Days later, just as dawn broke across the Azure Sky Sect, a heavy bell tolled through the mountain range.
"Dong, dong, dong…"
The sound was deep and solemn, reverberating through stone walls and quiet valleys alike. The air shifted with each strike, pressing gently against the robes of outer sect disciples already stirring from their meditation or rest.
Xue Mo's eyes opened.
The morning mist hung low, curling between the worn stone tiles of the Grand Outer Sect Square. Rows upon rows of outer sect disciples stood in organized lines, eyes fixed ahead, yet minds drifting with fear, anticipation, and silent prayer.
Among them stood Xue Mo, calm and unreadable, his brown robes clean, sword at his back, his expression a perfect mask of quiet composure. He stood not at the front, nor at the rear, but comfortably in the middle of the group assigned to those who had been in the sect for nine years.
To his left, a round figure shifted uncomfortably, wiping his brow for the third time in less than a minute.
"Senior Brother, you don't think they'll throw me out just for being late to last week's contribution mission, right?" the fat disciple whispered, his voice high-pitched and overly dramatic.
Xue Mo gave him a sidelong glance. "You're not here because of a missed mission."
The fat disciple—whose name, as Xue Mo recalled from Lin Feng's fragmented memories, was Bao Siwen—sighed dramatically and rubbed his belly.
"It's this damn body, I tell you. Spiritual energy just slips out of me like water through a cracked pot. I train, I really do. But the heavens were cruel when they gave me this physique."
"Perhaps you should train more and complain less," Xue Mo replied dryly.
Bao Siwen looked offended. "Now, now. You sound like the elders. Look at you, standing here like some wise old cultivator. Did you forget we're the same rank?"
Xue Mo didn't answer.
From a short distance away, another disciple watched them with narrowed eyes. A lean youth named Ren Shujin, recently advanced to the seventh level of Qi Condensation, stood in the six-year line, arms crossed. He had heard rumors that Lin Feng had once been a joke—a talentless workhorse who never advanced—and yet here he was, calm as a pool of spring water.
He watched Bao Siwen ramble, watched Lin Feng respond with subtle precision.
"Something's different about him," Ren thought, suspicion clouding his gaze. "That's not how he used to carry himself."
Back in line, Bao Siwen whispered again. "You think they'll call us up soon? My legs are starting to go numb."
"Maybe if you spent more time cultivating and less time eating mooncakes during lessons," Xue Mo said without looking at him.
Bao gasped. "You know about the mooncakes?"
Xue Mo's lips twitched. "Everyone knew."
A ripple of silence passed through the crowd.
Seven golden-robed figures descended from the sky with a hum of power, landing gracefully at the front of the square. Their robes shimmered with black and gold trim, and their mere presence caused weaker disciples to falter.
Then came the true storm.
Golden light poured from the heavens, condensing into a single, overwhelming pressure.
Bao Siwen whimpered. "Oh no. I think I'm going to faint."
Even Xue Mo had to feign discomfort, bending slightly, pretending to struggle like the others.
A golden vortex formed above them and slowly took the shape of a robed elder.
Elder Ming.
Golden River Elder.
A legend of the sect, his face was calm, ancient, and unreadable. When he spoke, his voice held no anger—only inevitability.
"The assessment begins now. Those who are absent are expelled."
Gasps. Murmurs. Some disciples trembled in place.
The direct disciples stepped forward.
"Three-year disciples, here. Six-year disciples, here. Nine-year disciples, here."
The crowd divided, the lines shifted.
Xue Mo remained still as the nine-year direct disciple—an unsmiling man with sharp cheekbones and a voice like steel—stepped forward.
"Take out your tokens. Infuse them with Qi."
Xue Mo reached into his robe.
Beside him, Bao Siwen was struggling to concentrate.
"I think I'm sweating so much the token slipped in my robes. Senior Brother Lin, help me—"
"Shut up and focus," Xue Mo muttered.
Ren Shujin, in the other line, kept watching. "He's different. Something happened. But what?"
The displays began to rise.
One by one, names, dates, and cultivation levels floated in the air.
The silence was no longer tense.
It was deadly.
Then the assessment began.