The duel was over.
The courtyard had cleared.
But Ye Zhen still stood there, barefoot and a little confused.
"So… am I in or what?"
The sect elder a middle-aged man with an aggressive mustache and a worn spiritual blade on his back cleared his throat, clearly unsure whether to glare or applaud.
"...Outer disciple dorms are west of the Moonstream Pavilion. You're in Block Eight. Room four."
"Nice. Do I get a fan or a sword polishing kit, or…?"
The elder walked away.
Ye Zhen rolled his eyes and followed a junior disciple in plain blue robes through the winding paths of the Cloudveil Sword Sect. He didn't miss the way others stared at him: some in disbelief, others in disdain.
One disciple whispered:
"He beat Lin Fan without Qi. That's impossible."
Another:
"Probably some strange body cultivator. Freaks, all of them."
Ye Zhen didn't care. He was more focused on the architecture.
Everything was tall, angular, and filled with sharp edges. Swords were built into pillars. Sword motifs on windows. Sword carvings in the floors.
"If you trip here," he muttered, "you die from tetanus or irony."
Block Eight was near the outer cliffs, built from pale wood and hovering slightly off the ground with the help of Qi formations. A carved stone with the number '8' pulsed faintly as Ye Zhen approached.
Inside, rows of identical rooms. Humble but clean. A single bed, a meditation mat, a sword rack, and a small spirit lamp that hummed with energy.
Ye Zhen tossed his pack onto the bed and stretched like a cat.
"No mold. No rats. No weird spiritual parasite under the pillow. This might be the nicest place I've ever lived."
A paper packet sat on the desk with his name on it. Inside: a pale jade identity tag, a plain disciple robe, and a handbook titled:
"Proper Conduct for Disciples of the Cloudveil Sword Sect."
Ye Zhen flipped through it, snorted, and tossed it on the bed.
"If I read that, my master would disown me."
He was about to lie down when the door creaked open.
A thin boy with nervous eyes and short black hair peeked in.
"U-uh, Senior Brother? I'm assigned as your orientation partner!"
Ye Zhen blinked.
"...Do I get snacks with that?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Come in."
His name was Qin Ping, a second-year outer disciple who was clearly trying to work his way into inner disciple status by being helpful. Ye Zhen let him talk while he casually sharpened his tattered saber with a rock he found on the windowsill.
Qin Ping explained everything: where to eat, how to earn contribution points, when training classes were held, who to avoid, and how the Sword Heart Rankings determined access to cultivation resources.
"The top ten outer disciples get spirit stones, pills, and even guidance from elders!" he said excitedly.
Ye Zhen looked up.
"Let me guess… that Lin Fan guy is on the list?"
"Uh, well was. You kind of… broke his ribs. I think you're on the list now by default."
Ye Zhen grinned.
"Neat."
Later that evening, Ye Zhen walked alone through the main paths, exploring.
He passed disciples practicing sword forms in synchronized lines. Some were training under instructors, others meditating beneath waterfall formations that sliced water into ribbons. Floating sword puppets danced in the air, mimicking duels at lightning speed.
Everyone was focused. Everyone was sharp.
And yet Ye Zhen could see the flaws.
Stiff movements. Overdependence on Qi enhancement. Weak footwork under pressure. Swordplay designed more for show than substance.
"This sect polishes their swords," he muttered. "But forgets to harden the steel."
He leaned against a wooden railing, watching the sunset melt gold across the mountain range. The wind tugged at his loose robe.
"They'll break easy," he said, half to himself. "The first time the Dao hits back… they'll all shatter."
Behind him, someone approached silently.
"Arrogant words for someone with no Qi," a voice said.
Ye Zhen turned.
The girl from the rafters.
She wore white with silver trim, a cloud-embroidered sash at her waist. Her eyes were ice-blue, her expression composed. A sword hung from her back clean, elegant, and clearly custom-forged.
"You watched the duel," Ye Zhen said. "Enjoy the show?"
"You used no Qi, no technique, and no footwork style I've ever seen."
"Is that a compliment or a warning?"
"It's curiosity," she replied. "I'm Shen Xueyi. Ranked #3 among outer disciples."
Ye Zhen raised an eyebrow.
"I'm Ye Zhen. Ranked… I don't care."
"You should." She paused. "You'll be challenged. Constantly."
"Let them try. I've been hit harder by trees."
She smirked. Just barely.
Then turned and walked away.
Back in his room, Ye Zhen stared at the ceiling.
His muscles ached. His stomach rumbled. His saber lay beside him like a loyal dog.
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded note.
"Don't die too fast. Or I'll have to find another idiot to slap around."Master Cang
Ye Zhen laughed to himself, then whispered:
"Don't worry, old man. I'll give them something to talk about."
"Real soon."