Every spring, a high-ranking cultivation clan descends from the mountains to hold the Village Trial—a time-honored challenge where youths from smaller clans or remote villages compete for the rare chance to be chosen as disciples.

Those who show potential—whether through martial skill, spiritual perception, or inner strength—may be offered a place in the sect's outer training grounds.

The hosting clan changes each year.

This year, it is the Shuilan Clan.

Chapter 3

✦ Scene 1: Rumors Before the Storm

Morning mist clung to the rooftops of Baizhu Village, curling like silk through the pine-covered hills.

The streets bustled with life—vendors balancing baskets of steamed buns, children darting between talisman poles, and sword racks being set up near the training field.

All week, rumors fluttered like sparrows from rooftop to rooftop.

“They say it’s the Shuilan Clan this year.”

“Their disciples walk like wind and strike like thunder.”

“And the young master—he’s coming too.”

“They say he’s not even eighteen, but already carries the weight of a sect’s legacy on his shoulders.”

Shopkeepers leaned closer, lowering their voices with reverence.

 “They say Young Master Xuan never raises his voice, never boasts—and his sword is sharper than silence.”

 “They say the young master moves through shadows as if he were part of the night itself.”

 “Graceful as moonlight, they say…”

 “A true gentleman cultivator.”

“A jade immortal!”

Whispers rippled through the market, reaching the edge of the training square. 

Lin Ye lounged across the stone steps with his cousin Lin Shen—already acting like someone’s strict older brother—and their friend Mu Fan, all three seventeen and sharing a paper cone of roasted chestnuts.

Lin Ye groaned dramatically and flopped onto his back like a dying fish, arm draped over his forehead.

“Ugh, not this again. If I hear ‘jade immortal’ one more time, I’m going to cough up a lotus.”

Mu Fan snorted mid-chew, nearly choking.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause he probably combs his hair.”

“I comb mine. Sometimes,” Lin Ye muttered defensively, tugging at his loose, lopsided ponytail, then blinking as if realizing how uneven it was.

Lin Shen laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement as he pointed with his half-eaten bun.

“They say the young master faced a cursed beast with nothing but a flute and a poem.”

Lin Ye gave an exaggerated eye roll so intense it looked like his soul might escape.

“Oh? What next? He tamed a dragon with a smile and taught clouds how to float?”

Mu Fan grinned wide, a smear of chestnut on his cheek.

“That was last spring, actually.”

“Please.” Lin Ye scoffed, waving one hand in mock elegance. 

“He’s the kind who bows before cutting your arm off—and offers tea afterward.”

With theatrical flair, he stood and gave an exaggerated, courtly bow—hand over heart, expression solemn.

“Forgive me, noble foe. Allow me to slice you… with elegance.”

The three burst into laughter. 

Lin Shen clapped the step with his palm. 

Mu Fan wheezed, nearly dropping his snack.

But even as the laughter faded, Lin Ye’s grin stayed put—crooked, lazy, and unbothered.

He tilted his head back, eyes drifting toward the mist-covered ridges beyond the village.

The others didn’t notice, but something sharpened in his gaze.

Maybe curiosity. 

Maybe dread.

Or maybe just the sense that this year, things were about to change—and not in a way he could joke his way out of.

✦ Scene 2: Riders from the Shuilan Clan

By mid-morning, the village square shimmered under the bright sun. 

The cobblestones had been swept clean, and rows of fluttering banners in pale blue and silver-gray—colors sacred to the Shuilan Clan—lined the walkways. 

Silk streamers danced in the wind like flowing water, strung from bamboo poles and wooden gates.

The air was heavy with incense smoke, curling upward in slow, fragrant trails, as though carrying prayers skyward.

The villagers had gathered early, dressed in their best—simple tunics dyed in indigo and moss-green, sashes embroidered with talismans for luck and protection. 

Elderly women fanned themselves beneath the shade; children clung to skirts, eyes wide with awe.

Then, like a ripple across still water, silence spread.

They had arrived—the riders from the Shuilan Clan.

First came the spirit beasts—tall black deer with silver-tipped antlers and calm, luminous eyes that shimmered faintly with spiritual energy. 

Their steps were quiet, deliberate, as though the earth itself softened beneath their hooves. 

They pulled lacquered carriages carved with waves and lotus blossoms, their polished wood gleaming in the sunlight.

Behind them marched the disciples of the Shuilan Clan, perfectly in step. 

Their robes were ash-gray with deep blue trim, each fold precise, each movement composed. 

Etched across their sleeves were subtle patterns of wind and water.

Swords hung at their waists, polished to a quiet sheen. 

They moved like a sacred tide—disciplined, silent, powerful.

The villagers instinctively stepped aside, bowing low. 

Even the children stood still.

From the procession stepped a tall, stern man, older than the rest. 

His robes were darker, edged in fine silver thread, and a jade pendant at his chest marked him as a senior cultivator of the inner sect. 

Even the breeze seemed to pause as he began to speak.

He unfurled a scroll with a crisp snap.

“By decree of the Elder Council of Shuilan, the annual village trials shall commence. Those who pass may receive cultivation guidance under the clan’s tutelage.”

The crowd let out a collective breath, tension dissolving into reverent silence—and hopeful excitement.

“Where is the young master?” someone whispered nearby.

A teenage girl clutched her friend’s arm, her eyes gleaming:

“They say he’ll arrive before dawn tomorrow…”

“He never travels with the full procession. Too noble. Too refined.”

Leaning against a crooked wooden post, Lin Ye yawned and smirked.

“What’s the matter? Too noble to sweat?”

Mu Fan elbowed him.

“Admit it. You’re dying to see him.”

“Me?” Lin Ye raised both hands. 

“Please. I already know he’s annoying. Probably never even tripped over a tree root.”

He cast a sidelong glance at Lin Shen and added with a crooked grin:

“Mark my words—he’s either secretly bald under all that poise, or he speaks in riddles no one understands.”

“Or both,” Mu Fan added.

Laughter rippled through the small group of village youths.

But Lin Ye quieted first. 

His smile faded just slightly, a shadow crossing his features as the wind whispered through the pines beyond.

No one else noticed the lone figure standing on the cliff’s edge, silent and still.

His robes moved with the wind—white and pale blue, as soft as mist—and his eyes scanned the valley below, unreadable.

Xuan Luo of the Shuilan Clan had arrived.

Unseen, unheard—yet already watching.

Thanks for reading! This episode isn’t over yet—more coming soon. Stay tuned!