The dusty road stretched long under the waning light of dusk, its silence broken only by the steady crunch of three sets of boots. Zhang Wei tugged at the hood of his plain robe, lowering it just enough to shadow his features. Beside him, Han Yu carried himself with the grace of a swordsman suppressing his edge, while Pan Qiang trudged along with the casual weight of a man who could break mountains with his fists but didn't bother to.
At the bend of the road, the towering gates of the Cang Family Estate came into view. Crimson banners fluttered on tall spears, etched with the clan's sigil—a soaring hawk in flight. Guards stood in pairs, armored in lacquered steel, their gazes sharp. A wooden board hung on the outer wall, the ink still fresh on its parchment:
"The Cang Family seeks loyal cultivators and warriors for the defense of its halls. Generous pay, access to spirit resources. Wandering cultivators welcome."
Pan Qiang scratched his jaw and chuckled. "Told you it wasn't a scam. Even fancy families need watchdogs."
Han Yu shot him a look. "Keep your voice down. We're not here to play. One wrong word and we'll draw suspicion."
Zhang Wei studied the poster a moment longer. His heart steadied. This was the first step. No one here knew them. To the world, they would not be disciples of Shuiha or meddlers in politics—they would be what the sign asked for: wandering cultivators chasing a chance at food and coin.
"Let's play the role," he murmured. "Remember, they'll test us. Don't reveal more than we must."
They approached the gates. A guard crossed his halberd in front of them. "State your business."
"We saw the poster." Zhang Wei's voice was steady, unremarkable. "We wander the roads without sect or clan. If the Cang Family needs blades and fists, we are willing."
The guard eyed them skeptically. His gaze lingered on Han Yu's sword at his hip, then slid to Pan Qiang's massive frame. "Many say that, few pass the trial. Wait."
He signaled another guard, who disappeared inside the gate. Minutes later, a man in fine robes strode out—a Cang steward, his hair tied in a neat topknot, his presence carrying the casual sharpness of one who had tasted cultivation.
"So," the steward said, looking them over as though assessing livestock. "Another batch of drifters who think guarding the Cang halls is easy coin." His lips curled faintly. "Very well. You'll prove yourselves here and now. If you survive."
At the moment three guard stepped into the courtyard, the air thickened. Dust swirled faintly around their boots, their spiritual qi bending it into rippling eddies. Around them, the Cang Family guards murmured with anticipation, smirks spreading across their faces like wolves scenting blood.
"Looks like the new dogs think they can bark loud," one sneered. "Cang's trials aren't for beggars and road rats."
Another laughed harshly. "They'll be lucky to crawl away alive. Look at them—wandering cultivators without proper robes, no refined weapons. They probably eat herbs raw and sleep in caves."
Pan Qiang cracked his neck slowly, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. "That's funny," he said, rolling his shoulders. "You talk a lot for someone hiding behind others to fight for you."
The guard's laughter died at the edge of his tongue.
Han Yu, silent and still, simply unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion. The blade glimmered faintly—no fancy engravings, no spiritual ornaments—just pure steel, honed from countless battles. He said nothing, but the cold focus in his eyes drew a hush from those close enough to meet his gaze.
Zhang Wei smiled politely at the sneering onlookers. "Don't mind my brothers," he said in a calm, almost friendly tone. "We're just wanderers. If we break something, we'll pay for it."
The guards laughed again, but unease flickered behind their eyes.
The Cang steward gave a curt nod. "Begin."
A sudden gale erupted across the yard. One of the guard, a burly man with a jagged scar from temple to jaw—shot forward, spear thrusting straight at Pan Qiang's chest. Spiritual qi wrapped around the spear tip, forming a faint crimson glow.
"Scarlet Fang Thrust!"
Pan Qiang didn't dodge. His fist clenched, his feet digging into the earth. With a thunderous crack, his punch met the incoming spear. The air split with a boom, and a shockwave rippled outward.
The watching guards stumbled back, stunned. The spear's shaft trembled violently, cracks racing along its length before it exploded into splinters.
The burly guard skidded back three paces, disbelief etched on his face. "Impossible…"
Pan Qiang grinned wider, his eyes bright with the rush of combat. "That all you've got? I thought Cang Family guard experts were supposed to be scary."
Another enemy—a thin man wielding twin curved blades—sneered and vanished in a blur. His speed was frightening, afterimages trailing in his wake.
Han Yu moved at the same instant. His sword lifted almost lazily, but when steel met steel, the sound was sharp and absolute. He flowed with the rhythm, each movement clean and without waste.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The two blurred into streaks of light, blades ringing in the air.
"You've got form, I'll give you that," the thin man hissed, sweat beading on his brow. "But you're still no match for me—"
His words died when Han Yu suddenly shifted his stance. His sword curved sideways, redirecting the man's attack before snapping upward in a fluid counter.
"Water Flow Cut."
The technique was subtle—no grand explosion, no glow of energy—but it carried the precision of water finding every weakness. The twin blades flew from the man's hands, his wrists numbed by the backlash.
Han Yu's blade stopped just shy of the man's throat.
"Yield," he said simply.
The crowd murmured again. This quiet, unassuming swordsman fought like a veteran of a hundred duels.
Meanwhile, Zhang Wei had yet to move. His opponent, a middle-aged cultivator with iron gauntlets, smirked and pounded his fists together, spiritual qi bursting from his knuckles like twin hammers.
"Don't tell me the polite one's afraid," the gauntlet man taunted.
Zhang Wei only smiled. "No, I'm just observing. You seem strong."
"Strong enough to smash your ribs," the man growled, lunging forward.
Zhang Wei sidestepped with effortless grace, his sleeve brushing the air. The gauntlet missed by an inch, and Zhang Wei's palm struck the man's elbow joint lightly—so light it seemed almost accidental.
But the man's arm jerked violently, his momentum faltering. Zhang Wei's smile didn't fade as he drew a small pouch from his belt and flicked a faint powder into the air. The man instinctively inhaled mid-swing—then stumbled, his vision blurring.
"What—what did you—?"
Zhang Wei bowed faintly. "Just a minor irritant. It'll fade once you sit down."
The gauntlet fighter tried to curse but collapsed to one knee, gasping.
Pan Qiang's booming laughter filled the air. "Don't mess with him. He's all smiles until he makes you regret it."
The steward's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You three…"
His words hung unfinished as the ground shuddered. A powerful qi pressure rolled across the courtyard—the signature of higher cultivation. From the inner gate emerged another group of Cang Family warriors, led by a tall man in silver-gray robes.
Each of the new arrivals radiated strength; their presence alone made the air hum.
"Enough warm-ups," the tall man said coldly. "We'll handle this."
The steward bowed slightly. "Senior Wei, these three claim to be wandering cultivators seeking employment. But their power…"
Wei's eyes narrowed as he studied them. "Too refined for wanderers. There's more to them than they let on."
He raised his hand, signaling his men. "Test them. Hold nothing back."
The trio of new challengers stepped forward, qi surging.
Zhang Wei felt the shift instantly. Their auras were dense, sharp—the unmistakable pulse of Qi Gathering Lower Realm cultivators. Real danger this time.
Han Yu tightened his grip on his sword, the air around him vibrating faintly. "They'll think we're spies if we overpower them."
Pan Qiang cracked his knuckles. "So what? We'll just hold back enough not to kill them."
"Try not to break the courtyard this time," Zhang Wei murmured.
The first Qi Gathering fighter lunged at Han Yu, his halberd leaving a trail of burning qi. Han Yu met him head-on. Their weapons clashed with a deafening clang! Sparks flew, and spiritual energy flared between them, pushing dust and debris aside.
"Not bad for a wanderer!" the man growled, pressing forward.
Han Yu parried once, twice, his movements as smooth as flowing water. Then he pivoted on his heel, blade flicking upward. "Twin Current Reversal!"
His sword traced a spiral path, redirecting the halberd's energy against its wielder. The enemy's stance crumbled, his balance thrown.
Before Han Yu could capitalize, a second attacker struck from behind, his sword slicing through the air.
"Watch your back!" Pan Qiang bellowed.
In one explosive motion, Pan Qiang stomped the ground and launched himself forward. His fist collided with the ambusher's blade, shattering it with sheer brute force. The shockwave cracked the flagstones beneath them.
"Titan's Roar!" Pan Qiang roared, qi bursting from his body like rolling thunder.
The blast hurled the ambusher backward, crashing him into the courtyard wall.
But before Pan Qiang could even grin, the third enemy—a woman with a whip made of condensed qi—snapped it around his arm, pulling hard.
"Got you!" she hissed.
Pan Qiang struggled, veins bulging as the whip tightened.
"Zhang Wei!" Han Yu shouted.
Zhang Wei moved instantly. His fingers flicked, releasing several thin talismans into the air. Each one burst into shimmering mist.
"Binding Petal Formation."
The mist condensed around the whip, weighing it down with invisible resistance. Pan Qiang tore free with a roar, his fist swinging wide.
The woman dodged just in time—but not without losing control of her weapon.
By now, the courtyard was a battlefield of chaos and qi. The three disguised disciples moved like parts of a machine—Han Yu's precision, Pan Qiang's raw might, Zhang Wei's adaptability.
The onlookers had long stopped mocking.
When the dust settled, the three Qi Gathering warriors lay groaning on the ground, their spiritual auras flickering.
Pan Qiang wiped the sweat from his brow and muttered, "That enough of a test for you, or should we fight your dogs next?"
Gasps rippled through the gathered guards. The arrogance in his tone matched the bold pride of a true wandering cultivator—too strong to bow, too wild to tame.
Han Yu sheathed his sword with a calm, almost dismissive motion, as though none of it had been worth the effort. He said nothing, but his steady breathing and composed stance spoke volumes.
Zhang Wei simply smiled and bowed to the steward. "Apologies for the mess. We didn't mean to damage your courtyard."
The steward stared at them, speechless. Senior Wei's expression hardened, then softened just a little as realization dawned.
"Wanderers, you say…" he murmured. "Fine. You've proven your worth. From this day, you are provisional guards under the Cang banner. You will be assigned quarters inside. Serve well, and perhaps your names will earn honor within these walls."
Zhang Wei inclined his head. "We'll do our part."
As they followed the steward through the gates, whispers spread among the watching guards.