The Azure Cloud Mountains lay under a tide of white mist, their peaks like sleeping giants lost in time. Upon the ridge stood the Azure Cloud Sect, its towers proud but worn, its banners once bright now faded by war and age. The bells on the main gate rang clean, but the sound was thin, hollow, like the echo of former glory.
The sect had bled for decades. Spirit mines were lost to rivals. Elders were ambushed and killed. Trade routes were stolen by small sects that would never have dared in brighter days. Above all, Ironblood Hall pressed in from the east like a knife.
To survive, Azure Cloud decreed that every youth between twelve and eighteen in all nine provinces must come to participate in the Grand Talent Testing Ceremony .
The sect needed disciples. It needed new strength. It needed a future.
The testing plaza was vast, paved in white jade polished by centuries of feet. At its center stood the Heaven-Testing Stele, an ancient crystal spine wrapped in nine jade rings. Each ring carried runes carved in forgotten ages, each linked to one truth of the human vessel: Bone Marrow, Meridians, Soul Sense, Comprehension, Bloodline, Willpower, Elemental Affinity, Dao Heart, and Hidden Potential. It was said the stele did not grant gifts — it only revealed what was already present, as though it were Heaven's mirror set in stone.
On the high terrace sat the three presiding elders.
Elder Sun, who led the ceremony, was white-haired, straight-backed, and draped in plain white robes. His hands bore the ink stains of decades spent recording names into the sect's annals. He carried no sword, no banner, only the quiet authority of memory. Many said he was the soul of Azure Cloud, though his body was frail.
To his right sat Elder Wei, broad and scarred, wrapped in black robes without ornament. His eyes were sharp as knives. His voice, when he spoke, struck like a hammer. He was known for saying the sect could not afford gentleness — only strength would preserve it.
To Elder Sun's left sat Elder Ning, her hair tied in a jade crown, her robes fine silk threaded with gold. Her fan of pale feathers moved with grace, every flick deliberate. She was as political as Elder Wei was blunt, and to her the survival of the sect rested on ties to noble clans and great houses.
Above them, on the guest terrace, sat Lady Xue of Ironblood Hall. She wore red silk and a smile like a cut. When her fan moved, stewards ducked their heads. Her presence was a wound in the mountain — a reminder that decline had made Azure Cloud weak enough to invite its enemy to witness its desperation.
Families filled the side terraces, each under their county banner. Parents whispered, stewards prepared gifts for elders, and clans measured one another with sidelong glances. Below, the youths stood in lines, trying to breathe steadily.
The herald struck the bronze gong, its sound carrying like a wave.
"Zhang Yao of River County, step forward."
The boy walked with careful poise, his indigo robe embroidered with silver clouds. His hairpin was white jade, his father a proud county official already smiling with hands clasped behind his back.
Zhang Yao pressed his palm to the Bone Ring. Silver light rose, climbing span by span until it reached the seventh. Applause erupted from the River County delegation.
Elder Sun nodded with dignity. "Seven spans of marrow. He will endure cultivation."
Elder Wei gave a short grunt. "Useful."
Elder Ning turned her fan with approval. "Balanced and respectable. A fine son for River County."
The boy pressed the Meridian Ring. Five golden lines rose, bright and stable. His father's smile widened, already planning alliances. But when Zhang Yao pressed the Soul Ring, the light barely flickered. Whispers spread. The applause fell away. His steward's smile froze. Elder Wei muttered "dull soul," and Elder Ning's fan snapped shut. Zhang Yao bowed stiffly, his face pale, and walked back.
Next was Lin Xiu of Stoneford. A slender girl in a plain green robe, her eyes sharp as a hawk. She touched the Bone Ring: five spans. The Meridians: four lines. Respectable. But when her palm pressed the Soul Ring, violet fire erupted, casting long shadows across the plaza.
Elder Sun stood. "Dream-Step Soul Sense! A soul that can walk the dream-realm!"
Her parents wept with joy. Elder Wei leaned forward, grinning. "Stoneford girl! I will train her myself."
Elder Ning raised her fan. "No. A Dream-Step must be tempered with patience. My scripture hall will suit her."
The parents looked torn, overwhelmed by offers. But when Lin Xiu faced the Dao Heart, her vision wavered. The illusions nearly swept her. Elder Ning's smile thinned. "Brilliant but brittle." Elder Wei scoffed. "Steel is forged in flame." She bowed pale and unsteady, and the elders already whispered over her fate.
Huang Jin of River County came next, a boy proclaimed a prodigy for years. His father leaned forward proudly, expecting triumph. He wore silver-thread robes, chin high. But the Bone Ring gave only three spans. The Meridians two weak lines. The plaza went silent.
Elder Wei frowned. "Mediocre."
Elder Ning said coldly, "Boasts do not move jade."
Huang Jin's father's face drained. Huang Jin trembled, tears falling. His father looked away. Whispers ran through the crowd: shame, wasted gifts, false prodigy.
Chen Yi followed, a patched-robe boy mocked as dull. The Bone Ring gave four. The Meridians three. The crowd barely noticed. Then he touched the Will Ring. White light poured forth, steady and fierce, cracks spreading across the jade.
Elder Wei laughed loud and rough. "Good! An iron will!"
Elder Ning frowned. "Too stubborn. He will resist law."
Elder Sun's voice was calm but approving. "Do not dismiss him."
Chen Yi's parents wept with joy, the father shouting his name. Two junior elders already spoke of training him.
The plaza lived with sound: cheers, whispers, arguments, gifts, shame. Some children left exalted, red cords tied to their wrists marking them as disciples claimed. Some left broken, faces pale under the weight of failure. The elders argued, the families bargained, the sect lived its politics in every line.
Then came the sponsorless youths. Orphans. Beggars. Shadows of alleys and poor shrines. Few looked at them. Some nobles laughed.
One boy stepped forward. Thin, with a scar across his cheek. His robe was threadbare, his sandals tied with rope. A cracked clay bowl hung at his belt. His face was calm. His eyes steady, too steady.
"What is your name?" the steward asked.
"Jing."
No one whispered. No clan claimed him.
"Sponsored by which county?"
"None."
The steward raised a hand to dismiss him.
Lady Xue laughed. Her red fan opened with a snap. "Your decree promised all may test. Do you fear a beggar's palm?"
Elder Sun's jaw tightened. "Let him test," he said.
Jing walked forward with calm steps. His gaze moved across the elders, nobles, and youths. Those who met his eyes turned away, uneasy.
He placed his palm on the Bone Ring.
The jade hummed. Silver light rose. It passed one, two, three spans. By five, the plaza was silent. By seven, nobles stood in disbelief. At eight, cries of shock rang out. At nine, the light surged into the sky, piercing clouds. Mist tore away. Birds scattered. The mountain itself trembled.
A crushing pressure blanketed the plaza. Disciples collapsed. Elders widened their eyes.
Elder Sun's voice broke. "Perfect Bone Marrow… not seen in three hundred years."
Elder Wei roared with laughter. "A flawless vessel! Heaven sent him!"
Elder Ning gripped her fan so hard it bent. Perfect marrow in a beggar? This is disaster.
A streak of light tore the sky. An old man descended, beard white, robes plain, aura heavy as stone. It was Grand Elder Mu, pillar of the sect, who had not left seclusion in decades. His eyes blazed. "I saw this once, as a child, when Sect Master Yuwen tested. I thought never again."
Jing removed his hand calmly. Elder Sun's lips shook. "Continue," he forced.
He touched the Meridians. Golden light burst — twelve perfect lines coiling like dragons. The plaza cracked. Qi flooded the air.
Elder Wei's eyes burned. "Dragon Vein Constitution! Endless channels!"
Elder Ning trembled. First marrow, now this… he cannot be contained.
Grand Elder Mu whispered, "The last bearer ascended beyond mortality."
Bells tolled. A golden streak descended. A tall man in white robes appeared — the Sect Master himself, breaking centuries of custom. His presence bent the air. He looked at Jing. "Perfect marrow. Dragon veins. No accident."
The crowd bowed. Jing stayed calm. Elder Sun swallowed. "Continue."
He touched the Soul Ring. Violet fire roared. The crowd froze, feeling their own greed, envy, and shame exposed. Nobles sweated. Disciples hid their faces. Elder Ning shivered. He sees through me.
Elder Sun spoke hoarsely. "Dream-Step Soul. He walks the dream realm."
Elder Wei grinned. "He will see traps!"
The Sect Master frowned. "Or too much."
Jing's eyes swept nobles. They looked down. Elder Sun whispered, "Continue."
Comprehension: runes danced into stars and scripture. Elders leaned forward like boys. Elder Sun whispered, "Ninth Heaven Comprehension." The Book of Comparisons recorded only three names in history. Cranes circled overhead. Elder Sun, voice trembling, said, "Continue."
Bloodline: The ground shook. A dragon phantom rose, golden scales, burning eyes. Disciples collapsed, bowing to the phantom. Elder Sun shouted, "Ancestral Bloodline! Extinct for a thousand years!" Lady Xue's smile was gone. Elder Ning whispered, "This will draw every knife." Elder Wei roared, "Let them come!" The Sect Master stared into the dragon's eyes as it bowed before Jing. Elder Sun whispered, "Continue."
Willpower: Nothing, then white light. Cracks spread, then the jade shattered. Screams filled the plaza. Elder Sun whispered, "This ring stood for seven masters. It will remain broken." Elder Wei roared with joy. Elder Ning hissed with fear. Lightning split the sky. Elder Sun whispered, "Continue."
Elemental Affinity: Fire, frost, wind, water, lightning bowed to Jing. Elder Sun said hoarsely, "Dominion." Elder Wei's grin widened. Elder Ning whispered to a scribe to cross names off. The Sect Master raised a hand — the elements stilled. Elder Sun whispered, "Continue."
Dao Heart: Illusions rose — halls, riches, beauty, revenge. Jing did not move. The light was white and steady. Elder Sun bowed his head. "Unshaken." Elder Wei whispered, "He cannot be bought." Elder Ning trembled. Even the heart… Elder Sun whispered, "Continue."
Hidden Potential: The crystal cleared. Cracks spread. Strange light, beyond color, poured out. Ancient bells rang. Ward lines lit.
A voice: "Who touches the ring like this?"
From the edge of shadow, where no torch dared burn and even mist seemed to hesitate, an old man emerged.
He was clad in plain gray, no crown, no jewels, no ornament. Yet the world bent to his step. His hair was white as first frost, his eyes sharp as stars, his back straight as the lone pine that had stood for centuries against storm and snow.
It was Ancestor Qiu—the patriarch thought long vanished into the silence of seclusion. A name spoken only in whispers and temple chants, a figure more legend than flesh.
The moment his foot touched jade, the plaza changed. The mountain groaned as if roused from slumber. Mist peeled back from the peaks, revealing a sky that seemed both vaster and heavier than before. The air pressed down on lungs and marrow alike, and silence ruled—not the silence of stillness, but the silence of awe, of Heaven itself descending.
Elders collapsed to their knees without command. Veterans who had defied death in battle bent low, trembling. The Sect Master himself bowed until his forehead kissed stone.
Even Lady Xue of Ironblood Hall, whose fan had mocked all ceremony, froze, her smile stiffening. Her hand twitched as if to lift her fan again, but her body would not obey.
All eyes turned to the old man. All hearts quaked.
Ancestor Qiu looked at Jing.
The boy still held his clay bowl. His thin frame seemed unchanged, yet against him bowed the marrow of Heaven and the roar of dragons.
For a long time, the ancestor did not speak. His eyes, bright yet deep, measured not the boy, but the threads of fate that gathered and tangled around him. He peered into what lay beyond—visions no other could see. His silence pressed heavier than thunder, heavier than any command.
Was this Heaven's gift? Or Heaven's curse?
A blessing to raise Azure Cloud to heights undreamed of? Or a disaster that would one day burn the sect to ashes from within?
His lips parted, yet no words came—only a whisper too faint for mortal ears. His brows furrowed as though even he, who had lived through dynasties, could not untangle the answer. His heart weighed Heaven's will, but when he peered forward, all he saw was blood. Endless, merciless, inescapable blood.
And in that blood, the fate of the sect.
His gaze hardened. His hand lifted, trembling not with weakness but with the weight of judgment. His voice fell at last, rolling like thunder down the cliffs:
"No word of this leaves the Azure Cloud Mountains."
The heavens rumbled. Runes ignited along the cliffs. Paths sealed, gates shut, talismans shattered. The air became a cage.
Ancestor Qiu's decree struck like a divine blade:
"Kill all who are not of Azure Cloud. Leave only those we can trust."
The Sect Master raised his hand. Azure Cloud disciples drew swords.
Chaos erupted. Envoys screamed, some cursed, some begged, some called on gods who did not answer. Blood fountained, spreading across jade stone. Steel bit flesh, prayers were cut short. None escaped.
At last, silence fell. The plaza was red. The mountain reeked of iron. Only elders and the trusted disciples remained.
Jing bent, calm as ever, and lifted his bowl from the blood-slick stone. His expression did not change.
So this is how they guard their truth—by drowning it in blood.
Elder Sun's frail frame trembled. His gaze clung to the boy with a sorrow that was almost unbearable.
Ancestor Qiu's took Jing then dissolved back into mist. Yet his shadow lingered, vast and terrible. He had not answered his own question. Blessing or disaster? He had left that judgment to time.
The mountain settled, but silence remained, heavy and unbroken—the silence of history being carved in blood.
That day was not written in books. The scribes who might have recorded it lay among the dead.
But the mountain remembered.
And the mountain held its breath, waiting for what would come.