The days blurred into weeks, each one seared into memory by fire.Boiling oil, smoldering coals, blazing stones, steam so hot it clawed at the lungs—such had been the disciples' reality since the moment they first stepped into the Body Refinement Division. The trial was merciless. By the end of each day, some stumbled away half-conscious, others were carried, their bodies red and blistered. And yet, they always returned.
For the young cultivators, survival itself was proof of progress. To last a single week of the Division's training was already enough to mark them as different from ordinary mortals. To last three? Their bodies bore the beginnings of change.
Today, once more, they assembled on the stone courtyard. Familiar faces were fewer now—several had already been removed, deemed unfit, their paths cut short. Those who remained stood in thin training robes, their bodies scarred by heat, their hair singed or gone entirely. Among them, Tian Yīn was now bald, the proud silver locks that once flowed down his back long since burned away. He stood with arms crossed, smirking faintly despite the marks left by fire.
The gathered disciples braced themselves for another day of blistering torment. Their minds were prepared for heat, for sweat, for the smell of burning flesh.
But instead of the familiar examiner, another figure descended from the skies.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
She hovered above them with effortless poise, a striking contrast to the stern, flame-hardened instructors they had grown accustomed to. Her skin was bronzed by the sun, smooth yet strong, and her hazel hair caught the light like strands of molten copper. Her form was athletic, her muscles defined without being harsh, carrying the air of one honed by constant exertion. Despite the strength in her build, there was no mistaking her femininity; her fitted attire clung to her body like the garb of some foreign athlete, sleek and practical, every line designed for movement. She was at once commanding and arresting—a figure who silenced the crowd by presence alone.
Her voice rang out clear, confident, carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed.
"I am Instructor Yan Fei. For weeks, you have endured fire. You have sweated, screamed, and suffered as your mortal impurities were burned away. It was the first stage, the foundation. As the saying goes, before one forges iron, it must first be heated."
She raised her hand.
The effect was immediate.
The air shifted, sharp as a blade. Breath caught in throats as the once-familiar warmth vanished, replaced by a creeping chill. Then came the plunge—a sudden, merciless drop in temperature that stole the very heat from their bones.
Crystals of frost spread across the stone beneath their feet. The once-scorched courtyard transformed in moments into a land of bitter winter. The disciples' thin training clothes clung uselessly to their shivering bodies, leaving them exposed to the cutting cold.
A collective gasp rose from the group as their breaths turned to mist. The bravest tried to stand tall, but even they could not hide the way their teeth clenched and their limbs shook.
Yan Fei's hazel eyes swept over them, cool and unyielding.
"This trial is called Bīng Xīn Liàn Tǐ — The Ice-Heart Tempering. Steel, once heated, must be cooled. Only then does it gain strength enough to endure. You are no different. Today, you will learn what it means to be tempered by frost. Endure to the end, and your bodies will know resilience as never before. Fail, and the cold will claim you."
Her words hung in the air as the cold deepened.
The disciples bent forward, clutching their arms, some already dropping to their knees. Their skin turned pale, lips blue, breath ragged. The cold did not only sting the surface; it invaded deeper, seeping into marrow and meridians alike. Qi that once flowed freely now thickened, slowed, as if frost itself had taken root inside them.
A boy collapsed with a thud, his body convulsing. Two others slumped beside him, their eyes rolling back. From the sidelines, aides rushed forward, dragging them away before the frost claimed them entirely.
Cries rose. Some cursed under their breath, others screamed outright as the chill carved its way into their nerves. But the training continued.
From above, Yan Fei's expression did not waver.
"Do not fight it with brute force. Do not burn yourselves from within. Accept it. Let your body learn the cold, let it carve you hollow, and you will endure. Struggle, and you will shatter."
The words cut like knives. Some tried to heed them, slowing their frantic resistance, forcing themselves to stillness even as their limbs trembled uncontrollably. Others, unable to calm their terror, continued to fight—and fell all the faster for it.
Time stretched unbearably. Every breath was an agony. Every heartbeat seemed on the verge of freezing.
And still, the trial went on.
From the skies above, the Body Refinement Division's junior courtyard appeared no longer like the furnace it had been for weeks. Instead, it was a land of endless frost, a frozen wasteland where the weak collapsed and only the enduring stood upright.
When at last Yan Fei lowered her hand, the suffocating cold lifted—but the disciples did not cheer. They could only gasp, limbs heavy and stiff, their bodies bearing the marks of frost as before they bore the marks of flame.
Those who had survived the ordeal did not speak. They had no strength for words.
But in their silence, in the pallor of their skin and the hollow look in their eyes, was something new. Endurance.
Yan Fei surveyed them with faint approval.
"Good. You survived the first frost. Tomorrow, you will face it again. And the day after, again. Only through repetition will the body learn balance—fire and ice, pain and endurance. This is the way of tempering. This is the path you chose."
With that, she turned, her figure ascending once more into the skies.
The courtyard remained silent.
The disciples, shivering, broken, yet still standing, understood that this was only the beginning.