Four days later, morning mist veiled the sect in pale silver.

  From the outer courtyards to the grand square, disciples hurried about in crisp robes, their nerves thrumming like bowstrings.

  The Inner Sect Trials, an event that came once every three years, had finally arrived!

  For most, it was the day to prove themselves.

  For Li Wei, it was another day to, hopefully, stay unseen.

  Servant-disciples had been assigned to assist in various duties: preparing food, arranging seats, carrying tea and wine. Li Wei’s task was supposed to be simple—help with the banquet preparation and then withdraw before the trials began.

  But as fate would have it, his quiet invisibility betrayed him.

  “Hey, you there! You’ve got steady hands,” barked a senior steward, waving him over. “You’ll serve in the Upper Pavilion. Don’t spill anything. Those guests are worth more than your life.”

  Li Wei’s heart sank. The ‘Upper Pavilion’ overlooked the main arena, an elevated terrace reserved for sect elders and visiting dignitaries.

  By midday, the arena buzzed with noise. Rows upon rows of disciples gathered below, murmuring as they waited for the elders to take their places.

  On the high terrace, servants moved quietly among jade tables laden with delicacies and fine wine. Every motion was watched. Every mistake would be remembered.

  When Li Wei carried the final tray toward the central table, the air itself seemed to still.

  “Patriarch Shigo Tianyu of the Heavenly Sword Pavilion has arrived,” someone cried with zeal.

  Li Wei glanced over, this gaze following this esteemed guest.

  The patriarch was not tall, yet he filled the space with presence alone. His hair was silver but untouched by frailty, each strand gleaming like tempered steel. His robes, simple white and edged with faint gold patterns, were immaculate. His eyes—cold, sharp, and utterly still—radiated the calm of one who had seen countless storms. Even as he sat down, he carried an aura of command that pressed subtly on those nearby.

  Beside him sat his two disciples, Guo Liang and Su Qingyue.

  Guo Liang was tall and broad-shouldered, his face handsome in the way a sharpened blade was handsome. His every movement seemed calculated to display his superiority. When he laughed, it was not with warmth, but with the satisfaction of one accustomed to being admired.

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  By contrast, Su Qingyue sat like a moon in the shadow of the sun. Her presence was quiet, serene, yet impossible to ignore. She wore pale robes threaded with silver, her dark hair bound by a single ribbon. Her eyes, clear as a mountain spring, carried a softness that seemed to bely the power hidden beneath. When she lifted her gaze toward the arena, even the noise of the crowd seemed to dim.

  Li Wei approached the table with careful steps, bowing deeply as he poured wine into the guests’ cups. The scent of lotus and plum rose faintly in the air.

  “Please enjoy our sect’s hospitality,” he said, his tone calm despite the pulse hammering in his ears. When he had heard he would be serving the Upper Pavilion, he had prayed it wouldn’t be the one hosting Patriarch Shigo Tianyu. Alas, that prayer was not answered.

  Guo Liang reached for his cup first. He swirled the wine once, brought it to his lips, and paused. His brows furrowed, as though offended by the liquid’s very existence. “This,” he said flatly, “is swill.”

  Li Wei lowered his gaze. “Apologies, honored guest. I did not prepare the wine myself, but I will gladly fetch you a fresh cup.”

  Guo Liang leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling his lips. “Of course you didn’t. Someone like you can hardly be trusted to carry a cup, let alone make wine.”

  A few nearby servants stiffened.

  Li Wei kept his head bowed. “I will replace it immediately.”

  Guo Liang’s voice sharpened. “Do you know who stands before you, servant?”

  “I know, honored guest,” Li Wei said evenly. “You are the disciple of Patriarch Shigo Tianyu—Young Master Guo Liang. Your name is known even beyond the Pavilion.”

  That only seemed to amuse the patriarch's disciple further. “Then you should also know the difference between service and incompetence.”

  Before Li Wei could reply, a soft voice cut through the tension. “Senior Brother,” Su Qingyue said gently, her tone neither cold nor deferential. “He is only doing his duty. There is no need to shame him.”

  Her words, calm as falling snow, carried a quiet authority that made even Guo Liang falter. His gaze softened, not because he was admitting defeat but because he always had a soft spot for his junior sister. Him and Su Qingyue had experienced too much together in this life, and one day he would take her as his bride. By combining their yin and yang essence, they would reach the peak of of Body Tempering, and perhaps, just perhaps, reach that fabled realm known as Soul Elevation.

  Guo Liang cleared his throat, saying, "It is no shame to correct incompetence, junior sister."

  Su Qingyue turned slightly toward Li Wei. “You may pour me a cup instead.”

  Li Wei bowed and poured carefully. She accepted it with a slight nod and a faint smile. “Thank you.”

  Her politeness drew a few raised brows among the attendants. Such courtesies were not often extended to servants. Before Li Wei could retreat, however, another server stepped forward, a young man with narrow eyes and a lingering grudge against Li Wei.

  “Young Master Guo Liang,” the server said with an ingratiating smile, “forgive my peer. He means no harm, but this one—” he nodded toward Li Wei, voice dropping just enough for others to hear, “—isn’t quite right in the body. Crippled, they say. Once a failed disciple, now nothing more than a servant. It’s no surprise he can’t even pour properly.”

  Guo Liang’s smirk returned in full. “Ah, that explains it! I wondered why his movements were so dull. A cripple, serving at a sect like this—how generous your elders must be.” He laughed, the sound sharp and bright. “Perhaps he hopes we’ll toss him a bone out of pity.”

  Several guests chuckled politely. Li Wei’s face remained impassive, though the words cut deeper than any blade.

  Su Qingyue set her cup down with a quiet clink. Her gaze turned to the server who’d stepped forward. “Is this how Azure Cloud treats its own?” she asked softly. The calm in her tone made it all the more piercing. “Mocking the weak earns no honor. Have you forgotten the discipline of your sect?”