Basalt dust clung to their boots like the cellar didn't want to let them go.
Xiao Yan climbed first. Yanlin followed, grumbling under his breath about the smell, about bullies, about life in general. Somewhere below them, the so-called "Top Ten" were still locked in frost and humiliation. It would take hours before the ice cracked.
Maybe longer.
The corridor of the 32nd Gate felt… different.
Sharper.
The air itself had weight now, as if it recognized him. Ever since stepping into Divine Stage 1, Xiao Yan could feel things he hadn't in years — the faint current of spiritual veins threading beneath the academy like underground rivers. They pulsed under the floorboards. Alive. Restless.
"Boss," Yanlin muttered.
Xiao Yan didn't answer immediately. He already knew.
The hallway to Room 32-Z was jammed. Not crowded — jammed. Shoulders pressed against walls, whispers ricocheting like loose coins in a jar. Normally this gate was dead quiet. People avoided it. Today? It buzzed like someone had leaked exam answers.
And then there was the scent.
Lotus bloom. Snow just before a storm. Clean and cutting.
Ling Xuelian stood at their door.
She didn't belong here. Not in this peeling corridor with chipped stone and drafty windows. She looked like she'd stepped out of a painting — the kind emperors hide in private chambers. Her Papillon Wings rested folded, delicate but unmistakable. In her hands: a jade box carved with the Ling crest.
The crowd kept their distance. A full ten feet. No one wanted to risk breathing too loud near the Ice Dragon Healer.
"You're late," she said.
Not cold. Not warm. Just precise.
Xiao Yan stepped forward through the parted sea of students. He noticed something small — the way her gaze paused at his shoulders. He stood straighter now. The loose slump he'd worn like a disguise? Gone. He hadn't even realized he'd shed it.
"I had things to handle," he replied. "What's a Top-Gate prodigy doing visiting the basement?"
A few snickers from the side. Quickly silenced.
"You were hurt at the waterfall," she said, stepping closer. The jade box lifted slightly between them. "Dragon-Tear Ointment. Ten jars a year. My clan doesn't waste effort."
Gasps rippled outward. Someone actually swore under their breath.
Xiao Yan didn't reach for it.
He looked at her instead.
Her pulse was too quick. He could hear it — barely — beneath the surface. Not fear. Curiosity. Something more dangerous.
Ice Dragon bloodline met Frozen Origin Physique.
Even unspoken, it hummed.
"I don't take charity," he said quietly.
Her lashes lowered just slightly. "Good. I'm not offering charity."
She leaned closer. Close enough that only he heard the next part.
"It's an investment. I saw what you did. And I can smell frost on your breath, Xiao Yan Long. That doesn't come from nowhere."
The name hung there.
For a split second, silence pressed in.
He took the box — not because he needed it, but because the hallway couldn't handle another second of this tension.
Their fingers brushed.
Accident? Hard to say.
High Above — The Watching Ice
Up in the Immortal Hall, something cracked.
Yan Bingxue stood before her scrying mirror, the reflection below flickering like a scene she wasn't meant to see. Her fingers dug into the railing until thin lines splintered beneath them.
Too close.
Ling Xuelian stood too close.
"The Ling family," Bingxue whispered, frost creeping along the marble floor in jagged veins. "Always reaching."
She could descend. She could freeze the entire 32nd Gate in a breath. Remind everyone who ruled the sky.
But the formation inside her chest flared — the Extreme Yin seal tightening like a chain. A reminder. A prison.
Cold Goddess of the Academy.
And yet.
She watched.
That might have hurt more.
Room 32-Z
The door slammed shut. Blessed quiet.
Yanlin stared at the jade box like it might explode.
"Boss," he said slowly, "do you understand what just happened? That ointment's worth more than my hometown. Internal Disciples are going to challenge us for blinking wrong tomorrow."
Xiao Yan opened the box.
Emerald light spilled across the room. Clean. Gentle. Powerful in that quiet way rich people's medicine always is.
"Half is yours," he said.
Yanlin blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your Earth Titan Physique has fractures from the gravity chamber. If you break mid-trial, we both fall."
Yanlin stared at him for a long moment.
In this academy — which ran on backstabbing and side deals — splitting a Divine-grade treasure was borderline insane.
"You're a strange guy," Yanlin said finally, and grinned. "But fine. If we're climbing, I'm the wall in front of you."
Their fists bumped.
Simple. Solid.
"We start the Gate 32 Trial tomorrow," Xiao Yan said. "Not to pass. To set a mark no one forgets."
The Forest of Blades
The next morning, even the higher gates were watching.
Gate 32's trial wasn't a polite duel or some ceremonial spar. It was a gauntlet — five miles of traps, beasts, and hired interference from Gate 31 seniors who thought hazing was a hobby.
The entrance yawned open like a mouth.
"Rules are simple!" a Gate Elder barked. "Reach the altar. Last place? Expelled. Only five advance."
Simple, he says.
The forest shimmered with movement. Divine Stage 5s and 6s lingered in branches, pretending not to stare. Waiting.
Xiao Yan adjusted the Sword of Heaven and Earth on his back. He wasn't drawing the Ice Sword. Not yet. No reason to show everything at the first dance.
"Formation," he said calmly. "Yanlin center. Qingya, eyes high. I'll clear forward."
"Got it!" Ma Qingya snapped her Sky-Piercing Fan open with a metallic flick.
They moved.
Instantly, the canopy came alive.
Poison needles shrieked through the air. Iron logs swung down hard enough to flatten carriages. Yanlin roared, granite skin spreading over him as he absorbed a blow that would've crushed bone into powder.
"Go!"
Xiao Yan surged forward.
No sword.
Bare fists.
Mechanical puppets leapt from the brush; he shattered them mid-air. Thunder-Bone pulsed along his spine, violet sparks licking across his knuckles. Every strike landed heavy. Clean. Efficient.
The 12th Stage foundation wasn't theory anymore.
It was impact.
And then—
The air changed.
Thicker. Greasy, almost.
From the deepest grove, figures stepped out.
Black robes. Red eyes.
Not regular seniors.
One of them tilted his head slightly. "The Lord sends his regards."
Yanlin cursed under his breath. "That's not part of the exam."
"Trials evolve," Xiao Yan said quietly.
The lead disciple's voice came distorted, like it scraped through broken glass. "The Variable dies here."
For a second — just a second — the forest went still.
Even the traps seemed to hesitate.
Xiao Yan rolled his shoulders once. Calm. Measuring.
"Yanlin," he murmured, almost conversationally, "try not to get expelled."
And then he stepped forward.
To be continued…