The wax seal cracked under the clerk's blade—sharp, ceremonial.
Brass lots clinked into a wooden tray. A whistle snapped. Cohort 3 drew tight along the rope lines; clipboards flipped pages with dry, papery sounds.
"Qin Ye."
A breath. "Paired with Lin Xiu."
Lin Xiu's build was unremarkable; her eyes weren't. Tension lived in her hands; competence lived under it. Qin Ye gave one small nod. Across the yard, Yue Hong accepted his lot with a He-line partner. His gaze crossed the distance, measuring.
⸻
The clerk stamped the pairing sheet. The wooden stamp head took light—clean grain, ink-black face.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
[Location: Pairing Table Stamp.]
[Sign-In? Yes / No]
Yes.
[Ding! Sign-In successful!]
[Reward: Sync Thread (Lv.1, 20 breaths — amplify partner-cadence perception) + Marshal Mark (1 use — demand metronome re-calibration).]
A thread braided into hearing and pulse. A single mark weighed like authority in the palm.
⸻
Drill A: Metronome Walk.
Two-lane walkway. A hanging bell ticked the beat. From the first swing, Qin Ye's Micro-Perception heard the drift—late by the width of a hair.
He triggered Sync Thread.
Lin Xiu's breath stuttered: four… four… two—then skidded. On the third step, his fingers tapped his thigh—three-count, coded and clean.
Her stride found him. Nervous air smoothed.
When the bell's lag worsened, Qin Ye raised a hand. "Marshal Mark. Request metronome calibration per regulation."
Surprise flashed and vanished on the marshal's face. He checked the bracket, found the slip, logged it, re-set the pendulum. The bell began to speak correctly.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Pair the Breath."]
[Reward: +150,000 Spirit Stones; Duo Timing +3% (situational).]
The line moved forward. They moved with it.
⸻
Queue Probe.
A disciple shouldered up the lane. "Instructor Mo approved a partner trade with Shen Ke—"
Qin Ye didn't answer. He touched the posted notice: no swaps after lot seal.
The marshal read, stamped a warning, and returned the disciple to his place. Paper decided what pride could not.
⸻
Drill B: Mirror Steps & Baton Transfer.
Wooden batons issued; boundary rope hummed inches away.
Edge Memory—the balance from Silent River—translated to the baton's weight. Qin Ye's transfer arrived where it should, not where it guessed. Lin Xiu drifted close to rope; a Quiet Pivot turned her line, a soft Blade Nudge with his own baton closed their spacing without a word or bruise.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Clean Transfer."]
[Reward: +200,000 Spirit Stones; Baton Control +1 (situational).]
From the next lane, the rope shivered.
Yue Hong's partner "brushed" the shared post. Legal gray. Oscillation bled across the divider.
Qin Ye didn't complain. He changed his angle to drink the sway and touched the post base with the baton's butt—a permitted settle. The rope's hum sank back to steady. A marshal's pencil wrote: stability maintained.
⸻
Drill C: Duo Balance Gate.
Tether clipped. Narrow gate ahead. Crosswind loaded.
Verbal calls barred.
Three-count tap—thigh. A sleeve-seam cue—two fingers. Lin Xiu shifted into the new line. They slid through the gate with toes a breath from rope.
[Ding! Optional Objective unlocked: "Complete drills with zero verbal commands." — Reward: Technique Chest (coordination, locked).]
The sand timer hissed thinly in the background.
⸻
Final Evaluation Run.
Composite lap: metronome → baton transfer → balance gate.
Clipboards stood like judges; the timer burned itself down.
At the end line, a minor marshal stepped in. "Cadence infraction. Unauthorized non-verbal—"
Qin Ye pointed to the lane card: Tactile cues permitted where verbal barred.
The head clerk scanned, nodded, stamped ALLOWED in red.
Two stamps landed: evaluation complete, queue advanced. The posting board flipped a fresh sheet.
Paired Application — Elimination Bracket
Qin Ye & Lin Xiu vs. Yue Hong & Feng
Collision on the first bell.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Zero-Verbal Composite."]
[Reward: Technique Chest (coordination, unlocked).]
[Ding! Main Quest updated — Inner Gate Trial: 5 days.]
A whistle rose for the heat. The metronome bell over their lane swung. The tick arrived a fraction late, like a memory trying to be present.
The bell swung, a fraction late; Qin Ye raised two fingers, and the air held its breath.