The morning came grey and cold.

  Yan Qiu stood with the other candidates in the courtyard, and he already knew what was coming. His body ached from the sparring match, his arms were covered in bruises, and the warmth inside him had gone completely still. He had not slept well because every time he closed his eyes he saw Liu Feng's sword coming at him, felt the impact of wooden blade against his ribs, remembered the way his own energy had scattered and refused to obey.

  Elder Shen stood at the front of the courtyard with a scroll in his hands while the candidates arranged themselves in rows. Most of them looked nervous, whispering to each other or standing in silence with pale faces.

  "Today we will conduct the endurance trial," Elder Shen announced. "Those who pass will be accepted into the Barched Wind Sect as outer disciples. Those who do not will receive provisions for the journey home."

  The trial was simple. Run laps around the courtyard until the elder told them to stop, and keep moving no matter how tired they became. The ones who collapsed or gave up would fail.

  Yan Qiu ran. His legs burned and his lungs ached and his body screamed at him to stop, and he kept running anyway because stopping meant going home with nothing. The other children from Blackroot were running too, Chen Bao and Li Mei and the others, their faces red with effort and their breathing ragged. One by one, candidates from other villages began to drop out, sitting down on the packed earth or bending over with their hands on their knees.

  When Elder Shen finally called for them to stop, Yan Qiu was still standing. So were the other children from Blackroot, and so were most of the candidates who had shown any promise in the sparring matches.

  For a moment, Yan Qiu felt a flicker of hope.

  Then Elder Shen began reading names from the scroll.

  Elder Shen was about to unroll the scroll when a commotion broke out near the edge of the courtyard.

  A man in fine robes pushed through the crowd of waiting parents and candidates, his face flushed and his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. He was dragging a boy by the arm, a boy who looked terrified and embarrassed, and behind them came a woman who must have been the mother.

  "Elder Shen," the man called out, already reaching into his robes and pulling out a heavy pouch that clinked with the sound of coins. "My son did not perform well in the sparring trial, and I understand this. I am willing to make a generous donation to the sect in exchange for his acceptance."

  The courtyard went silent.

  Elder Shen turned to look at the man, and his expression did not change at all. He simply stood there watching as the man held out the pouch of coins like an offering.

  "Please," the man continued, his voice getting louder and more desperate. "He has mid-tier spiritual roots. He has potential. All he needs is a chance to prove himself, and I can pay whatever you ask."

  "You wish to buy your son's way into the sect," Elder Shen said, his voice calm and flat.

  "I wish to give him an opportunity he deserves."

  Elder Shen was quiet for a long moment, and then he moved.

  Yan Qiu did not see the sword leave its sheath. One moment the elder was standing still, and the next moment there was blood spraying across the packed earth of the courtyard. The man's hand, still clutching the pouch of coins, fell to the ground. The man screamed and stumbled backward, clutching the stump of his wrist as blood poured between his fingers. The woman behind him caught him before he collapsed, her face white with shock.

  The boy, the one who had been dragged forward by his father, stood frozen in place with blood on his robes.

  "The sect cannot be bought," Elder Shen said, his voice still calm and measured as if nothing had happened. "Take your father and leave. If I see any of you here again, I will take more than a hand."

  The courtyard stayed frozen in silence until Elder Shen cleaned his blade and sheathed it again.

  "We will continue with the results," he said.

  Yan Qiu's name was not called.

  He stood there as Elder Shen read through the scroll, as name after name was announced, as the successful candidates stepped forward to receive their acceptance tokens. Chen Bao's name was called. Li Mei's name was called. All the children from Blackroot who had come with him on the carriage, every single one of them, stepped forward and received their tokens and bowed to the elder.

  Yan Qiu's name was not called.

  When the last name had been read, Elder Shen rolled up the scroll and looked out at the remaining candidates. "Those of you who were not selected may collect your provisions from the supply hall. The sect thanks you for your effort."

  Yan Qiu turned and walked away from the courtyard without collecting the provisions or saying goodbye to the other children from Blackroot. He just walked, one foot in front of the other, until he reached the gates of Dusthaven and the road that led back home.

  The journey home took two days by carriage.

  Yan Qiu sat alone in the back, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was the only one from Blackroot who had failed. Chen Bao, Li Mei, Wang Jun, Zhao Ling, all of them had been accepted, and now they were preparing to continue on to the sect while he rode back in an empty carriage with provisions he could not bring himself to eat.

  The carriage rattled along the mountain roads, and he watched the trees pass by without really seeing them. Every time he thought about food his stomach turned over.

  The carriage reached Blackroot at sunset. Yan Qiu climbed out and walked straight home, ignoring the people who called his name along the way.

  His mother was inside, mending clothes by the light of the oil lamp. She looked up when he entered, and her expression changed immediately.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Qiu," she said, already standing and moving toward him. "Qiu, you're back."

  Yan Qiu did not say anything because his eyes were swollen from crying on the road and he did not know what to say anyway. He stood in the doorway with his eyes swollen from crying. His gaze moved from his mother to the empty shelf where her jade hairpin used to sit, to the bare walls stripped of everything they had sold.

  His mother wrapped her arms around him and held him close, and she did not ask any questions.

  His father came home later that night with his hands raw from work, and he did not ask any questions either. They sat together in the small hut, the three of them, and nobody spoke about what had happened.

  Yan Qiu did not eat dinner. He went to bed early and lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

  The days that followed were the longest of his life.

  Yan Qiu did not want to leave the hut because he did not want to see anyone or talk to anyone or face the village that had watched him leave with so much hope and return with nothing. He stayed in bed most of the time, or sat in the corner staring at the wall, and when his parents tried to get him to eat he would take a few bites and then push the bowl away.

  On the fourth day, his mother sat down beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

  "Qiu," she said gently. "You need to go outside and get some fresh air."

  "I don't want to."

  "I know you don't want to, but you need to anyway. You cannot stay in here forever."

  His father was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. "Your mother is right. Staying in here and feeling sorry for yourself will not change anything that happened. Go outside, walk around, let the sun touch your face for a while."

  Yan Qiu wanted to argue with them, wanted to tell them that they did not understand, that going outside meant facing everyone who knew he had failed. He looked at his mother's bare hair and his father's tired eyes, and he could not bring himself to refuse them anything after everything they had given up for him.

  "Fine," he said quietly. "I'll go."

  The village felt different now.

  Yan Qiu walked through the streets with his head down, trying not to look at anyone, and he could feel people watching him as he passed.

  Near the well, he heard two women talking.

  "Poor boy," one of them said, her voice carrying that particular tone of pity that made Yan Qiu's skin crawl. "He tried his best. Not everyone can pass those trials."

  "His parents sold everything for him," the other replied. "Everything they had. And for what? A wasted trip and an empty house."

  Yan Qiu kept walking without looking at them.

  Near the grain store, he heard two men

  "The Yan boy is back. Heard he didn't make it."

  "Shame. His father worked himself half to death for those coins."

  "Some people just aren't meant for cultivation. Better to accept it and move on."

  Yan Qiu's hands curled into fists at his sides, and he kept walking.

  He turned down a narrow street between two houses, hoping to find somewhere quiet, somewhere away from the whispers and the stares. That was when the boy found him.

  He was around Yan Qiu's age, maybe a year younger, with a round face and a smug expression that made Yan Qiu's stomach turn. His name was Zhou Wei, and his older brother had been one of the candidates who passed the selection. Yan Qiu had seen them together before the trials, the older brother nervous and hopeful, the younger one trailing behind with that same smug look on his face.

  "Yan Qiu," Zhou Wei said, smiling in a way that had no warmth in it at all. "I heard you came back early. My brother is still in Dusthaven, you know. Getting ready to join the sect."

  Yan Qiu did not respond and tried to walk past him, but Zhou Wei stepped into his path.

  "What's wrong? Don't want to talk about it?" The smile widened. "I guess I understand. Must be embarrassing, failing like that. All those coins your parents spent, all that work they did, and you couldn't even pass a simple trial."

  "Move," Yan Qiu said quietly.

  "Your parents are hopeless," Zhou Wei continued, his voice getting louder now, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. "Wasting all their coins on someone useless like you. My mother said your family sold everything they had. Everything. And for what? So you could go to Dusthaven and embarrass yourself?"

  Yan Qiu's jaw tightened. The heat in his chest, the one that had been cold and still since the trials, began to stir.

  "I said move."

  "Make me." Zhou Wei laughed. "What are you going to do? You couldn't even beat the other candidates. You think you can do anything to me?"

  Yan Qiu tried to step around him again, and Zhou Wei grabbed his arm.

  "Your father is a fool," the boy said, leaning in close with his breath hot on Yan Qiu's face. "And your mother is worse. Selling her hairpin for a son who can't do anything right. They must be so disappointed in you. They must wish they had a different—"

  Yan Qiu's fist connected with Zhou Wei's face before he even realized he was swinging.

  The impact was solid, harder than anything Yan Qiu had ever felt, and Zhou Wei went down with blood spraying from his nose and his head hitting the packed earth. Yan Qiu was already on top of him, already swinging again, and his fists kept moving even though he was screaming at himself to stop.

  Stop.

  He could not stop. His body would not listen to him. The heat in his chest had exploded into something he could not control, and his fists kept moving even as Zhou Wei stopped struggling beneath him.

  Stop. Stop. STOP.

  Someone grabbed his arm and he threw them off without looking. Someone else tried to pull him back and he shoved them away with a strength he did not know he had. There were voices shouting and people screaming, and none of it reached him.

  Then the world went white.

  He woke up in his bed.

  The ceiling of the hut swam into focus above him, and he could smell his mother's cooking and hear voices speaking in low worried tones. His head was pounding and his hands were wrapped in cloth and his whole body felt empty.

  "He's awake," someone said.

  Yan Qiu turned his head and saw his parents sitting beside the bed. His mother's face was pale and streaked with tears, and his father looked older than Yan Qiu had ever seen him. Behind them, near the door, stood several villagers with expressions that ranged from concern to fear.

  "Qiu," his mother said, her voice cracking on his name. "Qiu, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

  He tried to speak, and his throat was raw and dry, and the words came out as a croak. "What happened?"

  "You collapsed," his father said. "After you..." He stopped and glanced at the villagers by the door, then looked back at his son. "After the fight. You collapsed and we brought you home."

  The fight. Zhou Wei. The blood on his hands.

  What did I do?

  Yan Qiu remembered the feeling of his fists hitting flesh, remembered the way his body had moved without his permission, remembered the heat that had consumed everything else. He remembered wanting to stop and not being able to, and he remembered the look on Zhou Wei's face before the first punch landed.

  "Is he alive?" Yan Qiu's voice was barely a whisper.

  "He'll live," one of the villagers said from the doorway. "Broken nose, missing teeth, bruises everywhere. But he'll live."

  Yan Qiu closed his eyes, and the relief that washed through him was so intense it made him dizzy.

  "Qiu." His mother's hand found his, her fingers warm and gentle. "Qiu, look at me."

  He opened his eyes. His mother was crying, tears running down her cheeks, and she was not trying to hide them.

  "It's alright," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Whatever happened, it's alright. You're safe now. You're home.

  Something broke inside him.

  Yan Qiu started crying, and once he started he could not stop. His whole body shook with the force of his sobs as he cried for the failed trial and the wasted coins and the empty spaces on the walls, for his mother's hairpin and his father's blistered hands, for the violence that had erupted out of him without warning and the heat in his chest that he did not understand.

  His mother held him through all of it, her arms wrapped around him, her voice murmuring soft words that he could not quite hear. His father sat beside the bed with his hand on Yan Qiu's shoulder, solid and steady and silent.

  The villagers slipped out one by one, leaving the family alone.

  Yan Qiu cried until there was nothing left inside him, until his eyes were swollen shut and his throat was raw. Then he lay there in his mother's arms, exhausted.

  Outside, the sun was setting over Blackroot.