Morning broke over the Tianmo Pavilion.

  A soft breeze swept through the quiet valley. Mist rolled gently across the mountains, catching faint streaks of light as dawn pierced the horizon. On a stone platform overlooking the entire sect, a white-haired figure sat in silence his presence calm yet unfathomable.

  It was Lù Tiān.

  Only a month had passed since Misty Cloud Gate had been renamed. Yet already, the change was visible. The cracked tiles had been replaced. The faded barrier had been reforged into a spiritual shield strong enough to repel even Early Nascent Soul cultivators. The land itself seemed to respond to his will.

  But the most important change was not in the walls, it was in the people.

  All one hundred disciples of Tianmo Pavilion stood in the central courtyard below, dressed in simple grey training robes, their backs straight, faces solemn. They were no longer scattered or demoralized. They had begun to believe.

  Sect Master Yán Qīngshēng remained in seclusion, consolidating his recent breakthrough within the sealed meditation chamber atop one of the higher peaks. His presence was absent, but his authority lingered in the air.

  Today was their first real trial under Lù Tiān’s rule.

  Lù Tiān descended slowly, the faint ripple of Qi accompanying his steps as he hovered above the gathered disciples. His long white hair trailed behind him like smoke, and the black robe with purple accents wrapped around his frame fluttered in the wind like shadowed flame. His crimson eyes scanned the crowd sharp, unreadable.

  "Rankings in this Pavilion are determined by strength and strength alone. That’s all that matters here. You’re free to fight among yourselves, but there are lines you will not cross. No killing your fellow disciples. No exceptions."

  "I, Lù Tiān, am not a righteous man. We take what we want. And if you don’t have the strength to protect what’s yours, you’ll be trampled underfoot."

  "Anyone who hasn’t reached the early stages of Foundation Establishment within one more month... will be expelled."

  "Very soon, each of you will have a job to do. So prepare yourselves."

  He said no more.

  Instead, he raised a hand, and with a flick of his fingers, the trial began.

  The disciples paired off under Lù Tiān’s instruction. Combat started with caution but it didn’t take long for pride and desperation to ignite.

  These were not gentle duels.

  Blood was spilled. Bones cracked. Those too soft to fight were immediately marked and removed from the test. Those who fought well were noted. But only two caught Lù Tiān’s eye.

  The first was Liú Yīrán.

  Still only at the Qi Refining Realm, she looked deceptively delicate. Barefoot on the stone tiles, her slim frame was clad in a simple robe cinched tightly at the waist. Her black hair was tied in a low tail, and her wide eyes bright, silver-flecked, and sharp never blinked during battle. She was small, but her presence never wavered.

  Her opponent was a full realm above her, a senior disciple who sneered at her challenge.

  But the moment they clashed, his smirk faded.

  Liú Yīrán moved like mist through moonlight graceful, fluid, and unpredictable. Every step of the Moonpetal Mist Steps carried a rhythm that made her seem to vanish and reappear with unnatural speed. Her strikes were not powerful, but precise striking tendons, breaking balance, and never once missing.

  In less than a hundred breaths, her opponent lay defeated on the ground, gasping for air, one arm twisted unnaturally.

  Liú Yīrán did not gloat. She simply bowed and stepped back, her chest heaving, her face pale but composed.

  Lù Tiān nodded once.

  "Use this to temper your spiritual root. You’ve earned it."

  He placed a jade talisman in her hand.

  The second was a boy named Jiāng Chén.

  Only sixteen, Jiāng Chén had already reached the early stage of Foundation Establishment a rare feat for his age. He had a lean, wiry frame and sharp, angular features. His black hair was tied back with a fraying cord, and his dark eyes carried a stillness that seemed far too old for his years.

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  His opponent was a mid-stage Foundation cultivator, taller, broader, and visibly more experienced.

  But Jiāng Chén didn’t hesitate.

  He moved like a tactician calm, unhurried, and precise. He didn’t rely on flashy techniques or brute force. His strikes were calculated, efficient, and ruthless. Every exchange chipped away at his opponent’s footing, timing, and breathing.

  And then, with one perfect sweep of his leg followed by a crushing palm strike to the chest, the duel ended.

  His opponent flew backward and landed hard, unconscious before hitting the ground.

  Jiāng Chén said nothing. He turned, bowed to Lù Tiān, and returned to the line his expression unreadable.

  Lù Tiān watched him quietly for a moment.

  Then spoke, just loud enough for all to hear: "That one understands what it takes to survive in this world."

  By sunset, the courtyard was filled with the groans of the wounded and the silent awe of the survivors.

  Lù Tiān stood once more before them.

  "Of the one hundred disciples gathered today, fifty-three passed."

  He turned without fanfare.

  "The rest of you will remain outer disciples. You are not expelled. But you are not ready."

  He stopped, glanced back once.

  "You may rise again. Or remain forgotten."

  Then he vanished into the sky, leaving behind silence and resolve.

  That night, atop the sect’s highest peak, Lù Tiān sat alone in the lotus position. His black robe billowed quietly in the wind, the purple edges catching faint moonlight like threads of twilight.

  Each night since arriving, he had attempted the same task: using his Qi to loosen the eighth nail of the seal embedded deep within his soul. The process was grueling, and each time he tried, he met the same result failure.

  No matter how rigorously he channeled his energy, no matter how precise or intense his focus, the ancient seal remained unmoved. Unyielding.

  Tonight was no different.

  After some time, Lù Tiān opened his eyes and gazed at the stars. The silence of the peak, the coldness of the sky all of it mirrored the stillness in his soul.

  He stood slowly, robes whispering against the stone as he turned toward the edge of the peak.

  Then, without raising his voice, he called out his words infused with Qi to echo across the entire mountain:

  "First Tianzun."

  A moment later, a ripple of Qi swept through the air as Yán Qīngshēng arrived atop the peak in a flicker of light. He wore flowing silver-blue robes that shimmered faintly under the moonlight, and his long white hair was tied into a loose knot. His face, calm yet sharp, carried the weight of age and cultivation but also the vitality of someone recently tempered by breakthrough. His eyes, clear and piercing, reflected both respect and readiness.

  He bowed with clasped hands. "Pavilion Master. You summoned me?"

  Lù Tiān studied him in silence for a breath, then spoke plainly. "You’re at the boundary between the Golden Core and Profound Core realms. Your Qi is stable... but you're still standing at the edge of the next threshold, uncertain whether to step through or hold back. If you continue, you will reach the Profound Core stage."

  Yán lowered his head slightly, his voice calm but sincere. "Thank you, Pavilion Master, for your guidance."

  Lù Tiān turned away, looking toward the distant horizon. "Yán, I'm heading out. You're to stay here and watch over the disciples in my absence."

  He paused, then asked without turning back, "Are there any other sects nearby aside from Crimson Veil Hall?"

  Yán straightened slightly, his expression thoughtful. “There are a few,” he said. “Most are small, barely more than scattered clans or struggling sects. None pose a threat. But one might be worth watching Ironheart Gate. They’re situated northeast, across the Broken Fang River. More disciplined than Crimson Veil, but just as prideful. They’ve been expanding aggressively in recent years.”

  He hesitated for a moment longer. “There are also rumors of a reclusive sect hidden in the Fogbound Marsh. No name, no clear affiliation. Just whispers. No one who's gone searching has returned."

  Lù Tiān’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Where in the marsh?”

  Yán replied, “Deep within the southern reaches of Fogbound Marsh. Past the corpsewillow groves and the drowned plains. The mist there never clears, and strange Qi disturbances make navigation almost impossible. The locals say the marsh itself moves to protect something no one who’s entered too far has ever come back.”

  He pointed eastward. “From here, Fogbound Marsh lies about two hundred li southeast, past the Twin Fang Hills. Travel is slow the terrain shifts and few maps remain accurate. Even flying cultivators avoid it.”

  Lù Tiān nodded once. "East it is, then."

  In two steps, his figure blurred and vanished, already moving toward the direction of Fogbound Marsh.

  Yán stood for a moment longer, gazing in the direction Lù Tiān had gone. Then, with a faint sigh, he turned and descended the peak, returning to his meditation chamber.

  There, behind a veil of spiritual light, he resumed his closed-door cultivation determined to cross the threshold Lù Tiān had pointed out, and fulfill the potential now burning within his core.

  It took only ten steps for Lù Tiān to reach the outer edge of Fogbound Marsh. The air grew thick and damp, heavy with the scent of moss and decay. Strange mists slithered across the bog, and the sky above seemed dimmer here, as though the marsh drank the very light.

  He extended his divine sense outward.

  Within moments, he found what he was looking for.

  Deep within the marsh, hidden by a curtain of illusion and cloaked in layers of defense formations, sat a secluded sect. Its presence was expertly concealed, but not beyond his detection.

  The formation pulsed faintly with spiritual resonance defensive, reactive, and warded by an ancient array meant to repel or confuse intruders.

  Lù Tiān’s eyes narrowed. "So this is the secret hidden in the marsh."