The staircase of the White Crane Sect loomed without end, a stone path carved not merely into the mountain, but into the hearts of all who dared to climb it.
By now, the staircase was littered with the fallen. Hundreds—no, thousands—who had started this trial with bright eyes and fiery ambition now lay slumped against the steps, unconscious or broken. The air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and despair. Their groans blended with the harsh winds that swept down the mountainside, carrying away the echoes of those who could climb no further.
The survivors were few.
Hei Long's body screamed with agony. His muscles trembled violently, his legs barely obeying his will. Sweat rolled down his pale face, dripping into his eyes and blinding him as much as the haze clouding his vision. Every breath was a war against the crushing force pressing down on his chest.
But still, he climbed.
One foot. Then the other. His sack clung to him like a curse, its weight multiplied tenfold under the mountain's oppression. His knees buckled often, slamming against stone until they bled, but he pushed on.
There was no elegance in his climb. No explosive displays of qi to impress the crowd. Only a raw, stubborn refusal to stop.
At his side, the scar-faced youth carrying two sacks bellowed in defiance, veins bulging as he forced his burden higher. Behind them, the burly cultivator carrying the frail girl stumbled but did not yield, his arms locked around the sacks as if they were extensions of his own flesh. The girl's face was pale, but her eyes gleamed with admiration and shame in equal measure.
Ahead, the silver-haired youth pressed upward with a cold, disciplined focus. His qi shimmered around him like armor, his every step steady though his lips trembled from the exertion. He glanced back only once, and his expression hardened as he saw Hei Long still climbing.
It was not recognition. It was warning.
The staircase twisted higher, each step heavier than the last. The 450th step… the 460th… each rise shook the very marrow of their bones. Those who had survived thus far were no longer competitors—they were warriors bleeding together upon the battlefield of endurance.
Suddenly, another cry pierced the air.
A youth collapsed just ahead of Hei Long, his body crushed beneath his sack. His hands clawed desperately at the stone, dragging himself half a step forward before the pressure finally smothered his strength. His body slumped lifelessly, his qi flickering out like a candle.
Hei Long's chest heaved, the sight cutting into him like a blade. That boy had been stronger than him—faster, more talented. Yet now he lay still.
A whisper clawed at Hei Long's mind. You're next.
For a heartbeat, his legs refused to move. His sack dragged him backward, pulling him toward the abyss of failure. His vision darkened.
But then, something deeper stirred. A fire, quiet yet unyielding. His lips split into a grimace, teeth grinding hard enough to draw blood.
"No," he growled, voice raw and hoarse. "Not me."
With a roar that ripped from his gut, Hei Long forced his leg upward, slamming his foot onto the next step. The sound was like thunder in his ears.
The staircase did not care. It pressed down harder.
By the 480th step, there were fewer than two dozen left. Their faces were masks of agony, their bodies pushed beyond reason. Yet their eyes still burned with the desire to reach the top.
The silver-haired youth stumbled for the first time, catching himself against the stone. His hands shook, qi flickering chaotically around him. He bit his lip until it bled, forcing his body upright once more.
The scar-faced youth carrying two sacks roared like a beast, his body breaking under the strain. His knees buckled, his vision dimmed, but his spirit flared brighter than ever.
Hei Long's body was little more than torn flesh and bone, his breath shallow and ragged. Every step left streaks of blood behind him, his palms shredded from catching himself again and again. His sack seemed to dig into his very soul, yet he clung to it as though it were proof of his existence.
Step by step, they reached the final stretch.
The 490th step… then the 495th.
Now, the staircase ended only a breath away. The summit glowed faintly under the descending sun, the clouds painted in hues of crimson and gold. Salvation was in sight.
But the mountain was merciless to the last. The final steps pressed down with a force that seemed intent on grinding the survivors into dust. Many faltered here, their bodies finally failing at the edge of victory. One young woman collapsed, blood streaming from her lips as she lay unmoving upon the 497th step. Another man screamed as his knees shattered, his body rolling down several steps before he too went still.
The survivors' breaths became animalistic, guttural sounds torn from throats raw with pain.
Hei Long's vision dimmed completely. For a moment, all he saw was darkness. His body moved on instinct alone, his qi forced into every trembling limb to keep them from giving out. He staggered once, twice, nearly falling into oblivion.
Then—his foot struck the final step.
The summit.
He collapsed forward, his sack crashing beside him. His chest heaved violently, blood trickling from his lips. Yet his eyes, hazy and unfocused, burned with satisfaction.
He had endured.
One by one, the others followed. The silver-haired youth stumbled onto the summit, collapsing in silence. The scar-faced man with two sacks fell to his knees, his roar echoing across the sky. The burly cultivator carrying the girl finally reached the top, his body crumpling as she wept quietly beside him.
In the end, fewer than a dozen stood at the summit.
Above them, the Examiner finally moved. His sleeves billowed as he rose, descending gracefully upon his crane. His sharp gaze swept over the survivors, measuring them in silence.
For a long moment, he said nothing. The mountain winds howled, and the weight of his judgment pressed heavier than the staircase ever had.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Endurance," he said, his voice calm yet carrying across the summit. "The true mark of a body cultivator is not strength alone, nor talent, nor speed. It is the will to endure suffering beyond reason, and still rise again. You have proven yourselves worthy."
The survivors stirred weakly, their bodies broken but their spirits alight.
The Examiner raised his hand, and the oppressive weight of the staircase vanished like mist in sunlight. Relief swept over them, though their exhaustion did not fade.
"From this day forward," he declared, his voice like thunder rolling across the peaks, "you are disciples of the White Crane Sect—Body Refinement Division. Rise, and walk the path you have earned."
The survivors bowed as best they could, some collapsing in the attempt. Yet their eyes gleamed with pride.
Hei Long remained on his knees, chest still heaving, but a faint smile touched his bloodied lips. For the first time since the trial began, he allowed himself a single breath of peace.
The trial of endurance had ended.And he had won.