Two days after his conversation with Nie Rong, Li Shen decided to go to the Twilight Sect. His strength had increased, his senses were sharper, and he felt a strange warmth and vibration inside him, but even so, he still failed to find his Datian. He was lost; he needed a guide.
The sun was already high when Shen climbed the stone path leading to the Twilight Sect's mountain. With each step, he felt his heart beat faster, not only from the effort of the climb but from the weight of his decision. The air seemed colder up there.
The Sect's gate loomed before him. It was made of black wood reinforced with iron, and red flags with the symbol of the descending moon, painted in white, fluttered above it. Guards in light armor were positioned on both sides. They were talking in low voices, but they quickly stopped when Shen approached.
The looks came immediatelyâand they weren't of respect. Shen's clothes were worn, stained with sweat, dust, and mud. Compared to the young people already waiting near the entrance, with clean tunics and embroidered belts, he looked like a beggar who had lost his way.
"Are you sure you're in the right place?" one of the guards said, his tone heavy with irony.
"I came for the inscription," Shen replied, keeping his voice steady.
The other guard laughed, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. "So you have five hundred Zuens to spare?"
Shen felt the weight of the bag on his waist. The coins he had saved for years jingled inside, almost mocking his hesitation. He took a deep breath and handed over the bag. The guard took it quickly, as if he doubted it was truly full. When he counted the coins, his eyes widened in brief surprise, but he quickly returned to a sneer of disdain.
"It's paid. Go in. But don't expect it to be easy, boy."
The doors opened slowly, revealing the inner courtyard. Shen entered, trying to ignore the low laughter behind him.
The courtyard was wide, surrounded by gray stone buildings with curved roofs. Red flags decorated the corners, and in the center was a circular wooden arena. Young people were waiting in line, some adjusting their clothes, others laughing in groups. The air was filled with expectation, mixed with the sound of training swords hitting stands.
Shen took a deep breath. 'This is where it begins.'
***
Shen waited for a few nervous hours. Then the sound of a gong announced the start of the assessment.
An instructor in a black tunic appeared before the group, his firm voice echoing through the space.
"All who have come to register must prove they have discipline. The first test will be of balance."
Several wooden logs were arranged on a path.
The objective of the test was simple: walk along the path while maintaining balance with one jar of water on your head and two more held by a staff.
The young men laughed when Shen got on his log. His bare feet contrasted with the reinforced shoes of some of them.
"He'll fall before the halfway point," a young man next to him murmured, his tone mocking.
Shen ignored him, closing his eyes for an instant. He took the first step. The log was small; only one of his feet could fit on it, and it wasn't buried in the ground. His foot trembled, and the water in the jars he was holding almost spilled, but he kept his body steady. In the middle of the path, the wind blew, and he almost lost his balance. He heard laughter but held his breath, lowered his center of gravity, and moved forward.
When he stepped onto the end of the log, the water was still in the jar. The silence lasted an instant before the instructors wrote down his result. Shen stepped down, his heart racing, but he didn't show it.
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***
Next, reinforced wooden blocks were brought out. The objective was to split each of them with a single blow without breaking your wrist in the process.
Shen watched the other candidates. Some missed their aim; others used too much force and hurt their hands. When it was his turn, he took a deep breath, raised his fist, and concentrated all his energy into the blow.
The impact echoed through the courtyard. The wood split in two, and splinters fell to the ground. The instructors' gaze rose, but Shen realized it wasn't admiration, but surprise at the contrast with his poor appearance.
"Not bad... for a peasant," someone murmured in the background, drawing laughter.
Shen clenched his fists but kept his face expressionless.
***
In the last individual test, candidates had to wear a blindfold while instructors threw bamboo staffs at them. The objective was to dodge based solely on instinct.
At first, Shen fumbled. He took two blows to his shoulders and almost fell. Laughter echoed, some clearly directed at him. But as the blows came, Shen began to feel something differentâthe displacement of the air, the pressure against his skin before the impact.
He dodged to the side, then ducked at the right moment, surprising even himself. One of the bamboo staffs passed inches from his face but didn't hit him. When the blindfold was removed, he was out of breath but on his feet.
"Brute instinct," one of the instructors commented, making a note.
***
Finally, came the stage Shen feared most: combat. The candidates were divided into pairs for duels. But when it was his turn, some veteran disciples entered the circle with him, smiling cruelly.
"Let's see what the beggar is capable of," one of them said.
Shen raised his fists. He tried to defend against the first blows, but the difference was brutal. Punches hit his stomach; kicks knocked him to the ground. He got up only to be pushed down again. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Laughter echoed all around.
'Don't fall... not here.'
He tried to get up one more time, but a kick sent him against the edge of the arena. His body was on fire, and the humiliation seemed to weigh more than the pain.
Even so, when he heard more laughter, he felt something ignite within himâa flame that refused to go out. Staggering, he got up again, fists raised, even though his body was trembling.
Every fiber of his body ached, but what weighed most was the feeling that everyone there saw him as nothing more than a joke.
He could barely stand. His legs were shaking, and blood ran from the corner of his mouth. The disciples around him were already preparing for the next blow when, suddenly, a strange silence fell over the courtyard.
It was as if the air had become too heavy. The laughter died in nervous throats, and even the wind seemed to stop.
Slow footsteps echoed, each one resonating like thunder in Shen's heart. The veteran disciples who had been having fun quickly backed away, bowing their heads.
An elderly man walked across the courtyard. His long white beard swayed gently in the breeze, and his eyes were a dark brown, so penetrating that it seemed impossible to look at them for more than a few seconds. He didn't need to say anything: his simple presence silenced everyone.
"Elder Yunshi..." someone whispered.
Yunshi stopped in front of the circle, his gaze slowly passing over the young people who had mocked and beaten Shen. "Cultivation is not just strength. It is discipline. It is respect. You seem to have forgotten that."
The disciples lowered their heads, embarrassed.
Then, the Elder's eyes turned to Shen. The young man felt a shiver run down his spine. For an instant, he had the sensation of being naked before him, as if Yunshi could see every secret, every flaw, every hidden thought.
"Get up," the Elder said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough authority to pull Shen from the ground. He leaned on his trembling legs and managed to stand, even if he was hunched over in pain.
Yunshi watched him for long seconds. Then he narrowed his eyes. "By any chance, are you not related to Li Huanzhi?"
Shen blinked, surprised. The name sounded like a punch to his chest. "Yes... my father was Li Huanzhi."
A murmur ran through some of the disciples who were still watching. Many of them knew the fame of the cultivator who had served the Sect years ago.
"The same eyes," Yunshi murmured, more to himself than to the others. He clasped his hands behind his back, and his hardened expression softened a little. "Your father was an honorable man. A cultivator who left his mark on this Sect, even after death."
Shen felt a lump in his throat. He knew his father had been a cultivator, but to hear that... to hear that his name still echoed within the Sect... made his chest burn with pride.
Yunshi approached, standing just one step away. He lowered his voice, but even so, each word seemed to carry the weight of mountains. "Listen, boy. The Qi inside you is wild. Brute. If you keep trying to fight against it, you will be destroyed. Breathe. Not just with your lungs, but with your whole body. Let the flow run, and then guide it, instead of resisting. Don't be afraid."
Shen tried to absorb every word. Despite the pain, he focused on taking a deep breath. He felt the cold air enter and, somehow, seemed to hear the echo of his own breathing within his chest, as if the Qi were responding to the call.
"Don't rush the path," Yunshi continued. "Cultivation is patience. Even a small spark can create a fire if you know how to feed it."
Shen's eyes rose, shining with a new flame. The shame and pain were still there, but there was something more: hope.