The trees swayed gently, their branches whispering as the evening wind threaded through the training grounds.

  Amidst the silence, Xiao Lei descended from the stage. His steps wavered, vision swimming at the edges, as though the ground tilted beneath him with each breath. The heaviness pressed hardest on his left arm, phantom agony gnawing as if the beast’s jaws still clamped his flesh.

  Though his body bore no visible wounds, the strain had carved itself deep into his marrow. His mind reeled, as if echoes of the trial still clawed at his skull.

  Every watching disciple could see it. His condition was poor—his face pale, his breath ragged. Yet not a single sneer rose from the crowd. No mocking laughter, no careless jeer. Their gazes held something else entirely: unease, awe, and the hushed acknowledgment of strength they could not deny.

  Xiao Lei read those eyes and felt a quiet weight settle in his chest. He had gone too far. His plan, so simple in thought—to keep a low profile for the first few months within the academy—had already shattered.

  He let out a slow sigh. What choice had he? The lure of sky-grade lightning Qi, the promise of a sky-grade Foundation Establishment, was temptation that brooked no restraint. And with so little time spent in the academy, he had no clear measure of his peers’ power. Against the unknown, he had struck with everything.

  “Who is he?”

  The words cut through the murmurs. Peng Yu’s voice—low, tight, laced with anger. Sweat clung to his silver hair, but the usual poise it lent him was gone. His face twisted, handsome features marred by an ugliness of envy and disbelief.

  Some distance away, Shi Mai studied the newcomer in silence. Her gaze did not burn with resentment but glimmered instead with something quieter—admiration, perhaps, and surprise.

  Xiao Lei made to retreat, searching for a place to sit, his body trembling with exhaustion. But before he could slip away, a presence stirred. Elder Yi, who until now had watched with careful stillness, stepped forward. His robes whispered as he crossed the space, his shadow falling long across the ground.

  He halted before Xiao Lei.

  “What is your name?”

  Xiao Lei bowed, forcing steadiness into his voice despite the leaden drag of fatigue.

  “Xiao Lei greets Senior.”

  Elder Yi’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying the pale youth. “A face I have not seen before. When did you step into these grounds?”

  Xiao Lei answered, keeping his expression respectful, measured. But beneath that calm surface his heart remained taut, wary. “It has been almost a month since I joined.”

  A ripple passed through the disciples. They had suspected, but hearing it confirmed sent a collective breath hissing between teeth. Even Elder Yi himself paused, the weight of the revelation clear upon his features. For a heartbeat, astonishment held him.

  Then, slowly, his expression shifted—softening, curving into the beginnings of a smile that carried neither warmth nor dismissal, only interest.

  Xiao Lei could feel Elder Yi’s gaze lingering on him, weighing, measuring. His arm still throbbed faintly, though he kept his stance steady. The elder’s expression was calm, unreadable, yet the silence between them pressed heavier than words. Xiao Lei lowered his eyes, offering nothing more. For now, silence was safer than any explanation.

  A few breaths passed. Finally, Elder Yi gave a small nod, the faintest acknowledgment, and turned away. His sleeves swept outward in a practiced motion, and from their folds a scatter of tokens burst forth, gliding through the air like pale comets. Each found its bearer without hesitation, settling into waiting palms. Fifteen in all—Xiao Lei among them.

  The token felt cool against his skin, rough like weathered stone. Its surface bore the faint etching of a valley, yet the lines blurred, shifting like mist no matter how he tried to focus. Something about it seemed to carry both promise and threat.

  Elder Yi’s voice spread across the clearing, deep and resonant, every syllable leaving a faint echo in the grove-like training hall.

  “A month from now, the valley will open. Until then, prepare well. Remember—though you hold the tokens, entry is not assured. The lightning Qi within can aid your breakthrough to Foundation Establishment, but those below the ninth stage of Qi Awakening will be unable to seize this chance. Should you fail to reach that level, your token will pass to another.”

  The words fell evenly, yet when Elder Yi’s gaze shifted back, it lingered on Xiao Lei. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as though straining against a veil. Normally, a disciple’s cultivation could be read at a glance. But with this boy, it was like peering through smoke, shapes blurred and uncertain.

  Xiao Lei’s lips pressed into a thin line. He understood. The elder’s warning had been aimed at him more than anyone else. He had fought like a ninth-stage cultivator—but fighting strength and cultivation base were never the same. Without reaching the ninth stage, the valley’s blessing would remain out of his grasp. For someone without resources, that breakthrough was a mountain without footholds.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  When Elder Yi and the instructors finally departed, the air loosened, though only slightly. Xiao Lei turned, hoping to slip away into the dispersing crowd, but his path closed abruptly.

  A small group blocked his way—four, perhaps five students, their postures sharp with hostility. At their head stood Peng Yu.

  “You—boy,” Peng Yu said, his tone edged with irritation. “Your name.”

  Xiao Lei answered at once, voice carrying a subtle tremor, as though cowed before the young man’s authority.

  That hesitation—deliberate, almost imperceptible—slid neatly into Peng Yu’s expectations. His brow eased, shoulders loosening as though the tension had never been there. Without realizing it, he began to see Xiao Lei as weaker than himself.

  “How did you manage to last that long in the test?”

  Before Xiao Lei could respond, one of his lackeys stepped forward, voice rising with false certainty. “He must have cheated somehow!”

  Inwardly, Xiao Lei laughed, though his outward expression showed only doubt. He let the silence stretch a breath too long, then gave a hesitant reply.

  “I… don’t know. Maybe… it was because of my bow?”

  Neither denial nor confession—just enough to turn certainty into doubt.

  Peng Yu’s gaze slid to the weapon slung across Xiao Lei’s back. The pale bow, smooth and faintly gleaming in the evening light, drew his gaze like a blade half-drawn.

  “Your weapon?” he asked, voice clipped.

  Xiao Lei let his shoulders shrink, answering as if reluctant. “Y-yeah. It’s… an earth-grade bow. Low level. I was able to kill beasts with it—sometimes in one shot.”

  His words came haltingly, the tone almost apologetic. Yet behind his lowered lashes, his thoughts moved with deliberate care. He had known questions would come—how had he lasted so long in the test, when even stronger students had faltered?

  A weapon was a convenient excuse. Weapons attracted envy, yes, but envy was safer than truth. Greed might gnaw at students, but at least it turned eyes away from the Academy’s elders, who might dig deeper. Better to let them hunger for a bow than peer into the shadows of his strength.

  Peng Yu’s eyes narrowed. Unlike his lackeys, he understood what an earth-grade weapon truly meant. He had one of his own. They were sharp, potent tools, but tools nonetheless—no weapon could conjure skill out of nothing. His reason whispered that Xiao Lei’s feats could not be explained so easily. Yet before his suspicion could harden, the voices of his followers swelled like a tide.

  “Tch—shameless!”

  “Now I see how he managed to best Brother Yu. Lucky bastard.”

  Accusations spat through the air, one after another. Their envy burned so hot it even eclipsed their memory that Peng Yu himself carried a similar grade of weapon. Greed twisted their tone, every word more venomous than the last.

  Peng Yu studied Xiao Lei more carefully. He saw the boy’s faint tremble, the lowered head, the meek posture. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing that threatened his pride. Perhaps it really was just the bow.

  His shoulders loosened, irritation fading into a thin smile. Straightening, Peng Yu lifted his chin and let his voice carry, cutting through the jeers. “Silence.”

  The word cracked like a whip, forcing his followers into an uneasy hush. Peng Yu’s expression shifted, taking on the benevolence of one who saw himself as superior.

  “This little brother showed his valour. So what if he used an earth-grade weapon?” His tone grew louder, the words chosen with care so that the surrounding students could hear. “Strength is more than bare fists—it’s the courage to wield what you have.”

  It was the magnanimity of the strong, or at least the appearance of it. Praise given downward, from a height that could not be challenged.

  Xiao Lei let his head hang lower, the very picture of one overwhelmed. His posture spoke of humility, perhaps even shame. But in the slant of his eyes, just at the edge of his lowered gaze, he caught sight of Shi Mai.

  She was watching him.

  Her look cut sharper than any of Peng Yu’s words. Cold, assessing, and without a trace of gullibility. She had not been fooled by his trembling act.

  Compared to Peng Yu, blustering in his own self-importance, it was her silent gaze that unsettled him most.

  Xiao Lei bowed slightly to Peng Yu’s final words, murmuring thanks, his tone low and steady. He did not linger. As he turned to leave, his gaze slid—just for a breath—toward Shi Mai. She walked away with her friends, posture poised, profile carved against the dying light of dusk. She did not look back.

  The moment passed. Xiao Lei quickened his pace, slipping free of the murmuring crowd.

  Inside the confines of his narrow quarters, he collapsed onto the thin bed. The boards groaned beneath him, a sound almost louder than his own breath. He had already staggered before many eyes; here, with no one watching, the frailty he had shown deepened. Agony throbbed through him; his ears rang faintly, the boards beneath him tilting as if the room itself swayed. A bitter tang of iron rose at the back of his throat.

  His body begged for stillness, but his mind refused to quiet. Thoughts spun, wild and sharp, always striking the same wall.

  The ninth stage.

  Three realms in a month. A climb so steep it might as well be sky.

  He turned the problem over. Princess Xinyue—her name rose first. Perhaps she could be persuaded to help. Butt o her and the rest, he was nothing more than a fourth or fifth-stage disciple. She wouldn’t squander area resources on him unless whispers of today spread far enough. Relying on rumour, though—too uncertain. Too slow.

  His breath slowed with the thought. Resolve thinned into weariness, weariness into dark. At last, sleep dragged him under, heavy and uneven.

  Far across the academy, lamplight burned against the stone courtyard where two figures sat across a low table. Elder Yi cradled a cup of wine, brows drawn tight. Opposite him, clad in plain robes that could not hide his authority, sat Hao Jin, Headmaster of the academy.

  “So,” Hao Jin said evenly, “a boy newly entered—sixth stage at best—outlasted even those at the ninth?”

  Elder Yi set his cup down with a faint clink. “Yes. That child is not simple. No matter how I looked, I could not pierce through him.”

  The headmaster’s gaze was steady, unreadable. “Then perhaps he stumbled upon fortune. That is not uncommon.”

  “Perhaps,” Elder Yi admitted, though his tone was heavy. “But the valley opens in a month. Without reaching the ninth stage, he cannot enter. Such a chance—wasted—”

  “You wish us to intervene?” Hao Jin cut in, lips curving faintly. “That would be favouritism. I do not permit it here.”

  Elder Yi hesitated, then began, “But Headmaster—”

  A raised hand silenced him. Hao Jin’s gaze shifted toward the night sky, stars glittering above. “Let him struggle. If he is what you believe, he will find a way. If not…” A pause, cool as the wind through the pines. “Then it is simply his fate. Many rise early and fade just as quickly. But if he succeeds…”

  A rare spark lit his eyes.

  “Then our academy will have birthed a monster worth nurturing.”

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.