The server froze, color draining from his face. “Lady Su, I— I didn’t mean to offend—”

  “Then hold your tongue next time,” Su Qingyue said. Her rebuke was not loud, but it carried a weight that silenced the entire pavilion. Even Patriarch Shigo Tianyu’s lips twitched faintly, though whether in approval or amusement, no one could tell.

  The servant bowed low, stammering an apology before retreating hastily, face burning red.

  Li Wei stood motionless, unsure whether to thank her or retreat. Su Qingyue looked at him then, and for a brief moment their eyes met. He saw no pity there—only quiet understanding, the kind that came from one who looked beyond surface weakness. It was the first time in years that someone other than Xian Lan had looked at him not as a cripple, not as a failure, but simply as a person.

  He bowed deeply. “My thanks, Lady Su.”

  She inclined her head, her expression serene once more. “No thanks are needed. Courtesy costs nothing.”

  Guo Liang watched the exchange, irritation flickering across his face. His eyes lingered on Li Wei with renewed dislike.

  Patriarch Shigo Tianyu said nothing. His gaze rested on Li Wei for a heartbeat longer than necessary—sharp, measuring, as though weighing something unseen. Li Wei felt that gaze like a blade across his back. The lotus within his dantian stirred instinctively, qi folding in upon itself until even his pulse felt muffled. When the patriarch finally looked away, turning his attention back to the arena below, Li Wei exhaled quietly, the tension draining from his shoulders.

  Perhaps I was overthinking, he thought.

  As the trials began and cheers rose from the arena, Li Wei stepped back into the shadowed edge of the pavilion near the refreshments table, invisible once more among the nameless servants. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at Su Qingyue who was seated there gracefully, watching the arena. Deeper than her beauty was her kindness, something that he had forgotten geniuses could still possess.

  While he didn’t dare imagine her ever harboring romantic feelings for him—the gulf between them was too wide—he appreciated this aspect of her nature, and he hoped he could one day reach a level where he could call her a friend... because he admired her, Su Qingyue, greatly.

  At any rate, the trials progressed excitedly.

  Gongs thundered across the mountain peaks to welcome the start of each match, each strike echoing through the valleys like rolling thunder. The spectators were mainly composed of disciples who did not qualify to partake in this year's trial due to their lower cultivation realm. These disciples watched from the stands, voices rising in waves of excitement. Flags bearing the Azure Cloud insignia snapped in the mountain wind. For once, even the most disciplined elders allowed a spark of pride to flicker in their eyes.

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  For Li Wei, standing quietly among the servant disciples near the refreshments table, the excitement was a distant storm. From where he stood, he had a clear view of the central stage, a circular stone platform carved with swirling cloud patterns. The platform gleamed faintly, its edges inscribed with faint runes to contain the power of the combatants. The elders and guests in his section had unreadable expressions as they gazed down upon the hopefuls. Li Wei’s eyes, however, were drawn to only one thing—the endless movement on the arena floor between the two combatants. The noise, the spirit energy, the clash of strength. Each roar of the two fighters struck like a hammer against the walls of his restraint.

  That could have been me, he thought. That should have been me. Li Wei silenced the thought before it could burn too deeply. That was my ego talking, he reminded himself. His ego contradicted the path of hidden strength he was following. It wasn’t a matter to simply hiding his strength for the sake of it. It was a matter of self-preservation and focus. The glory meant nothing if it got him killed; the admiration meant nothing if it distracted him from the goal.

  And what was the goal? The goal him and Xian Lan made as children, while sword-fighting with sticks in the village!

  The twenty-eighth match was starting, and Li Wei’s eyes snapped up.

  A disciple with red hair wielded twin sabers, his strikes slicing through the air in blazing arcs. His qi surged like a hurricane, each blow forcing his opponent backward until the latter’s sword shattered against the force of the assault. The crowd erupted, shouting his name.

  Another duel followed.

  A thin youth formed fiery sigils, fire qi swirling into the shape of a serpent that lunged forward and coiled around his opponent’s weapon, melting it mid-swing. The onlookers gasped, clapping as he bowed modestly to the elders.

  One after another, disciples displayed the fruit of their cultivation—each strike, each technique a desperate plea for recognition.

  Patriarch Shigo Tianyu sat unmoving, his hands resting peacefully on his lap. His gaze was impassive, like a man watching raindrops on glass. Beside him, Guo Liang leaned forward eagerly, his arms crossed, eyes glittering with arrogance. “So this is the strength of the Azure Cloud Sect’s disciples?” he scoffed. “Their movements are crude, their control of qi pitiful. If these are the outer disciples, I can scarcely imagine what their inner sect produces—more trash with better clothes, perhaps?”

  Several Azure Cloud elders stiffened, but none dared respond. Had those words been spoken by anyone else, the person would have been beaten within an inch of his life and thrown into the sect dungeon. But this was the disciple of Shigo Tianyu, and he could not be rebuked easily. After all, before one beats the dog, one must ask its master.

  Su Qingyue, calm as ever, spoke; “Their forms are indeed unrefined, but some show promise. The boy with the twin sabers—his breathing is stable, his foundation steady.”

  Guo Liang snorted. “Promise is nothing without talent. Look at their stances—no grace, no flow. You can’t forge swords from wet clay.”

  Su Qingyue’s lips curved faintly, neither agreeing nor refuting him. Her gaze drifted across the arena, then shifted back to her section, to the servants standing by the refreshments. For a fleeting instant, her eyes found Li Wei among them. He was watching the arena, his gaze focused, calm.

  Strange, Su Qingyue thought. One who has tasted the gift of cultivation can still watch a match without showing a hint of envy or dissatisfaction. She wondered if she do the same in his circumstance? Remain calm-hearted and watch the goings-on of a world she could no longer participate in. Su Qingyue did not think she could. Her eyes lingered on Li Wei a moment longer before she turned back to the arena.

  “Next match!” the referee screamed.

  The crowd hushed as a boy leapt onto the stage, his name rippling across the stands like a spark through dry grass—Zhao Feng.