In the days following the Ascension Ritual, the trio found themselves in a strange new position. They had earned a rank and new quarters, but they had also earned a reputation. They were the anomaly, the Heretic Vein team. In the training halls, the Golden Veins and their allies would fall silent when they entered, their stares a mixture of contempt and thinly veiled curiosity. They were no longer invisible; they were a target.
This unwelcome attention was a new kind of pressure, and it was a relief when the summons came for the final stage of their ascension: the Instructor Selection. All newly ranked teams were to gather in the Grand Courtyard to be chosen by the tower's masters.
"This is the most critical step," Jian Ming explained as they walked, his voice grim. "Your master determines your access to resources, secret techniques, and protection within the tower. To be chosen by a powerful master is to secure your future. To be left unchosen… is to be left to the wolves."
The Grand Courtyard was abuzz with activity. The most promising teams—mostly Golden Veins—were already being claimed by the tower's most prestigious masters. There was Elder Lan, the stern swordsman, who took the top-ranked Golden Vein team under his wing. There was Master Mei, the elegant Mist Weaver, who chose disciples with an affinity for illusion. One by one, the masters made their selections, and one by one, Bu He, Ci Ying, and Jian Ming were ignored. They were too strange, their Heretic Vein too unpredictable. No one wanted to gamble on an anomaly.
As the last respectable master chose his final disciple, a sense of dread settled over them. They were to be the leftovers, the unchosen.
It was then that it happened.
BOOM!
A massive explosion erupted from a soot-stained tower on the edge of the courtyard. A plume of noxious green smoke billowed into the sky, carrying the smell of sulfur and burnt herbs. The crowd stumbled back in alarm.
From within the smoke, a figure staggered out, coughing. He was a man with hair that stood on end as if struck by lightning, his robes a patchwork of scorch marks and chemical stains. His eyes, however, gleamed with a wild, manic energy as he held up a fizzing beaker.
"It lives! IT LIVES!" he cackled, before noticing the silent crowd staring at him.
An exasperated announcer sighed. "Presenting… Elder Bao, instructor of the… Alchemy Division."
Whispers rippled through the aspirants. "The Mad Alchemist! Stay away from him!" "I heard his last experiment turned his students' skin blue for a month!" "He hasn't won a single point in the inter-divisional tournament for five years. If he can't field a team this time, the elders are going to shut his lab down for good."
Elder Bao seemed to hear none of it. His manic gaze swept over the remaining students, past the fearful and the mediocre, until it landed on Bu He's team. He froze. His eyes narrowed, not with disdain, but with the intense focus of a scientist who had just discovered a new species.
He glided towards them, ignoring the way other students practically dove out of his path. He circled them once, sniffing the air. "Not right," he muttered. "You three… you don't smell of that boring, balanced Qi. You smell of… defiance. Of anomaly."
He stopped in front of Bu He. Before anyone could react, he whipped out a strange, needle-like device and pricked Bu He's finger. A single drop of blood-red Leyna was drawn into a vial. Bao held it up to the light, his eyes widening in ecstasy.
"Incredible! A perfect anti-flow! A current that devours, not yields!" He looked at Ci Ying. "And you, a wild fire that fights its own vessel." Then to Jian Ming. "And a mind that records the impossible." He clapped his hands together. "You are not normal! This is wonderful! You're with me!"
The other instructors chuckled. "It seems Bao has collected the strays again."
Bao shot them a venomous glare. "You cultivate disciples. I," he declared, pointing a soot-stained thumb at his chest, "will forge my own monster for the tournament!" He turned back to the horrified trio. "My laboratory. At dawn. Do not be late."
He then fumbled in his robes for what looked like a smoke pellet, clearly intending a dramatic exit. He threw it to the ground.
Poof.
Instead of smoke, a small, sad flame sputtered to life, catching the hem of his robe on fire. He yelped, frantically beating out the flames.
"We shall meet again… children," he managed, before turning and sprinting back towards his smoking tower, leaving Bu He, Ci Ying, and Jian Ming standing alone in the silent courtyard, the newly claimed disciples of the Mad Alchemist.
Ci Ying was the first to speak, her voice a horrified whisper. "He's going to use us as test subjects."
Jian Ming adjusted his spectacles, a pragmatic light in his eyes. "Perhaps. But he was also the only one who wanted us."
Bu He looked towards the smoking tower, a strange sense of resignation settling over him. His life had already been a series of painful, absurd trials. What was one more?
'Well,' he thought with a flicker of his old, dark humor. 'At least he won't be boring.'