The light of dawn hit the peaks of the Azure Cloud Sect like a cold blade, but it did little to freshen the air in the lower courtyards. Yuan He had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling of his hut, trying to mentally prepare for the "mass elimination." He’d considered everything from obstacle courses to direct combat, but it probably doesn't matter since he'll know about it today.

  By the time he arrived at the Grand Hall plaza, the crowd was already a dense, humid mass. He had hoped that the gravity of the upcoming selection would have inspired a few more people to wash their faces, but apparently, the path to immortality didn’t require basic hygiene.

  "It’s actually worse than yesterday," Yuan He muttered, pulling his collar over his nose.

  The disciples were packed so tightly that he felt like he was part of a single, giant, sweating organism. People were jostling for position, their nervous energy manifesting as a low, vibrating hum that set his teeth on edge. Despite the early hour, the air was already stale and heavy with the scent of unwashed robes and anxiety.

  Elder Chen appeared on the dais exactly as the sun cleared the eastern ridge. He didn't waste time with a morning greeting.

  "The first trial is a test of structural integrity," Chen announced, his voice amplified by his Qi so that it echoed off the surrounding stone. "A cultivator is a vessel. If the vessel is cracked, it cannot hold power. To filter the weak from the strong, you will all endure the Ten Thousand Jin Formation

  A murmur of dread rippled through the crowd. Most knew the reputation of that particular array.

  "The formation is situated in the South Training Basin," Chen continued. "Follow me. Any disciple who fails to reach the basin within the next ten minutes is disqualified. Any disciple who steps out of the formation once it is active is disqualified. The weight will increase, one at a time, until only ninety

  The crowd began to move in a clumsy, hurried stride. As Yuan He did the same, the sunlight was suddenly cut off, plunged into a familiar, massive shadow. He didn't have to look up to know what had caused the eclipse.

  Deng Shou was walking pace-for-pace beside him. The big man didn't look at him, but his presence acted like a moving breakwater, creating a buffer that kept the other sweating disciples from bumping into Yuan He’s personal space.

  "Why are you here again?" Yuan He asked, not breaking his pace. "I thought you were keeping your distance."

  Deng Shou didn't turn his head. "I saw someone I know. It felt more efficient to walk this way than to weave through the crowd."

  "Is that right?" Yuan He grumbled. "You realize that by standing next to me, you’re basically painting a target on my back for whatever’s left of Sun Ba’s fan club? I don't need the drama, Deng Shou."

  "They aren't looking at us," Deng Shou said quietly. "They’re too busy worrying about their own bones. The Ten Thousand Jin Formation is... an agonizing way to fail."

  "I can imagine," Yuan He muttered. He glanced at the massive man. Deng Shou’s face was a mask of stoic calm, his crew cut looking sharp in the morning light. Yuan He just hoped the "unpleasantness" of the formation didn't involve Deng Shou accidentally falling on him.

  "Just don't bring any more problems my way," Yuan He added. "I'm just trying to make the cut."

  Deng Shou finally cut a glance toward him, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. "I won't cause you any problems. Besides... if I wanted to cause you trouble, I’d have just stayed in bed and let you drown in this crowd alone. These people stink."

  He didn't wait for a response, simply adjusting his stride to match Yuan He’s, his massive shoulder acting as a silent, immovable shield against the press of the other disciples as they headed toward the basin.

  The South Training Basin was a natural, bowl-shaped depression in the mountainside that looked as if a giant had pressed a heated thumb into the earth. The sect had paved the floor with reinforced basalt, the dark stones flecked with iron that glinted like cold stars in the morning light. Around the perimeter stood twelve jagged, waist-high crystals, each humming with a low-frequency vibration that made the air itself feel thick and viscous.

  As they reached the edge of the basin, the crowd naturally began to stall, the reality of the Ten Thousand Jin Formation setting in. Yuan He was just beginning to scan the area for the best structural placement when the crowd behind him hissed with a new kind of tension.

  "Would you look at that," a voice drawled, dripping with a familiar, oily arrogance. "Trash really does have a way of finding its own pile, doesn't it?"

  Sun Ba stepped forward, his silk robes a sharp contrast to the sea of grey around him. He wasn't alone. Flanking him were two figures Yuan He and Deng Shou knew all too well—the next two in line who had wasted no time stepping into the vacuum Deng Shou had left behind.

  On the left was Feng Yu. He was lean to the point of being skeletal, his hands constantly blurring as if he were trying to catch the wind itself. He was twitchy, his high-frequency wind qi making him look like he was vibrating even when standing still. On the right was Meng Chen. He carried a composite bow made of black horn that hummed with a low, predatory tension. He didn't speak; he simply measured Yuan He with the eyes of a man calculating wind speed and lethality.

  Yuan He felt the weight of Sun Ba’s gaze and slowly turned his head toward Deng Shou. "I thought you said you weren't bringing any more problems my way?"

  Deng Shou didn't look back, but his massive shoulders slumped just a fraction. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Old habits die hard for him."

  Feng Yu let out a sharp, mocking laugh, his foot tapping a rapid-fire rhythm against the stone. "I always told you, Deng Shou, it’s embarrassing. Really weird that someone at the peak of Qi Condensation lost to... well, to ." He gestured vaguely at Yuan He’s low-level cultivation with a flick of his wrist. "I still don't get it. Maybe you just got soft living at the top."

  Deng Shou finally looked at the speedster, his expression flat and unimpressed. "You wouldn't get it, Feng Yu. You haven't felt it."

  Sun Ba stepped closer, ignoring Deng Shou entirely to focus on Yuan He. He tilted his head, a predatory curiosity in his eyes that made Yuan He’s skin crawl. "I’ve been wondering about that myself. How exactly does a man with a trash-grade root find the power to ground a mountain? It’s a fascinating puzzle. One almost wonders if you’ve found a... shortcut. Some dark, forgotten manual? A demonic technique to bypass the natural order?"

  Yuan He felt a cold, sharp focus settle over him. He crunched his brow, his eyes narrowing as he stepped toward Sun Ba, refusing to give an inch. The air between them seemed to sharpen, the social mask of the sect barely holding back the animosity. "That’s a very specific accusation, Sun Ba. What exactly are you implying?"

  Sun Ba held up a hand, a mocking, paper-thin smile playing on his lips. "Oh, nothing. Just a slip of the tongue, I’m sure. I mean, how else would we reconcile a low-level cultivator going toe-to-toe with Deng Shou? Unless, of course, Deng Shou was faking it—which we both know he wasn't. He’s too simple for that kind of theatre."

  The implication hung in the air like a poisoned fog. In a sect like this, the mere whisper of "demonic" was enough to get a man executed or worse. Sun Ba wasn't just bullying him anymore; he was painting a target on his soul.

  "All disciples! Into the basin!" Elder Chen’s voice boomed from the center of the formation, cutting the tension like a guillotine. "The array will not wait for your squabbles!"

  Sun Ba gave Yuan He one last, lingering look, his eyes promising a much deeper investigation later. "We’ll see how your 'techniques' hold up when there’s a real mountain on your back," he tossed over his shoulder as he led Feng Yu and Meng Chen toward the center of the basin.

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  Yuan He watched them go, his heart thumping a slow, steady rhythm against his ribs. He felt a heavy, familiar hand on his shoulder—not a threat, but a steadying weight.

  "Don't let him get into your head," Deng Shou said, his voice low. "That’s where he does his best work."

  Yuan He took a long, steady breath, exhaling the tension until his hands stopped shaking. "He’s been trying to live in my head since the day I got here, Deng Shou. You don't have to worry about me. I've dealt with worse."

  He stepped onto the basalt floor of the basin, his boots clicking against the iron-flecked stone. The crystals around the perimeter began to glow with a deep, pulsing amber. The air didn't just feel thick anymore—it was starting to feel solid, like the atmosphere was slowly turning into lead.

  Elder Chen stepped to the center of the basalt floor, his presence actng as the literal anchor for the formation. He raised a hand, and the amber glow of the crystals intensified, casting long, flickering shadows across the gathered disciples.

  "The rules are absolute," Chen’s voice boomed, vibrating through the stone. "If you kneel, you are out. If you faint, you are out. You are permitted to use any personal techniques to bolster your frame, provided they do not interfere with your neighbors. Anyone caught using their Qi to disrupt another disciple will be disqualified immediately and face disciplinary action."

  He lowered his hand. A soft, humming sound filled the basin—the sound of the "first jin" settling into place.

  At first, the atmosphere barely changed. It felt like a light, humid blanket had been draped over the crowd. Around Yuan He, several disciples let out collective exhales of relief.

  "Is this it?" one boy whispered, adjusting his stance with a cocky grin. "I’ve carried heavier sacks of grain up the mountain. This is easy!"

  "I could stay here all day," another added, laughing.

  Yuan He didn’t join the chatter. He knew how mechanical fatigue worked—it wasn't the first pound that broke the beam; it was the cumulative stress over time. He closed his eyes and began to circulate his Qi, focusing on the internal "pipes" of his body. He knew his physique wasn't as tempered as the others; his trash-grade root had left his muscles and bones without the deep, spiritual soak that his peers enjoyed. He had to start his engines early just to keep pace.

  He glanced to his side. Deng Shou was standing like a statue, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He wasn't even breathing hard. The big man caught Yuan He’s gaze and gave a microscopic nod, a silent warning to stay focused.

  As the minutes ticked by, the silence in the basin became heavy. The jovial whispers died out, replaced by the rhythmic sound of forced breathing. The weight was no longer a blanket; it was a lead vest, and it was getting heavier with every pulse of the crystals.

  Yuan He felt the pressure beginning to bear down on his neck and shoulders, a persistent, invisible hand trying to shove his head toward his chest. He ground his teeth, his Qi moving in a tight, protective loop.

  The sound of a knee hitting the basalt echoed like a hammer strike.

  "Disciple Li! Out!" Elder Chen shouted. A steward moved in instantly, hoisting the gasping, shaking boy and dragging him out of the basin.

  That was the signal. The "beginning" had arrived.

  The weight jumped again. Now, the basin was filled with the sounds of struggle—the creak of leather boots, the groaning of joints, and the occasional, desperate scream as a disciple’s resolve snapped.

  Deng Shou’s skin suddenly took on a dull, metallic sheen. The air around him seemed to warp as he activated his Unbreakable Iron Mountain Physique

  Yuan He thought.

  He engaged his Grounded Circuit

  The burden lightened instantly. The relief was so sharp he almost gasped. he realized.

  Then, a new thought sparked. He remembered the "forced expansion" his meridians had undergone after the duel. His internal hardware was now rated for a much higher flow of qi—so why was he just circulating?

  The external pressure of the formation was immense. It was a giant, spiritual piston pressing down on him. If he opened his internal valves correctly, he could use the formation's own weight to force-feed his spiritual root, turning the trial into a high-pressure cultivation chamber.

  He sank into a deep, meditative focus. The world outside began to blur.

  He was no longer standing in a basin; he was a machine under a hydraulic press, and he was using that press to forge himself.

  The sounds of the other disciples—the weeping, the shouting of names—became a distant, muffled static.

  "Yuan He..." a voice whispered from far away.

  He didn't listen. He felt a clog in his third meridian group begin to give way under the sheer, focused pressure he was directing. He was pushing the Qi through like high-pressure steam, scouring the pathways clean.

  "Yuan He!"

  The voice was louder now, more urgent.

  "YUAN HE!"

  The world snapped back into focus with a violent lurch. Yuan He blinked, his vision clearing. He was still standing, but the crushing weight was gone. The amber glow of the crystals had faded, and the basin was unnervingly quiet.

  Deng Shou was standing directly in front of him, his hand hovering near Yuan He’s shoulder but not touching. The big man was staring at him with a look of genuine disbelief.

  "You're back," Deng Shou said, his voice a low rumble.

  Yuan He blinked, feeling an incredible lightness in his limbs. He did a quick internal diagnostic and his eyes widened. The "pipes" were humming. The energy density in his dantian had shifted, settling into a more stable, potent configuration.

  "I... I broke through?" he whispered. He was no longer at the bottom of the ladder. He had jumped straight into the Mid-Qi Condensation

  Deng Shou let out a huff that might have been a laugh. "You're a freak of nature, you know that? People are trying to survive, and you're in here... doing ."

  Yuan He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and gave a weary, lopsided grin. "I don't think I want to be called a freak, Deng Shou. Especially not by a guy who looks like a bronze titan."

  Elder Chen’s voice cut through their banter, standing at the edge of the now-empty basin. "The trial is concluded! Ninety disciples remain. You have passed the first gate."

  Yuan He looked around. The basin was half-empty now. He spotted Sun Ba near the center, flanked by Feng Yu and Meng Chen. Sun Ba wasn't looking at the Elder; he was staring directly at Yuan He, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to read the new "readings" coming off Yuan He’s aura. He had noticed the breakthrough.

  "Step out of the formation!" Chen commanded. "You have earned your rest. Congratulate yourselves, but do not grow complacent. Return to the Grand Hall at dawn tomorrow for the next stage of the selection."

  As Yuan He walked out of the basin, his boots feeling like they were barely touching the ground, he felt Sun Ba’s gaze burning into the back of his neck. He had survived the weight, but he knew the "pressure" was only going to get more personal from here.

  Sun Ba stood at the edge of the basalt basin, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, watching the retreating silhouettes of Yuan He and Deng Shou. The amber glow of the formation had long since died out, but the air around the young noble remained unnervingly still, as if the atmosphere itself were afraid to move.

  "I don’t like it," Sun Ba said. His voice was quiet, lacking the performative arrogance he usually displayed. It was the clinical tone of a man realizing a variable had changed without his permission.

  He didn't turn around as he addressed the shadow to his right. "Meng Chen. What do you think?"

  The archer, who had remained as motionless as a gargoyle throughout the trial, shifted his gaze slightly. His predatory eyes stayed fixed on the rhythmic, confident stride Yuan He now possessed.

  "I think he is efficient," Meng Chen replied, his voice a dry, measured rasp. "But his foundation is still weak. Compared to you, Young Master... there is no comparison. A sharpened stick is still a stick, even if it manages to draw blood."

  Feng Yu, unable to remain still for even a heartbeat, flickered to Sun Ba’s other side. His hands twitched with his usual high-frequency energy as he chimed in, eager to solidify his standing.

  "Exactly! Meng Chen is right," Feng Yu chirped, his words coming out in a rapid-fire blur. "The guy is just a fluke. You’ve got the Sun Clan’s resources, the techniques—and you've got the Sword Body. It’s not like you’d ever have a reason to be scared of a piece of trash like that. Right?"

  The silence that followed wasn't just quiet; it was sharp.

  Feng Yu’s smile faltered. Suddenly, the air in his lungs felt like it was being sliced by a thousand microscopic razors. He didn't just feel pressure; he felt the metallic, biting chill of an unsheathed blade pressed against every inch of his skin. This was the aura of a natural-born Sword Body—unyielding, cold, and lethal.

  Feng Yu’s knees buckled. He gasped, his hands flying to his throat as if to check if it had already been slit. The very oxygen around him felt too sharp to breathe. Sun Ba turned his head slowly. His eyes weren't filled with rage; they were as empty as the polished edge of a blade.

  "Scared?" Sun Ba asked softly. "You think I’m... ?"

  Feng Yu’s face went a sickly shade of grey. He shook his head frantically, his vocal cords straining against the invisible edge of Sun Ba’s intent. "No... no, no! Of course not! A slip of the tongue, Young Master! I meant—I meant he isn't even worth a thought! I’m an idiot, I just... I talk too much!"

  Sun Ba held the gaze for a heartbeat longer, letting Feng Yu choke on the metallic air before the sharpness vanished as quickly as a retracted blade. Feng Yu slumped forward, gasping for breath, the twitchy energy in his limbs replaced by a cold, violent tremor.

  Sun Ba looked back toward the mountain trail, a strange, thoughtful glint appearing in his eyes.

  "You know," Sun Ba murmured, almost as if he’d forgotten the two men were there. "Looking at him now... maybe I should have just accepted that duel myself. Instead of sending Deng Shou to do a task that required... ."

  He tapped a finger against his chin, a small, dark smile playing on his lips.

  "It would have been fun, in its own way. Breaking a 'freak' like that with my own hands before he had the chance to grow teeth." He exhaled a short, cold breath. "No matter. I want to see exactly what happens when he meets a real obstacle in the next round. If he survives that... perhaps I'll get my fun after all."