A summons arrived with the morning mist, sealed with a sigil not seen in a hundred years—flames encircling a closed eye, stamped in crimson wax.
Li Xiyan stared at it as the courier bowed low. "An invitation from the High Council of Sects," the young man said, voice tight with nerves. "You have been chosen to represent Clear Wind Pavilion in the Trial of Ashes."
The name sent whispers through the pavilion within the hour.
The Trial of Ashes—an ancient ordeal used to awaken forgotten bloodlines, forge pacts with spiritual beasts, or eliminate threats in disguise. It was not a rite of glory. It was a crucible. One where many entered, and few returned.
"Why now?" Elder Song murmured, hands clenched behind her back as she paced before the inner elders.
"They fear her," Mu Chen said simply. "And they're testing whether the stories are true. About the Phoenix Sigil."
"Fools," spat Elder Yun. "If the sigil burns through her spirit too soon—"
"She will die," Elder Song finished. Her face was pale. "Or worse."
Xiyan read the scroll alone beneath the pine tree where she first met Xiǎo Bai.
The fox spirit curled beside her. "You shouldn't go."
"I know."
"You'll be walking into the jaws of a sect war, not a trial."
"I know."
"So why go?"
She looked up, eyes gentle but firm. "Because if I don't... they'll come for everyone else. The disciples who started believing. The ones I healed. Even you."
Xiǎo Bai nuzzled her hand with a sigh. "You really are the softest cultivator I've ever met."
She smiled. "Soft like firelight, right?"
Preparations began immediately. Disciples delivered supplies—soul-forged robes, talismans, defensive charms. Mu Chen personally handed her a blade made from Star Iron, etched with defensive formations.
"It won't replace your spirit arts," he said, "but it'll give you a chance to fight if your power falters."
Xiyan turned the blade over in her palm, expression unreadable. "It's beautiful."
He cleared his throat. "It's not. It's a weapon."
She laughed softly. "Then I suppose I'll make it beautiful in how I use it."
Three days later, she stood at the boundary gate with the sect leaders. Dozens of disciples watched her departure—some in silence, others offering quiet prayers or talismans of protection.
Yue Lan approached last, a small satchel in hand.
"I made these for you," she said, holding out incense bundles. "They calm the mind... and repel spirits."
Xiyan took them, eyes shining. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just come back."
The Trial of Ashes was held in the Ashen Hollow, a ruined pocket realm sealed between dimensions. It was said to be a wound in the fabric of the world—where earth, spirit, and fire bled together.
A floating dais welcomed the representatives. Only ten cultivators were chosen, drawn from every major sect.
And among them… was Xiyan.
She saw the others—towering cultivators in blood-red robes, cold-eyed swordsmen, a girl in bone-white silks with a skull-marked fan.
Only one nodded at her in recognition—a boy with storm-colored eyes and a faint scar along his temple. He was from the Azure Rain Sect.
"You're the phoenix girl," he said.
"I'm Li Xiyan."
He smirked. "We'll see if names matter inside."
A gong sounded. The gate cracked open. Firelight surged across the sky.
And the Trial began.
The Ashen Hollow was not what she expected.
It was silent. No birds. No wind. Only still air that pulsed with heat and memory.
She walked through a scorched forest where trees bled ash. Beneath her feet, ancient glyphs shimmered and vanished. A beast howled in the distance—something large, something not of this realm.
Hours passed. Maybe days. Time twisted.
She met the first challenge at the heart of a crater, where fire elementals swirled around a ruined altar. They screeched at her intrusion, flames licking her skin.
She didn't draw her blade.
Instead, she knelt.
"I do not seek to conquer you," she said softly. "But I will not yield either. I am not here for glory. I am here because others believe I will return."
The elementals stilled.
And one by one, they bowed.
When she opened her eyes, a flame had settled in her palm—no longer wild, but warm. It sank into her skin and vanished.
She had passed the first trial.
Far above, observers from each sect watched from mirrored pools.
"She tamed a wrath flame without violence," one elder murmured. "That hasn't been done in a generation."
"She's not just cultivating spirit," said another. "She's cultivating will."
But deep in the shadows behind the viewing pavilions, the Crimson Blade emissary whispered to his master:
"She's too soft. We'll crush her in the next phase."
And the old man's lips curved into a thin, deadly smile.
"Then let the fire show her what softness costs."
End of Chapter 12