Snowfall drifted silently around Frostveil Peak, but the air was far from peaceful. Disciples gathered in a wide, stone-paved clearing—the Crystalline Ring—where a rare sight had drawn all attention.
The Sect Master himself had appeared.
Dressed in layered violet robes embroidered with golden clouds, his long beard moved slightly with the breeze. Beside him stood several elders and instructors, all watching with quiet anticipation.
> "No artifacts. No spirit tools. No qi techniques," the Sect Master's voice boomed. "Only what your bodies have tempered and your bones remember."
The crowd stirred. Whispers rippled among the inner and outer disciples alike.
> "Isn't this the trial for advanced combat ranking?" "He's never shown up before…" "What's going on?"
Tiān Lán stood near the back, arms folded inside his loose, frost-blue robe. His black hair was tied in a simple knot, and his gaze stayed on the Sect Master, unreadable.
He felt it—a test hidden within a test.
One of the instructors called out names for the first pairings. A few disciples sparred already, exchanging sharp fists and footwork.
Then:
> "Next round: Tiān Lán of the outer sect… versus Liú Qìnghai of the inner court."
The entire ring quieted.
Someone even gasped.
> "Liú Qìnghai? That's not fair!" "He's got the Ironbone Jade Physique from birth!" "Isn't Tiān Lán just a new recruit?!"
Liú Qìnghai stepped forward, arrogant smirk on his face, black-and-gold robes fluttering as he cracked his knuckles. His sharp eyes landed on Tiān Lán like a hawk spotting prey.
> "Try not to break too easily," he sneered. "I won't use more than one hand."
Tiān Lán said nothing.
He simply walked into the ring.
💢 The Match Begins
> "Begin!"
Qìnghai's movements were fast, his strikes forceful and direct—a style honed by confidence in his overwhelming body refinement.
Tiān Lán weaved.
He shifted his footing just enough to let blows slide past him, deflecting force rather than absorbing it.
> But it wasn't just dodging—it was flowing.
Old instincts stirred in his body. The Phantom Snowstep from his past life whispered into his feet. His spine moved with coiling grace. His palm turned once and nearly knocked Qìnghai off-balance with a perfect redirection.
> "Tch… you're slippery," Qìnghai spat, annoyed. "Fine—!"
The inner court disciple began to use more force, his attacks loud and forceful. The ring echoed with each impact.
But Tiān Lán—
> He was holding back.
His every breath carefully smoothed. His muscles resisted old forms. His soul screamed to strike once and end it—but he couldn't.
Not here.
Not yet.
From the sidelines, a senior disciple narrowed his eyes.
> "Wait… that footwork…"
> "That stance… That's not basic."
Another elder muttered, "It resembles the Silent Iceflow Steps. But that technique was lost ages ago…"
Even the Sect Master shifted slightly, hand resting on his beard.
> "This boy…"
Qìnghai suddenly roared, unleashing a brutal forward charge meant to finish it.
Tiān Lán's eyes flickered icy blue—but only for a split second.
> He twisted his hips—shifted his weight—and let Qìnghai's blow pass by.
Then he moved.
One step. One turn.
A soft tap of his palm against Qìnghai's chest—and the boy flew backward as if struck by a mountain breeze.
He landed, coughing, eyes wide with shock.
The ring fell silent.
⚖️ Aftermath
Tiān Lán stepped back, breath even.
He bowed.
> "Apologies, Senior Brother."
The Sect Master raised a brow.
But said nothing.
He only looked at Elder Yao, who nodded very faintly.
A storm was coming—but not yet.
For now, the boy was still just a name.
Tiān Lán.
But more were beginning to wonder…
> "Who is he really?"
The quiet didn't last.
Whispers began to spread again—more hushed this time, more pointed.
> "Did you see that?" "It looked like he barely touched Qìnghai… but he flew like a ragdoll." "That's not beginner-level strength…"
Several elders whispered among themselves as well. Some dismissed it as luck. Others looked wary.
One of the senior instructors finally stood and raised his voice.
> "That concludes this round! Tiān Lán advances. The rankings will be posted by sunset."
Tiān Lán offered a brief bow and turned to leave the ring, his expression calm. But as he passed the watching crowd, he could feel their eyes on his back.
Not just suspicion.
Fear.
And something colder.
> Recognition.
From a high terrace overlooking the arena, a pair of eyes narrowed behind a curtain of white silk.
A girl in pale robes, the very same one who had watched the lightning strike days before.
She whispered to herself,
> "...Skyfrost movement, Phantom Snowstep… those belong to Yè Tíanshuāng."
Her fingers gripped the hilt of a delicate fan as her heartbeat quickened.
She'd been right.
And now—she had proof.
🏔️ That Evening, at the Outer Sect Quarters
Tiān Lán sat alone under the pine tree near his training hut, moonlight silvering his black hair. In his palm rested a pale, translucent stone—the Frostheart Soul Pearl—glowing faintly with cold qi.
> "You held back," a soft voice said beside him.
It was Lingxiāo, the bell spirit.
In her smaller, fairy-like form, she fluttered next to him, resting atop the frost pearl.
> "If you had wanted… one blow was all it would've taken."
Tiān Lán didn't respond immediately.
He watched the snow fall. It reminded him of the final night in his past life—when blood had painted it red.
> "I can't show them yet," he said quietly. "Not until I know who the traitors are in this life."
Lingxiāo nodded.
> "Then... stay hidden. For now."
That same night, in a deeper chamber of the sect, Elder Yao stood in front of a glowing jade scroll. It floated before him, shimmering with a messenger talisman seal.
He placed one hand upon it.
> "I've found traces of him," he murmured.
> "The Frozen Star… may have returned."
The jade burned bright—and vanished.
That night, Tiān Lán dreamed.
But it wasn't memory.
It was prophecy.
In the dream, he stood alone in a field of blue fire, surrounded by broken swords and weeping stars. A giant obsidian gate hovered in the sky, its edges laced with thunder and frost.
A voice called from within:
> "Yè Tíanshuāng… your soul has not healed. When the mirror breaks, the sky shall weep blood again."
He reached forward—but his fingers passed through the vision.
Then the world shattered like glass.
And he woke—sweating.
The next day, another trial was announced. A real battle-style test—this time involving formation tactics.
As disciples paired off into teams, Tiān Lán was approached by someone unexpected.
> A tall boy with sword scars down his arm, eyes sharp with suspicion but not hostility.
> "Name's Guo Rénjie. I want to team up."
Tiān Lán blinked. "Why?"
Rénjie grinned slightly. "Because I saw you fight yesterday. And I don't like that some inner court brats are planning something."
Tiān Lán's eyes narrowed. "What kind of something?"
> "I heard… someone's placing a bounty on your defeat."
> "In the next trial, they want to injure you—maybe cripple."
The news hit like a blade to the ribs.
He had enemies already—and they were moving faster than expected.
> "Fine," Tiān Lán said quietly. "Then we'll give them a show."