Three days passed, but the whispers did not fade.
"The cripple stopped a sword with his bare hand."
"They say he struck down a sect disciple."
"No, no—he was only lucky. Still, isn't it strange? His qi… they say it looked dark, like smoke."
The villagers glanced at Jin Mu with a mix of awe and fear as he walked through the square. Children who once mocked him now scurried behind their mothers' skirts. Even grown men averted their eyes.
Only his rival's glare remained unchanged—burning, poisonous, filled with humiliation.
That morning, the sound of hooves thundered at the edge of the village.
The Iron Sword Sect had returned.
Banners snapped in the cold wind as disciples dismounted, forming a line of red and silver. At their head strode the same gray-haired elder who had tested them weeks ago. His gaze was sharp as drawn steel, scanning the villagers with quiet judgment.
The crowd bowed low, whispers buzzing. "Twice in one season? The sect has never come twice."
The elder raised a hand, silencing them. His voice carried easily.
"We received troubling reports. Bandits slain by a… 'cripple.' A sect disciple humiliated in a midnight duel. These matters touch the Iron Sword Sect's name. We will see the truth ourselves."
Gasps spread through the crowd. All eyes turned to Jin Mu.
The rival stepped forward at once, voice dripping venom.
"Elder! It's true! This trash dared to strike me. He used some foul power, not proper qi—something dangerous. For the sake of the sect's honor, he must be punished!"
The elder's sharp eyes fixed on Jin Mu. "Step forward, boy."
Jin Mu's chest tightened. His foster mother clutched his sleeve desperately, whispering, "Don't. Please, don't."
But he pulled free, walking slowly into the square. His steps were heavy, but steady. His eyes, though ringed with weariness, met the elder's without flinching.
The elder studied him for a long moment, then extended his hand.
"Release your qi."
The crowd murmured, eager. Even the rival smirked, certain the truth would destroy Jin Mu.
Jin Mu closed his eyes. He reached inward, feeling the storm inside him, heavy and violent. Slowly, he let it flow outward.
The air trembled. Dust swirled at his feet. A dark pressure seeped from his body—dense, suffocating, unlike the clear brilliance of ordinary qi. It pressed against the villagers' lungs, making them stumble back. Children cried. Even grown men dropped to their knees, gasping for breath.
The elder's eyes narrowed. "So heavy… this is no ordinary qi."
The rival seized his chance. "You see, Elder? It's evil! He's cursed—perhaps even possessed! If he's left alive, he'll bring ruin on us all."
The villagers gasped, fear sparking. Some nodded. Others whispered, uneasy.
Jin Mu opened his eyes. He saw their fear. Their suspicion. The same looks he had endured all his life.
His fists tightened. But he did not bow.
The elder's gaze lingered on him. For a moment, something flickered in those sharp eyes—not hatred, not fear, but curiosity. Perhaps even respect.
"Strange," he murmured. "Your body should have torn itself apart under such qi. And yet… you stand."
He stepped back, folding his hands behind him.
"The sect will not decide here. You will come with us, boy. The truth of your power will be tested in the Iron Sword Sect."
The crowd gasped again.
The rival's smirk faltered, then twisted into rage. "What? Elder, you cannot—he's trash, he's—"
"Enough." The elder's voice cracked like iron. "Do not mistake arrogance for law. He will come. Whether as disciple… or as prisoner, time will decide."
The elder's eyes returned to Jin Mu, sharp and heavy.
"Boy. Will you come?"
Jin Mu's chest burned. He looked at his foster parents, their faces pale with fear. He looked at the villagers, their eyes brimming with suspicion. He looked at his rival, whose hatred promised endless torment.
And then, slowly, he nodded.
"I will."