Chapter 8
Scene 1: The Guest Manor Above the Trial Grounds
Set during the same time the participants are still in the forest.
For the duration of the trials, the Shuilan Clan occupied Baizhu's ancestral guest manor, perched just above the training grounds. The manor, built in a half-moon arc along the cliffs, overlooked the distant forest canopies and the glimmering roofs of Baizhu Village far below. Veiled in mist and pine resin, the structure breathed old cultivator elegance—quiet pavilions, curved wooden terraces, and prayer stones nestled in moss.
Within the main chamber, the incense of sandalwood hung faint in the air, curling through latticed windows carved with cloud motifs. Pale spirit wards glowed along the doorframes—barely visible to the eye, but pulsing softly beneath the senses.
Xuan Luo stood at the edge of the high terrace, white sleeves unmoving, like a spirit carved from jade. The wind tugged gently at the trailing edges of his robe, but he gave no response. His sword leaned untouched beside the pillar. His gaze—distant, unreadable—remained locked on the treetops far below.
He had not left this place since returning from the forest path.
Not long after his arrival, weakened and silent, the Shuilan Master had entered his quarters and begun to play—his guqin drawn from its dark case, its sound flowing like cool water through the manor's long halls. The melodies carried his qi—sharp, focused, quietly pushing away a presence he dared not speak of.
He had not spoken.
Only the guqin filled the manor—its serene, crystalline notes weaving a subtle spiritual shield. When the final tone faded and silence settled, the two disciples at his door exchanged a glance. That silence spoke louder than any summons.
Behind him, the disciples stepped in with soft, measured footsteps. They paused just beyond the threshold, lowering their heads in deference.
"Master Xuan," one said gently. "Forgive the intrusion. We felt the boundary flicker briefly. Are you... better now?"
Xuan Luo did not turn. His eyes still watched the forest.
"Something stirred," he said quietly. "Something wrong."
The disciples exchanged uncertain glances.
"I was at the cliff path," Xuan Luo said at last.
He told them what had happened.
The disciples tensed—eyes flickering with concern—but they said nothing, their silence as composed and restrained as expected of the Shuilan Clan.
His tone didn't change, but the air around him pulsed faintly—like a ripple of unseen pressure expanding outward.
"Because of that, we must call back the participants," he said. "Quietly. No panic. Issue orders for the trial to conclude here, within the village bounds. The judges should divide, monitor the duels, and close the forest paths. There's no need to delay—it must be finished before anything else stirs."
Understanding dawned in the disciples' expressions. One bowed low, hands clasped; the other followed suit.
"We'll send word, Master," the first said. "The judges will be repositioned. The duels will begin shortly."
"Go."
They took their leave without another word, retreating in silence, their heads dipped and palms together in respectful gesture.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Alone again, Xuan Luo remained unmoved.
His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword.
And though his posture didn't change, his eyes narrowed—ever so slightly—still locked on the forest beyond. Not blinking. As if sensing something darker gathering far off—a shadow even cultivators hesitated to name.
Scene 2: Return to the Trial Ground
The trial grounds buzzed with rising voices as three familiar figures stepped out from the forest's edge.
Lin Ye, Lin Shen, and Mu Fan emerged side by side—dirt-smeared, visibly drained, but walking tall. Behind them, the fox-lynx spirit beast padded forward in obedient steps, its form semi-luminous, still flickering faintly with residual charm-light.
A wave of applause rippled across the gathered crowd. Some villagers clapped with relief, others with admiration. A few children jumped and pointed, whispering excitedly.
Lin Qingshan pushed to the front with a beaming smile, arms wide.
"You stubborn boys!" he barked—though his voice was thick with pride and affection. He clapped Lin Ye on the back and pulled him into a tight, one-armed embrace. Then he did the same to his son, Lin Shen, who stood straighter, smiling—clearly pleased.
Mu Fan's usual calm softened with warmth as his younger siblings rushed up, eyes wide, tugging at his sleeve.
"You did it!" his sister grinned.
Mu Fan chuckled, patting her head. "It wasn't easy."
Among the Shuilan disciples gathered on the trial judge's platform, Xuan Luo stood motionless. He watched in silence, his gaze following the trio's return. Around him, several disciples straightened. A few exchanged nods of respect. Others glanced toward the three boys with faint admiration.
But Xuan Luo didn't move.
Not a blink. Not a shift of shoulder.
Only his eyes flicked toward them—briefly, precisely.
Then he looked away.
When Lin Ye glanced toward the judge's platform, he saw the Shuilan young master.
No reaction.
No nod.
Not even the faintest sign of acknowledgment.
Lin Ye caught it, of course.
He tilted his head slightly, narrowed one eye, and let out a quiet breath through his nose—more scoff than sigh. His grin faltered.
"Cold as ever, huh?" he muttered under his breath.
Then, with a mock flourish, he straightened his posture and crossed his arms with exaggerated pride.
"Guess not everyone can handle both charm and cultivation," he declared—perhaps a little too loudly.
Mu Fan's brow twitched, catching on. Lin Shen groaned audibly.
Just then, a senior disciple stepped forward, bowing once before announcing:
"The spirit beast has been captured unharmed. That counts as a pass."
He turned to another Shuilan disciple, who stepped forward and placed a palm over the shimmering charm that bound the fox-lynx. A pulse of light flashed, and then the creature dissolved into mist, set free.
The elder turned back to them. "I believe this is the only successful beast capture of the trial."
Lin Shen looked at him and said, "The other participants were chasing too. Maybe they captured others."
The elder, ever calm and wise, replied, "Could be. But we've already sent word to summon our disciples. The others will be recalled from the woods. The forest trial has been... concluded—even if some participants didn't capture beasts, the trial will end regardless."
Lin Ye blinked. "Wait—what? Canceled?"
"Yes," the disciple replied smoothly. "Due to its difficulty. Not all participants may have succeeded before sundown—especially those without strong spiritual roots or formal training like disciples of larger clans. The elders agreed the challenge was perhaps... too ambitious."
Lin Shen's eyes narrowed. "It was very difficult actually... but a little late for that."
Mu Fan remained silent but nodded once in understanding.
Lin Ye cast a sidelong glance over his shoulder, back at the judge's platform where Xuan Luo still stood in silence.
"Huh. 'Too ambitious'... You mean not everyone has our spiritual energy."
His voice was low, but the bitterness in it wasn't masked. That phrasing—not like disciples of large clans—lingered in his mind like a splinter. As if the rest of them were just filler. Less.
He gave a crooked smile and glanced at Mu Fan and Lin Shen.
"We nearly drained everything catching that thing."
Mu Fan gave a small smile. "Nearly burned ourselves out."
Lin Shen added bluntly, "I'd say it was hard enough."
The elder disciple's expression remained composed as he responded quietly, "You are right," his gaze flicking—just for a heartbeat—toward the judge's platform.
Just as the Shuilan young master had instructed, they were not to speak of the real danger. The forest trial wasn't merely too difficult—it was no longer safe. Something darker stirred in the woods, and panic would only spread if the truth were known.
The trial was no mere formality—it served as a vital test to assess each participant's harmony with the spirit flow and to filter those capable of facing the final duels. The sacred woods, with their elusive spirit beasts and shifting qi, challenged not only skill but the very spirit of the cultivators.
The judges relied on this trial to manage the growing number of participants, ensuring they could focus on the most promising candidates without risking oversight.
But now, with dangers lurking unseen in the forest—and even the Shuilan young master imperiled—the elders agreed that continuing would risk too much.
Lin Ye's grin slipped as he met his cousin's eyes—silent understanding passing between them like a thread pulled taut. He wasn't thrilled about the cover-up… yet he knew it was for the best.
The three stood together a while longer, catching their breath and watching as other figures began returning from the trees—tired, scratched, and empty-handed.
Soon after, Uncle Qingshan returned, waving them toward the side path.
"Come on. Food's waiting. You three look half-dead."
At the word food, Lin Ye's eyes lit up like lanterns.
"Did you say—waiting? As in—actual food?"
Mu Fan and Lin Shen didn't need to be told twice. All three took off after Uncle Qingshan—half-limping, half-jogging—like children escaping chores.
"Yes!"
"Food!"
"Finally!"
They chorused, voices overlapping.
Behind them, laughter rose—some from the villagers, some even from a few Shuilan disciples.
Other participants staggered out from the tree line, some limping, others brushing dirt from their sleeves or massaging sore muscles. Whispers spread quickly through the crowd—relief, surprise, even disbelief—that the forest trial had been called off.
One young woman, clutching a battered bow, let out a shaky laugh. "No more running through those cursed woods? I thought I'd never see solid ground again."
Nearby, a teenage boy wiped sweat from his brow, grinning broadly. "Guess I'm not the only one glad to be done with that nightmare."
Murmurs of agreement swirled around the clearing, voices tinged with exhaustion but brightened by hope. The trial's end meant safety, even if it wasn't the outcome they'd all hoped for.
From the judge's platform, Xuan Luo's gaze remained fixed on Lin Ye, Lin Shen, and Mu Fan as they disappeared around the edge of the training grounds.
Even after the three had vanished from sight, he did not turn away. He stood silently—still and statuesque—his expression unreadable.
Beneath his calm exterior, a flicker of unease stirred—a quiet warning that the shadows lurking beyond the forest were far from spent. Whatever waited in the darkness was drawing nearer...
He said nothing and showed little, but a small measure of relief settled in his chest. All the Shuilan disciples, and even the participants from other villages, had returned safely from the forest. That much, he had quietly watched for.