The day after the Awakening felt like a market stall after harvest—half empty, half hopeful.
Those with roots Grade 3 and above were told to report at dawn at the stele. Everyone else did their best to pretend they were not listening from doorways and behind walls.
Lin Mei fussed over Xiao‑lan's collar for the third time.
"You don't have to go," she muttered. "He said low root. They'll probably just make you clean latrines."
"That's still closer to their Library than here," Ifabola said. "And I promised myself I'd get inside their walls."
"Stop making promises," her mother snapped, then winced at her own words. "I mean…be careful with them."
Ifabola smiled faintly.
"I will," she said. "That's a promise."
The System hummed approvingly at the self‑binding.
Tiny Oath Registered.
Feedback: Motivational.
At the stele, Elder Shen and Lian Feng waited with a handful of blue‑robed disciples. A simple carriage—more a reinforced cart—stood nearby, clearly intended to ferry selected children up the mountain road.
Ouyang Fei strutted at the front of the line, chest puffed, fire root Grade‑7 aura practically visible in how smug he held his stick sword. Li Wen stood a bit behind him, eyes wide but determined.
Jun hovered near Xiao‑lan, wringing his hands.
"You're sure I should come?" he whispered. "My root was Grade 1. Elder Shen said 'maybe decent farmer.'"
"He also said body training still helps," she replied. "You help Master Yun. Sects need healers and herb gardeners. Worst case, you see a big mountain and go home with a story."
He nodded nervously.
"And you?" he asked. "What if they don't pick you?"
The thought itched.
The System's quest panel glowed gently: Ensure selection as at least outer servant/disciple.
"If they don't," she said, "I'll…make myself hard to ignore."
He gave her a worried look.
"Try not to make rocks fall," he pleaded.
Elder Shen raised a hand.
"Children," he said, "you all showed at least minimal roots yesterday. The sect's quota from this region is five. Some will be taken as outer disciples. Some as servants attached to halls. Some not at all."
He gestured to Lian Feng.
The younger cultivator unrolled a scroll.
"By elder decree," Lian announced, "Ouyang Fei—Fire Root, Grade 7—is accepted as outer disciple candidate of Flame Peak. Pending further testing."
Fei's family erupted in joy.
Fei himself smirked, barely hiding it.
"Li Wen—Wood Root, Grade 3—accepted as medicine hall servant candidate," Lian went on.
Wen's mother wept, clutching her daughter.
Names followed.
Two more children with decent earth and metal roots were taken as laborer‑disciples: qi strong enough to haul stone, not subtle enough for sword forms.
Then:
"Jun—Earth Root, Grade 1."
Jun flinched.
"Considered for herb garden servant," Lian read. "To be decided upon inspection by herb elder. May travel with intake."
Jun froze.
Xiao‑lan nudged him.
"Bow," she hissed.
He did, wobbling.
Finally, Lian's eyes reached the bottom of the scroll.
"Lin Xiao‑lan—Water Root, Low," he intoned.
A pause.
Even he seemed unsure what line would follow.
He glanced at Elder Shen.
Shen's expression did not change.
"Add her as…miscellaneous servant candidate," he said. "Assigned provisionally to the Archive Pavilion."
Murmurs.
"The library?" someone whispered. "Dusty place with old scrolls?"
"Better than kitchen pits," another replied.
Lin Mei's grip on Xiao‑lan's shoulder tightened, then relaxed slowly.
"Archive," she repeated, as if tasting the word. "Books. Inside their walls but far from their swords. That I can live with."
Relief warred with sadness in her face.
"Thank you, Elder," she said aloud, bowing deeply.
Shen inclined his head.
"It is only a possibility," he said coolly. "She will still be assessed at the sect. If she proves useless, she will be sent back. Do not think this a gift without conditions."
"If you send her back, we'll just make her weed more," Lin Mei said. "Either way, she'll work."
A few chuckles broke the tension.
Shen's mouth twitched ever so slightly.
"Pack light," he said. "You leave within the hour."
Ifabola had thought she was prepared to leave her village.
Intellectually.
Emotionally was another matter.
As Lin Mei bundled a spare tunic, an extra ribbon, and a worn wooden comb into a small cloth bag, her hands trembled.
"If they don't feed you, shout," she said. "If they beat you, bite. If anyone offers you a pill that smells like rotten eggs, throw it in his face."
"I will," Ifabola promised.
Lin Mei cupped her face.
"Don't…be too clever," she whispered. "Clever girls attract storms."
Ifabola thought of storms back home.
Of stones cracked under lightning.
Of hunger snarling in two skies.
"I'll be clever enough to come back," she said.
They held each other for a long moment.
Then, with a final kiss to Xiao‑lan's forehead, Lin Mei pushed her toward the carriage.
"Go," she said roughly. "Before I drag you back in and tie you to the stove."
The carriage ride up the mountain was…unpleasant.
The dirt road wound steeply, ruts jostling the wooden wheels. Fei complained about the lack of cushions; Wen turned green. Jun clutched the side until his knuckles whitened.
Ifabola clenched her teeth as each bump reminded her that this body, while stronger than before, was still far from robust.
Note:
Mountain travel in poor vehicles not recommended for cracked Spirit‑Seas.
Minor risk of nausea.
"No kidding," she muttered.
Halfway up, when the path narrowed and the drop beside them became a sheer fall into mist, the driver called a halt.
"From here, we walk," he grunted. "Horses can go no farther. The sect gate stands above."
Fei groaned.
"Tests even before we arrive," he grumbled. "They could at least send a flying sword for us."
"The sect is not your father's sedan chair," the driver snorted.
Elder Shen and Lian Feng dismounted lightly, unbothered by the climb. Disciples hefted luggage.
The children stared up at the near‑vertical stone staircase carved into the mountainside—hundreds of steps, disappearing into cloud.
Jun whimpered.
"I will die," he declared.
"Not today," Ifabola said briskly. "We have an exam first."
She eyed the steps, gauging her limits.
Her legs shook just standing.
Climbing all the way without some trick would shred what little qi balance she'd gained.
[Shared Breath Pact] – Concept Available.
At current Comprehension, can link stamina of two similar‑realm individuals for one specific task.
Side Effect: Both share exhaustion equally at finish.
She glanced at Jun.
He was sturdier than she, if not by much.
"Jun," she said quietly. "Want to…share tiredness?"
He stared. "What?"
"If you walk alone, you might collapse halfway," she said. "If we tie our breaths, we'll both be equally miserable but less likely to black out."
"Is this another one of your weird tricks?" he asked.
"Yes," she said honestly. "But a helpful one."
He hesitated.
Then held out his hand.
"All right," he said. "If we both fall, at least I won't be the only one squashed."
She squeezed his hand.
Inside, she traced Oath‑Tide lines.
"From first step to gate," she murmured, "we share breath. If one stumbles, the other steadies. If one strengthens, the other borrows."
[Shared Breath Pact – Lv.0] Applied.
Targets: Lin Xiao‑lan / Jun.
Scope: Climb to Azure Sky outer gate.
Risk: Mutual Exhaustion.
They began.
The first fifty steps were merely unpleasant.
The next hundred burned.
By two hundred, Fei had stopped complaining and resorted to wheezing.
Jun's breath hitched; sweat dripped into Xiao‑lan's eyes though the air was cool.
Her System whispered pacing cues, nudging qi to support muscles just enough without straining channels.
With each step, she felt Jun's fatigue mingle with hers—a strange echo, like trying to carry two buckets with one shoulder.
He stumbled.
She tightened her grip, lending a little balance.
She sagged.
He straightened, dragging her a step.
"Halfway," Lian Feng called down, not even breathing hard.
Li Wen looked like she might vomit.
Jiang cursed under his breath but kept climbing.
Ifabola bit the inside of her cheek, tasting iron.
Up, she told herself. One more.
The mountain pressed.
Her old fear of falling—of being pulled into deep, unknowable water—spiked.
She shoved it sideways.
If I die here, she thought grimly, at least it'll be from stairs, not some script demon. Baba would laugh.
Finally—finally—stone leveled beneath her feet.
A wide landing stretched ahead, flanked by carved pillars bearing the sect's emblem: a sword piercing a cloud.
Beyond, a massive gate of pale wood and bronze stood partly open, showing glimpses of tiled roofs and distant peaks linked by flying bridges.
Azure Sky Sword Sect.
She'd made it.
Barely.
Jun collapsed beside her with a groan.
"I can't…feel…my legs," he gasped.
"Good," she wheezed. "Means they're still there."
The Shared Breath knot loosened, task complete.
Exhaustion crashed over both more fully.
They lay there a moment, panting.
A shadow fell over them.
"If you two are done dying," Lian Feng said dryly, "the sect welcomes you."
He extended a hand.
Jun flinched.
Ifabola blinked, then grabbed it.
The overseer hauled her to her feet with surprising gentleness.
"Not bad," he murmured. "For a 'low root.'"
She smirked faintly.
"I am very good at not dying," she said.
"Keep that talent," he replied. "You'll need it."