrolled the bamboo scroll Zhou Wei had given him earlier. Written upon it were the rankings, each name etched in neat strokes. His own stood proudly in the tenth position.
Yet as his gaze lingered upon the ink, he felt no triumph. Only the weight of whispers, the chill of hidden gazes, the echo of his mother's warning.
He reached for his sword, laying it across his knees.
"A blade that cuts what is seen wins duels," he murmured softly. "But a blade that cuts what is unseen… wins wars."
His eyes gleamed in the lantern light.
"I will sheath my edge. For now."
Outside, the wind carried the sound of distant swords clashing, the sect alive with ambition, envy, and schemes. Above, the fractured sky glimmered faintly — and somewhere within its broken shards, destiny stirred uneasily.