Chương 119: 118. Probationary Period

Mei Lin steps forward. She raises the incense stick so that all twelve disciples can see it.

"The trial is simple. Before this incense burns out, you must land one clean strike against Wei Chen." Wei Chen rolls one shoulder and steps toward the center of the platform. The wooden sword in his hand looks almost unnecessary. Mei Lin continues.

"A strike to the head, neck, torso, back, upper arms, or thighs will count. Grazing contact will not. Touching his clothes will not. If he deliberately allows the strike, it will not count." Several of the probationary disciples glance toward Wei Chen. He smiles. Zhuang Zhou cracks his knuckles.

"Brother, watch closely! I'm going to crush this." Zhuang Yan closes his eyes briefly. I sigh. Zhuang Zhou is already stepping onto the platform when he notices Ling'er looking at him. He stops, returns to the line, straightens his robes, and bows with both hands clasped before him.

"This, uh, junior respectfully requests Sect Leader's permission to undertake the trial first." The words emerge with such excessive formality that several disciples look away to hide their reactions.

"... Permission granted." Zhuang Zhou bows again before walking onto the platform at a much more dignified pace before settling into stance. Mei Lin plants the incense beside the platform and touches its end to a flame. Smoke rises.

"Begin." Dust forms beneath Zhuang Zhou's first step. He crosses half the platform before the debris returns to the ground. The mortal workers watching from beyond the formation recoil at the burst of air that follows him. To their eyes, he likely disappears entirely. Even among cultivators, the speed is difficult to dismiss. At Qi Condensation Fourth Stage, his body already operates beyond anything an ordinary martial artist could approach. His muscles release strength in a single instant without tearing.

Qi reinforces his joints as he changes direction, letting him cut across the platform at angles that would send a mortal tumbling. Wei Chen turns his wooden sword. The blades meet with a sharp crack. Zhuang Zhou's strike is deflected upward. He twists before his feet fully settle, drops beneath the return swing, and darts toward Wei Chen's left side. Wei Chen's practice sword is already there. The wooden sword sweeps low. Zhuang Zhou plants one hand against the stone and throws himself over it.

His heel passes close enough to disturb Wei Chen's hair. He lands beyond him and immediately changes direction. There is no pause between movements. He advances in bursts, each approach coming from a different angle. Some are direct. Others begin as feints and become attacks only after Wei Chen commits to an answer. When one path closes, Zhuang Zhou abandons it without hesitation. He learns while moving. That's the part worth watching. His footwork remains basic.

His sword forms are the same introductory sequences given to every probationary disciple. Nothing he uses is rare. That is why the arrogance remains. For most of his life, Zhuang Zhou has likely been the quickest person in every room. Even after entering cultivation, three months have been enough for him to approach disciples who trained years. But Wei Chen gives ground only when he chooses. His movements contain none of the younger disciple's urgency.

He turns a shoulder to let one thrust pass, shifts half a step to remove the opening the boy intended to exploit, then places the wooden sword exactly where the boy needs to move next. Every escape becomes another path Wei Chen has already considered. Undeterred, Zhuang Zhou surges forward again. Wei Chen draws in a breath. FWOOM! Fire spills across the platform. The flames leave his mouth in a concentrated stream, hot enough that the reinforcing formations beneath the stone brighten in response.

Zhuang Zhou veers right, but Wei Chen is there to meet him. The wooden sword strikes across Zhuang Zhou's guard and sends him skidding over the platform. His shoes scrape against stone until he forces himself upright, leaving two pale lines behind him. A mortal struck with the same force would not have remained conscious. Zhuang Zhou shakes feeling back into his arm and charges again, discarding his sword in favour of hand to hand. Wei Chen's grin widens, and he throws his sword behind him to match the boy.

The incense continues burning. By the time half of it has fallen into ash, Zhuang Zhou's breathing has grown heavier. Sweat darkens the collar of his robe, but his speed has not declined enough for an ordinary observer to notice. Wei Chen has barely changed. That may be the clearest measure of both their progress. Zhuang Zhou has advanced from an untrained boy into a cultivator capable of crossing the platform faster than most mortals can follow.

He can endure impacts that would shatter bone, redirect himself in mid-motion, and force a senior disciple to respond. Wei Chen has continued moving ahead of him; the medicinal baths, proper recovery, and months of focused training have strengthened everything that was already dangerous. The distance between them is no longer the gap between a cultivator and a child. It is the gap between talent and developed strength. Zhuang Zhou attacks low. Wei Chen shifts aside.

The boy turns the missed strike into a kick aimed toward his ribs, but is caught by his ankle. For the first time, the boy is caught. Wei Chen holds him with one hand, his balance unchanged. Several of the probationary disciples tense. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he pushes into the captured leg as his body lifts from the platform. His free leg whips across the remaining distance. The heel strikes the side of Wei Chen's neck. The impact cracks through the training ground with a loud thwack.

Mei Lin raises one hand.

"Valid strike. Pass." Zhuang Zhou hangs sideways for a moment. Wei Chen has trapped the boy's foot between his neck and shoulder. Wei Chen looks at him.

"Not bad, Junior." He releases both legs. Zhuang Zhou drops, catches himself with one hand, and lands in a crouch. He rises quickly, though he rubs the heel that struck Wei Chen's neck. His expression suggests he thought the attack should have done more. Then Zhuang Yan begins cheering from beyond the platform. The annoyance disappears and Zhuang Zhou bounds toward him with most of his dignity forgotten. I watch him go.

'He passed using only the sect's common foundation.' No lightning movement art. No technique designed for his Thunder root. No method adapted to the constitution that could propel him to Core Formation. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Wei Chen was holding back. But landing a clean blow against someone stronger requires more than speed.

Once he receives a cultivation method suited to him, proper techniques, and experience outside controlled training, the distance will begin closing faster. It may not be long before Wei Chen has to take him seriously. Liang Kuan steps forward.

"May I attempt the trial next?" His voice is still quiet, but it no longer disappears beneath the attention of others. I nod. He bows and walks onto the platform. The change in him is less obvious than Zhuang Zhou's until I remember the boy who first arrived at Coiling Dragon. That Liang Kuan had kept his shoulders drawn inward and his gaze lowered. The person standing across from Wei Chen does not; h e is taller than Zhuang Zhou, though still shorter than Wei Chen, and broader through the shoulders.

Three months of proper meals and training have added weight to his frame. More importantly, his stance is grounded. He plants his feet and waits. Mei Lin replaces the incense. The flame catches.

"Begin." Liang Kuan advances carefully. He does not burst forward or attempt to overwhelm Wei Chen with speed. His steps remain measured, his hands raised close to his center. Each time Wei Chen shifts, Liang Kuan adjusts rather than committing too early. The difference between him and Zhuang Zhou is immediate. He closes the distance and reaches for Wei Chen's sword arm. Wei Chen turns his wrist, slips free, and steps beyond Liang Kuan's reach before the grip can close. Liang Kuan follows.

He tries again from a different angle, attempting to trap Wei Chen's shoulder and draw him close enough to strike. Wei Chen pivots away with little effort. The next attempt ends with Liang Kuan's hand closing around empty air. Grappling someone faster requires either surprise or the willingness to be hit while entering. Wei Chen gives him the latter. He steps inside Liang Kuan's guard and drives a fist into his torso. The impact lands with a dull crack and Liang Kuan folds around it, dropping his sword.

His feet scrape backward across the stone, but they do not leave the ground. For a moment, it appears that the strike has stopped him completely. Then his hands close around Wei Chen's arm and shoulder. He pulls himself forward rather than attempting to escape. Wei Chen remains within reach for a single breath. Liang Kuan uses the chance to drive his fist into the center of Wei Chen's chest. Mei Lin raises her hand.

"Valid strike. Pass." Liang Kuan releases his grip immediately and steps back. The movement is less stable than the ones before it. His breathing catches, and one arm presses briefly against his stomach before he forces it back to his side. He bows. Wei Chen inclines his head in return. Liang Kuan has passed. The method could not be more different from Zhuang Zhou's. Zhuang Zhou succeeded through speed, improvisation, and the willingness to turn an unexpected position into an opening.

Liang Kuan accepted that Wei Chen would strike him. He protected what mattered, endured the impact, and accepted a strike for the opportunity to land one of his own. Neither approach is universally correct. A disciple who attempted to imitate Zhuang Zhou without his speed would be intercepted before completing the first change in direction. Someone without Liang Kuan's stability would have been thrown from the platform by the punch he chose to absorb.

The trial does not demand that they become the same kind of cultivator. Liang Kuan steps down while attempting to hide how difficult breathing has become. Mei Lin is waiting for him. She removes a small vial from her pouch and presses it into his hand.

"Drink slowly." He obeys. The tension around his mouth eases after several breaths. Mei Lin has become particularly skilled with recovery tonics under Ling'er's instruction. The difference is not merely that she can follow more complicated recipes. She has begun understanding why ingredients react as they do and how to adjust a mixture according to the person taking it.

The kind of alchemy Ling'er considers genuine; not rigid imitation of inherited instructions, but comprehension sufficient to alter them without ruining the result. Mei Lin is no longer someone helping Ling'er prepare ingredients. She is a legitimate alchemy apprentice. Calling their operation an Alchemy Hall remains generous when it contains only two people, but together they produce most of the routine pills, baths, salves, and tonics the sect requires.

Outside purchases from the Huang family are now largely reserved for specialized medicines and ingredients we cannot yet refine ourselves. The remaining disciples take their turns. Bai Yulan, Chen Mu, Tang Bo, Wu Heng, Wu Lihua, Lin Xiaoyu, Han Yiru, and Mo Shun pass less dramatically, though none by accident. Some rely on repeated feints. Others attempt to limit Wei Chen's movement rather than pursue him directly.

One waits until the final portion of the incense before committing to an attack that would have been too reckless at the beginning. Wei Chen faces each of them without requesting rest. The sun shifts steadily over the training grounds. Shadows lengthen across the reinforced platforms while incense burns, is replaced, and burns again. By the end, the result is clear. Ten pass. Two fail. Ren Xiaolu stands with her head lowered. Her eyes are wet, though she blinks quickly enough to keep the tears from falling.

Gao Jin closes his eyes. Each time Wei Chen exposed an opening, Ren Xiaolu hesitated long enough for it to disappear. Her defensive instincts are strong, and she rarely places herself in unnecessary danger, but the trial required commitment. Gao Jin failed for a different reason; he protected himself well. He avoided being overwhelmed and gave Wei Chen few opportunities to punish him cleanly. He also allowed the incense to burn out. As the oldest among the recruits, it was understandable he'd be cautious.

In most circumstances, that is sensible. During a trial where the objective requires accepting danger, it becomes another limitation. I face the ten who passed.

"After dinner, report to Ling'er and Shen Qiao at the Finance Hall." They straighten.

"You will receive full outer-disciple robes, a set of Qi-Gathering pills, and cultivation methods selected according to your roots, bodies, and habits. Your probationary training is complete." The excitement moves through them despite their attempts to remain composed. The common method gave them a safe foundation. From this point onward, the sect will begin investing in them as individuals. I turn toward Ren Xiaolu and Gao Jin. Both appear prepared for the worst.

"You may attempt the trial again next month." Ren Xiaolu looks up. Gao Jin opens his eyes.

"The examiner will be different," I continue.

"Preparing only for Wei Chen's habits would defeat the purpose." From the edge of the platform, Wei Chen lowers his wooden sword.

"I could change my habits."

"No." He looks dissatisfied but does not argue further. Ren Xiaolu and Gao Jin bow together.

"Yes, Sect Leader!" Relief does not erase their disappointment, but it gives the disappointment somewhere to go. Many sects would dismiss them. Some would consider another month of food, instruction, medicine, and space an unjustifiable expense for disciples who had already failed once. I have seen enough to know what still needs correction. Neither of their flaws make them useless. Failing once only tells me what remains unfinished.

If they stop training, refuse instruction, or decide the attempt is no longer worth making, that is different. As long as they continue trying, Coiling Dragon can afford to give them another chance. After the trial, the training grounds slowly empty. The ten new outer disciples remain together longer than necessary, speaking quietly among themselves. Ren Xiaolu and Gao Jin leave with the others rather than separating themselves. By the time I return to my room, the sect has resumed its ordinary rhythm.

The celebration can wait until after dinner. The records cannot. I reopen the notebook and begin updating the probationary results. Ten promotions. Two extensions. New cultivation methods to assign. Pills to distribute. Contribution privileges to adjust. It is routine work. But f or once, routine feels welcome. The sect has enjoyed several quiet months. No rival has challenged us openly. No Core Formation elder has come to investigate us. The new recruits have settled. Trade continues and construction advances.

Even so, the reports remain beside my elbow. Scouts near the southern boundary. A merchant who asked too many questions about the sect's formations. Two men caught attempting to climb the rear slope at night. Another suspected spy who disappeared before Jun could confirm his identity. None of it is enough to justify retaliation. Together, it is enough to prevent complacency. A shadow passes over the window. A hawk drops toward the courtyard.

It is larger than an ordinary bird, with a narrow strip of red cloth tied around one leg and a small lacquered tube secured beneath its breast. The formation mark stamped into the tube identifies the sender before the bird lands.

'Thousand Treasures Pavilion.' I remove the tube and offer it a strip of dried meat from the container near my desk. Only after accepting payment does it allow me to untie the message. Inside is a folded letter and a sealed talisman. The outer surface of the talisman is dark, marked by several silver lines that form a closed pattern around the center. No spiritual sense penetrates it. The letter is concise. At midday on the appointed date, the outer markings will illuminate.

The talisman must be activated before the light fades. Failure to do so will forfeit access. I continue reading. The Thousand Treasures Pavilion has verified the existence of a pristine Cold-Marrow Spirit Spring. I place both items on the desk and look toward the window. Until now, nearly every major step Coiling Dragon has taken began with something arriving at our gates. A sect that waits for every opportunity to find it will spend most of its life responding to people who moved first.

The Cold-Marrow Spirit Spring is somewhere beyond this mountain. It is simply an opportunity, and for the first time, Coiling Dragon is strong enough to pursue one before it becomes a disaster. I fold the letter and place it beside the sealed talisman. This will be our first step forward.