The morning sun hung low over the sprawling courtyard of the Sigu Sect, gilding the stone walls and the jade-carved gates in pale light. Candidates for the outer disciple examination had gathered in a long line, their anxiety palpable. Some fidgeted with weapons, others whispered mantras or encouraged themselves with mental repetitions. Jian Wushen stood among them, ordinary in appearance—ragged robes, unremarkable face—but every movement, every blink, every subtle shift in weight radiated confidence, control, and latent power.
A murmur ran through the crowd as he stepped forward. Unlike the others, he didn't pace nervously or adjust his robes. His Immortal Spear hung casually across his back, its faint golden hum a pulse that only those attuned to qi might sense. Yet even without detecting the aura, there was something undeniably dangerous about the boy.
"Hey, orphan!" came a sharp voice. Jian turned slightly. A tall youth with a long sword strapped to his back smirked, glaring down at him. "You think you can just waltz in here and pass the tests? You don't look like you could even handle a low-level guardian!"
Jian's lips curved into a calm, almost lazy smile. "Perhaps not. But looks can be deceiving. You seem confident… let's see if your sword can back up your mouth," he replied, his voice carrying weight and subtle menace, enough to draw the attention of nearby candidates and elders.
The youth's smirk faltered but hardened again. "We'll see about that," he spat, stepping forward aggressively.
Jian Wushen shifted his weight slightly, pivoting on the balls of his feet—a fluid motion that made his center of gravity nearly impossible to predict. He felt the flow of qi in his spirit meridians like rivers of gold and crimson fire weaving through his body, each strand lighting up as he subtly directed it to enhance reflexes, balance, and power. He called it "dancing"—his internal qi moving in perfect synchrony with his footwork and muscle memory.
The youth lunged with his sword, wild and aggressive. Jian sidestepped with a subtle hop, pivoting on his heel, letting the sword pass harmlessly. He whispered under his breath, "Patience… observe first."
Then, in one fluid motion, the Immortal Spear manifested in his hands, shimmering faintly as though aware of his intent. He didn't strike immediately; instead, he twisted, feinted, and adjusted his stance, forcing the youth to overcommit.
"You rely too much on brute strength," Jian said calmly, almost conversationally. "The dance of battle is far more subtle than that."
The youth scowled, swinging again. Jian blocked lightly with the spear, using its tip to redirect force, spinning his own body in a sequence of movements that flowed naturally, footwork guiding his strikes and defenses. Each pivot, step, and leap was a study in balance, precision, and cunning.
The spectators gasped. Even among the ordinary outer disciples, they could sense the fluidity, rhythm, and control of Jian's movements. The sect elders observed silently, nodding subtly at the boy's innate talent combined with the extraordinary inheritance that fueled him.
As the duel continued, Jian spoke intermittently, provocation mixed with instruction. "You're too predictable," he noted, deflecting a blow. "Your stance gives away everything." He twirled the spear lightly, tapping the youth's shoulder—not hard enough to injure, but enough to throw off his balance. "Control, young one. Without it, even strength is meaningless."
The youth's arrogance faltered, frustration flashing in his eyes. Jian capitalized on the opening, spinning in a half-circle, spear extended, tip glinting. He executed a subtle thrust, guiding it along a trajectory that would have struck lethally had he chosen—but instead he tapped the youth's chest lightly, sending him sprawling onto the cobblestones.
Silence fell. Candidates stared, whispered, and some instinctively stepped back. Jian Wushen straightened, spear tip resting lightly on the ground. "A reminder," he said lightly, "that skill without patience is useless. The first lesson of a true warrior: control, cunning, and observation always precede action."
The sect elders exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable but their interest unmistakable. Even the arrogant youth, now clambering to his feet, couldn't meet Jian's eyes directly. There was a calm, undeniable dominance in the boy, combined with a wit and confidence that unsettled his peers.
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