The sky was a soft pearl-gray.
Over the Arena of Virtuous Wind, a gentle breeze swirled as the two contestants stepped forward. Their footsteps were calm, yet the spiritual tension in the air was suffocating. Disciples fell into silence. Elders narrowed their eyes.
Sun Feiyan, robed in pale jade trimmed with gold, looked like a scholar carved from crystal. He held no weapon in hand—his sword, sheathed across his back, bore a lotus-shaped guard of icy blue. His eyes remained closed.
His cultivation: Peak of Vein Melding. Known for his elegance and internal focus, he was the top disciple of Elder Hanyin, known for her Cloud Mind techniques.
Wen Zhu, in contrast, walked like a tempest. Her silver hair shimmered under the banners. She wore layered leather reinforced with spirit-thread steel, and her saber—a curved, deep-red weapon etched with flame marks—rested on her shoulder.
Her cultivation: also Peak of Vein Melding. Renowned for her aggressive flame-based techniques and her mastery of the Scorched Heaven Art.
Two paths stood opposed: the Sword of Still Waters vs. the Flame That Devours Skies.
Lan Wu stood at the back of the outer disciple pavilion, clutching his sleeves. He leaned forward as if breathing in every moment.
Opening Salute
With elegance and gravity, the two disciples stepped into the arena and bowed.
"Sun Feiyan of the Cloud Mind Pavilion," the young man said.
"Wen Zhu, second flame of the Inner Furnace Sect."
Both stood upright.
The Grand Elder's voice echoed through the sky.
"Begin."
The Clash Begins — Wind and Fire
Wen Zhu wasted no time.
"Blazing Fang: Roaring Talon!"
She stomped forward, drawing her saber in a diagonal slash. Flames exploded from her blade, forming a tiger's maw of pure fire, roaring as it lunged toward Feiyan with heat that made the outer disciples recoil.
Feiyan opened his eyes. Calm. Silent. A single breath escaped his lips.
"Cloud Step: Second Movement."
His body shimmered like mist—vanishing and reappearing behind the tiger construct. He hadn't moved quickly. He had simply become part of the air for a moment.
Lan Wu's eyes widened. "That wasn't speed… it was flow…"
Feiyan unsheathed his sword in a whisper. The blade was narrow, straight, humming like a wind chime.
"Drifting Petal: Falling Snow Form."
With a single upward cut, his sword released a spiraling wave of cold air, slicing through the fire tiger's spine and unraveling it into smoke. The crowd gasped.
Fire Rises Higher
But Wen Zhu didn't stop. She laughed.
"You've gotten gentler, Feiyan!"
She flipped her saber backward, spinning on one heel.
"Scorched Heaven Style: Infernal Dance — Third Form!"
Six arcs of fire bloomed around her in a wheel, each spinning faster than the last. The spiritual pressure increased tenfold. The ground beneath her feet cracked. Then—
"Crescent Rend!"
She slashed diagonally upward. All six arcs shot toward Feiyan like comet trails. Each slash was not just fire—but compressed sword Qi laced with flame essence.
Feiyan's sword flashed once.
"Still Cloud: Twin Reflection."
He moved twice in one step, so subtly the eye could not follow. One afterimage blocked three of the arcs. The real him parried the next three mid-air, each clash a soft ding, like a bell tapped by falling snow.
Lan Wu's breath caught. "He… split his movement in one breath. Is that… dual mind cultivation?"
The Turning Point
Feiyan now advanced.
"You attack like fire—but flames without shape burn themselves first."
He stepped forward. Wind gathered around his blade, swirling tightly.
"Wind Bloom: Spiral Cut of the Fifth Petal."
A spiral vortex of sword Qi, razor-thin but wide as a cartwheel, surged toward Wen Zhu, carrying the pressure of condensed wind and disciplined intent.
Wen Zhu gritted her teeth. Her saber blazed brighter.
"I've burned storms before!"
"Scorched Heaven: Phoenix Breakthrough!"
She dashed into the spiral cut, wrapping her Qi around her body like armor.
The two met in a blast of wind and fire, forming a dome of white smoke and sparks. Lan Wu covered his eyes.
When the air cleared—
Wen Zhu stood panting, blood at the corner of her lips. Her left arm trembled.
Feiyan's blade was inches from her neck, unmoving.
The End of the Match
The Grand Elder raised her hand.
"Enough."
The match was over. Both combatants bowed with respect.
Wen Zhu laughed. "I knew you'd win. You always hold back just enough to look humble."
Feiyan smiled faintly. "And you never stop trying to break that habit."
They walked off the platform together.
Lan Wu's Thoughts
Lan Wu stood silent.
His eyes trembled—not in fear, but in pure awe. Every move. Every breath. The way they spoke. The flow of Qi. The silent intention.
"So much to learn…"
He lowered his gaze.
"But I will."
Behind him, Mei Lian watched. She didn't speak, but her gaze lingered on the boy who whispered nothing yet dreamed deeply.
Deep Within
And in the soulscape…
Wuxie opened one eye.
He had seen everything through their shared senses, though blurred by chains and veils.
"So… the arts of the clouds can kill too."
He smirked.
"Learn all you want, Lan Wu. I'll take it one day. And I'll make the skies bleed."
LATER IN THE DAY:
The warm spring air over the Azure Sky Cloud Sect's arena buzzed with tension. The inner disciple matches had ended earlier in the day, showcasing techniques that painted the air in color and Qi. The outer disciple rounds were next.
Disciples crowded the jade terraces, sitting on polished stone seats under banners that fluttered with embroidered sigils of the sect. The Grand Elder sat in her high pavilion with her usual poise, her eyes serene yet sharp like the clouds that watched from above.
Lan Wu stood quietly near the edge of the ring.
His palms were clammy, hidden within the sleeves of his sky-blue robe. He tugged at the hem without realizing it. His heart beat fast, not with fear—but with anticipation.
"So, it's your turn?" one junior asked gently beside him. "You sure you're ready?"
Lan Wu nodded, his voice quiet.
"I will try my best."
The Opponent
Across the ring stood his opponent:
Yu Kang, sixteen years old, broad-shouldered, built like a mountain.
Already at the final stage of First Awakening, he was known for his stubborn brute strength and his use of Stone Root Fist, a technique that tempered the body like ore. He wore copper-plated arm wraps, and his knuckles bore old training scars. He'd won two matches last year and was expected to become an inner disciple next cycle.
He looked at Lan Wu and grunted.
"You're the one Mei Lian baby-sits?"
Lan Wu bowed politely. "Please guide me."
Yu Kang cracked his neck and tightened his wraps.
"Hah. I'll make sure you learn real well."
---
Opening Salvo — Strength vs Flow
"Begin!"
The announcer's voice fell.
Yu Kang didn't hesitate. He leapt forward, his steps heavy—each stomp leaving a shallow dent in the arena stone.
"Stone Root Fist: Earthbound Smash!"
He came down like an avalanche, fist wrapped in brown Qi, shaped like hardened granite. Lan Wu's eyes widened, and he pivoted on instinct, letting the blow graze his shoulder instead of taking it head-on.
A line of blood. Pain. But he was still standing.
He whispered:
"Qi spiral… channel to spine… breathe... now!"
He stepped back, guiding his small pool of Qi through his limbs. Mei Lian's teachings echoed in his heart:
"The wind does not resist. It reads. It dances."
He raised his sword—not to strike, but to flow.
"Wind Spiral Art: Circle Step."
Lan Wu twirled on one heel, letting Yu Kang's next jab slide past, his blade barely grazing the attacker's wrist—redirecting force without meeting it.
A Battle of Wills
Yu Kang growled. "What are you, a leaf?"
"Stone Root Fist: Ground Anchor Palm!"
He stomped and thrust a palm low into the ground—a shockwave of earthen Qi rushed up from below.
Lan Wu jumped—but mistimed it.
The shock caught his foot. His leg screamed in pain, but he gritted his teeth and rolled back into stance.
"Good," he whispered to himself. "He aims low… anchoring me."
He waited.
Yu Kang charged again, and Lan Wu met him—not to overpower, but to watch.
Parry. Retreat. Observe.
A feint. A lunge.
A high jab always came before the crushing left hook. A pattern.
Mei Lian, watching from the disciple gallery, furrowed her brow. He's analyzing... not attacking. Interesting.
Yu Kang snarled. "Fight back already!"
He lunged again.
This time Lan Wu's eyes narrowed.
"Wind Spiral Art: Drawn Twist."
He spun mid-dash, letting his sword curve with the air, catching Yu Kang's left hook and redirecting the force into a side-step.
The crowd murmured. It wasn't strength—it was timing.
But Still… A Gap
Yet Lan Wu's Qi was still shallow.
As he raised his sword for another parry, his arm trembled. Fatigue. His meridians still weak. His spiritual pool, nearly dry.
Yu Kang seized the moment.
"Stone Root Fist: Iron Peak Strike!"
He leapt up—fist glowing with condensed earth Qi, muscles bulging—and came down like a hammer from the sky.
Lan Wu crossed his sword, arms shaking. His knees bent—
And then—
Crash.
Stone cracked beneath his feet. He was driven down, his knees struck the ground, sword flung from his grip. The impact sent a burst of dust into the air.
Lan Wu's vision blurred. He could no longer lift himself.
The arena was quiet.
End of the Match
Yu Kang stood over him, breathing hard.
Lan Wu didn't rise.
The Grand Elder raised her hand. "The match is over."
A hush. Then polite applause.
Lan Wu struggled to one knee and bowed deeply.
"Thank you… for the lesson."
Yu Kang looked down, a bit surprised. He scratched the back of his head.
"…You're weird. But you've got guts."
He offered Lan Wu a hand.
Lan Wu hesitated, then took it—smiling softly.
Later That Night
Lan Wu sat alone beneath a silver-leafed tree by the inner courtyard.
His robes were torn, his arms bandaged. The sky was navy blue. Stars watched in silence.
He watched the moon above.
"I lost… but I learned."
He exhaled.
"Thank you, Sect. For this path. I will get stronger. Even if I walk alone."
In the Soulscape
In the murk of that forgotten sea—chained and half-sunken—Wuxie sat cross-legged, hair now to his waist, eyes like storm clouds.
He smirked.
"Hahahahaha, pathetic... losing to the likes of that? You truly are a humble little dog , but...."
"You learn fast, little ghost."
He watched a phantom image of Lan Wu's fight, repeating it again and again.
"Your pain is my gain. Lose more. Fall more."
His lips curled, not in cruelty—but obsession.
"One day… you'll raise that blade high enough."
"And I'll be the one who swings it."