The morning mist was still thick, clinging to the stone floor of the hut as Hanyuan rose from his final cycle of meditation. He had slept for six hours, and his mind felt like a mirror,still, clear, and unyielding. For two hours, he trained with his Spear, the blue steel of the Cold Cloud Spear singing as it cut through the damp air.
But for the final hours, he simply sat. The spear rested across his knees as he withdrew his senses from the world and turned them inward. He wasn't training his Spear anymore; he was tempering his resolve.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sudden sound broke his trance nine hours later. Hanyuan's eyes snapped open. The previous tension had vanished, replaced by a gaze so serene it was unsettling. He stood, fluidly strapped his spear to his back, and opened the heavy stone door.
Qin Yu stood there, and the air around him was shimmering with a newfound density. A vibrant, high pressure water-element Qi radiated from his body.
"Brother Hanyuan! I thought you'd slept through the bells!" Qin Yu grinned, his presence far more imposing than before. "I made it! The 8th Layer is a different world entirely!"
"I can see that," Hanyuan replied with a thin smile. "Congratulations, Brother Yu."
"No time for pleasantries, the competition starts in less than an hour! If we're late, Elder Su will have our heads!" Qin Yu grabbed Hanyuan by the wrist and began hauling him toward the western edge of the Cloud-Jade Isle.
The walk took them to the Summit Arena, a massive plateau carved with thousands of runes to prevent its destruction. As they arrived, Hanyuan's serene expression faltered slightly. The sheer density of Qi was staggering. Hundreds of Outer Disciples stood in clusters, their auras clashing like invisible waves.
Hanyuan's obsidian eyes swept the crowd, and his heart gave a small, heavy thud. I thought my Cultivation would be enough to stand tall, his brow furrowing. But I can feel at least thirty people with auras as deep as Qin Yu's... and some that are far deeper. Top twenty is but only a dream. My only chance is to hold the middle ground.
"Silence!"
The voice was like a hammer strike. Hanyuan looked up as three figures descended from the clouds.
Elder Su, his blue hair flickering with static energy, landed at the center. To his right was a middle-aged woman in pale violet robes who smiled with warmth, yet her presence felt like an unmoving wall. To the left was Elder Qi. He moved with leisure, stroking his goatee as his silver-blue eyes scanned the ranks. When his gaze crossed Hanyuan, he offered a nearly imperceptible nod.
"Today determines your rank for the coming year," Elder Su declared. "The trials will occur across four separate arenas simultaneously. The further you climb, the greater the reward. But take note, for the champion of this year's competition, the Sect has prepared a special prize: A Core-Building Pill."
A collective gasp echoed across the plateau. Hanyuan watched as the eyes of the 8th and 9th Layer disciples instantly turned blood red with greed.
A Core-Building Pill was a legend in the Qi Refining realm. It didn't just add Qi; it prepared the foundations for the Mortal Core itself. Taking it increased the chance of a successful breakthrough by forty percent. To these Peak-stage youths, that pill was more than a reward,it was a chance to enter into the Inner Sect.
"So that's why the pressure is so heavy today," Qin Yu whispered, his face pale. "Every tiger on this mountain is going to fight to the death for that bottle."
Hanyuan sighed, his grip tightening on the strap of his spear. He looked toward the far end of the arena, where the top-ranked disciples stood in arrogant isolation. Beyond Mu Rongbing, who stood like an ice sculpture, there were three others whose auras were so vast they didn't even seem human.
As they sat in the spectator stands waiting for their names to be called, the temperature of the air seemed to rise with every clash on the stone platforms below. Hanyuan looked over at Qin Yu, who was vibrating so hard the bench was rattling. He was gripping his knees, muttering about the humidity and the likelihood of unlucky draws.
Hanyuan's brow twitched. He leaned over and gave Qin Yu a sharp jab in the ribs. "You're an 8th layer cultivator with a Spirit-rank Water technique, Brother Yu. You could probably take out half this crowd with your eyes shut. What the hell are you so nervous for?"
"It's not the rank! It's the... the unpredictability!" Qin Yu squeaked, looking around as if the stones themselves might attack him.
Hanyuan sighed and turned his attention back to Arena 3. A path cleared in the crowd as a youth with a shaved head and muscular, bare arms stepped onto the stone. His eyes were closed in prayer, but the Qi radiating from him was a tangible, golden weight that suppressed the breathing of everyone within twenty paces.
"That's Kong Xuan," Qin Yu whispered, momentarily distracted from his panic. "He's eighteen, at the absolute Peak of Qi Refining. People say he already has one foot in the Mortal Core realm. He's the favorite to win that pill."
Kong Xuan's opponent was a nineteen-year-old in the 8th layer, who was already pale with sweat. The referee signaled the start, and Kong Xuan opened his eyes. There was no kindness in his gaze, only the cold clarity of a predator.
Sou!
He moved like a bolt of golden lightning. The youth didn't even have time to raise his blade before a heavy, Qi coated foot slammed into his sternum.
CRACK.
The sound of shattering ribs echoed across the Sumit Arena. The youth was launched twenty meters through the air, crashing into the boundary pillars and sliding down into a limp pile of broken bones and torn fabric.
Hanyuan leaned back, a small smirk playing on his lips. "He looks like a monk, but he fights like a savage. I like his style."
"Hanyuan, shut up!" Qin Yu hissed, nearly hiding behind his own sleeves. "If one of his followers hears you, they'll break our legs before the day is over!"
Hanyuan simply chuckled, his obsidian eyes drifting across the four arenas. He was mentally mapping out the different styles until the announcer's voice boomed over the crowd.
"Hanyuan versus Ben Shan. Arena 4!"
"That's me," Hanyuan said. He stood up, the Cold Cloud Spear already singing softly in its linen wrap.
"Don't die!" Qin Yu called out frantically as Hanyuan descended the stairs.
Hanyuan stepped onto the stone of Arena 4. His opponent, Ben Shan, was fifteen years old and dressed in the fine silks of a secondary clan from the Southern Continent. He brandished a gleaming steel sword and looked at Hanyuan with a sneer of deep seated arrogance. Ben Shan was also at the 6th layer, but his aura felt airy and unrefined compared to Hanyuan's.
"I've heard of you," Ben Shan said, pointing his sword at Hanyuan's chest. "The lucky country brat. It's time I show you the difference between true disciples and people who just crawl through the gate."
Hanyuan didn't reply. He unwrapped his spear, the dark blue metal glistening under the sun. He didn't even drop into a deep defensive stance; he simply held the spear with one hand, his posture relaxed.
"Begin!" the referee shouted.
Ben Shan lunged. His movement was decent, his blade coated in a flickering yellow flame. He was fast, aiming for a piercing strike to Hanyuan's neck. Hanyuan's eyes didn't flicker. He waited until the blade was three inches away, then his foot hit the stone like a hammer.
He didn't retreat; he lunged past the blade.
The Cold Cloud Spear hissed as it whipped through the air. Hanyuan didn't use a basic block, he used the momentum of his pivot to launch a crushing counter.
"Silver Crescent Horizon!"
Blue runes ignited along the blue steel shaft. In a singular, explosive horizontal sweep, Hanyuan unleashed his Spirit rank technique. A crescent moon of solid, freezing Qi erupted from the spear tip, expanding until it covered five meters of the arena.
CRUNCH!
Ben Shan's sword snapped like glass as the frozen crescent hit him mid dash. The impact caught him square in the chest, the Qi so cold it crystallized his very blood. He was catapulted backward, flying out of the arena bounds and slamming into a distant statue with a sickening thud. He fell to the ground, unconscious and clutching a shattered breastplate, a thin layer of blood already covering his lips.
"Winner: Bai Hanyuan!"
Hanyuan didn't linger to look at him. He spun his spear, holstering it across his back with a sharp, fluid movement, and walked back to the stands.
Hanyuan sat back down next to the gaping Qin Yu. "His aura was as thin as his sword. Too much reliance on form, not enough on spirit."