Yan Mei stepped forward and stopped. Her eyes moved slowly across the landscape, tracing routes, noting movement. Her breath remained steady, gaze fixed on the shifting currents below.
After a moment, she raised her hand and pointed toward a line of rooftops leading toward the eastern district.
"We take that route."
Lu Mao moved to her side, following her line of sight. "What are you aiming for?"
"I have a target in mind," she said.
"What target?"
Her eyes did not leave the distance.
"The weakest link of the guild. The weakest faction among them."
She paused briefly before adding, "I grew up in this guild. I know its layout. I know its people. Which factions hold real power and which merely pretend. If we move correctly, we won't need to fight everyone. We only need to win the right fight."
She stepped forward, choosing the first rooftop jump.
"Let's go."
The others followed.
Lu Mao matched her pace. "Weakest, you said. Which one?"
Yan Mei's lips curved faintly. "You'll see."
They descended into the maze. Sounds of battle sharpened—impacts, controlled breathing, the ring of steel. At one point, a senior disciple wearing the mark of the Blue Phoenix held off four challengers at once, each motion measured, none wasted.
They passed without stopping.
In another alley, a lone senior stood waiting, stance relaxed. Lu Mao glanced toward Yan Mei.
"Should we?"
"Not him," she said, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Ignore him."
Bao Fu gave the man a lazy wave as they passed. The senior's expression shifted from confidence to confusion in an instant.
It happened again. And again.
They moved swiftly, threading through narrow alleys and quiet lanes, avoiding conflicts as other teams collided around them. Each time, Yan Mei chose a different path, leaving behind puzzled looks and muttered frustration.
Gradually, the city changed.
Buildings grew sparse. The narrow streets widened into cracked stone paths lined with scattered trees and hardy grass. The noise of fighting faded into distant echoes. Wind rolled through the open spaces, stirring dust and fallen leaves.
At last, the path opened into a wide lane at the edge of the district. Ahead stood massive iron gates, worn by age. Beyond them rose a sprawling structure—large, layered, its walls darkened by time, its form more fortress than residence. Yet the place felt withdrawn, forgotten.
A weathered banner hung beside the gate, its cloth faded and stained. A coiled black dragon marked its surface, still visible despite wear. The gates hung open, wide enough to pass through side by side, as if quietly waiting.
Yan Mei stopped.
"Here."
Her gaze lifted to the banner.
"Black Dragon Faction. The weakest in Sparrow City."
Lu Mao studied the structure. It was larger than any compound they had passed, its walls stretching wide, its rooftops stacked and heavy. Yet decay clung to every surface. Cracks webbed the stone, vines crept along broken edges, and dust layered the base of the walls. The air held a stale, quiet stillness.
Where other factions displayed polished stone and carved pillars, this place seemed to sink inward despite its size. The gate sagged slightly on its hinges, metal dulled and worn. The dragon banner stirred faintly, frayed at its edges.
It did not feel weak. It felt forgotten—like a place time had abandoned, closer to a haunted ruin than a living stronghold.
They stepped inside.
The air shifted at once. The noise of the city dimmed, replaced by a strange stillness. The stone beneath their feet was cracked, dust gathered along its edges, and faint threads of mist drifted across the courtyard like slow breath. Silence filled the space—not empty, but heavy, as though the air itself waited.
At the center stood a single figure.
Lu Mao's breath halted for a fraction of a moment.
A woman stood within the courtyard, as though she had long expected their arrival.
Her white robes were layered yet light, stirring softly with the passing wind, like drifting clouds clinging to a quiet peak. Silver hair fell down her back in smooth, unbroken strands, catching the pale light with a faint sheen. At the center of her brow rested a small red mark—simple, yet strangely arresting, as though it held a meaning not easily discerned.
Her features were refined, almost delicate, but there was no trace of weakness in her bearing. She stood straight and composed, her gaze steady as still water. It was neither warm nor cold, neither welcoming nor hostile—merely watchful, as if measuring them without the need for haste.
A subtle aura lingered about her, restrained and quiet, yet impossible to ignore. It did not flare or press outward, but coiled close to her form like a hidden current beneath calm waters.
As Lu Mao stepped forward with the others, his breath caught almost imperceptibly.
Up close, her beauty became all the more striking. Her skin was pale as fine porcelain, her eyes clear and sharp like polished crystal, and her lips held a natural softness that seemed untouched by effort. Yet what drew the eye was not merely her appearance, but the quiet authority she carried. Each movement, each subtle shift of posture, revealed a foundation of skill that could not be feigned.
She resembled a figure out of legend—distant, unblemished, and faintly unreal.
For a fleeting moment, even Yan Mei's brilliance seemed to dim in comparison.
The wind passed once more through the courtyard, stirring her sleeves and hair, and the faint energy surrounding her rippled just slightly—like a still pond touched by a falling leaf—before settling once again into silence.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Lu Mao realized he had stopped moving.
It was not beauty alone that held him.
It was the stillness surrounding her, like a blade sheathed but ready.
Bao Fu exhaled a soft whistle. "Yan Mei… you really know my taste."
Chen Yuan let out a short laugh. "She wouldn't spare you a glance."
Before anything else could be said, another team entered from behind. Five of them, expressions sharp, eyes fixed.
One smirked. "Looks like we found something worth fighting for."
Another grinned. "Wouldn't be fun without her."
Lu Mao's focus sharpened. "We move now," he said quietly. "Before more arrive."
Marco gave a single nod. "Yes."
Qi stirred around them, rising like a faint tide. The weight in the air thickened.
Across the courtyard, the opposing team's energy stirred as well.
For a brief moment, no one moved.
The air tightened.
Lu Mao's lips curved faintly.
So this was the beginning.
The Trial of Skill had truly begun—and every step from here would matter.