Tian's white robes were stark against the scorched earth as he bid a final farewell to his mother and sister. After a final bow to the Matriarch, he turned, his companions following him toward the horizon. Their next destination was the remote Potala Palace, hidden deep within a mountain range known to outsiders as the Serpent's Backbone. To them, it was now simply Mount Tranquil.
The journey was long and demanding. The landscape changed from jagged black mountains to serene, snow-capped peaks. The air grew thinner with each step, but the silence of the high mountains was a welcome reprieve from the constant chaos of the outside world.
As they began their final ascent, they found a young monk training on a high ledge, his movements fluid and precise. He spotted them immediately, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Halt, outsiders!" he called out, readying his stance. "This land is a sanctuary. We do not welcome those who carry the scent of battle."
Yu Gwanjeong stepped forward, gripping his spear. "We're not looking for trouble, kid."
"Trouble finds those who walk on our land uninvited," the monk retorted, his young face etched with defiance. "Leave now, or I will escort you out."
Just as the monk prepared to attack, a blind old man with a long white beard shuffled forward, his hand moving with surprising speed to slap the younger monk on the head. The sound echoed in the quiet air.
"Heng'er, have you forgotten your training?" the old man said, his voice a gentle, melodic hum. "You must look with your heart, not just with your eyes." He turned to face Tian, a faint smile on his lips. "I was expecting a destined child. Not five. The heavens have been generous."
The old monk beckoned them forward, his blind gaze somehow piercing through Tian's very soul. "Come. There is much to discuss."
The Mausoleum of the Pure
The old monk guided them through a labyrinth of frozen caves until they reached a breathtaking mausoleum carved entirely from crystal. The air within was cool and still. In the center, sitting in a perfect lotus position on stone platforms, were twelve ancient monks, their faces serene and their bodies barely moving. Above them sat twelve younger disciples, mirroring their masters' pose.
At the far end of the hall, a majestic statue of Vasudhārā, the Bodhisattva of Abundance, stood over two hundred feet tall. The statue depicted a compassionate figure with a gentle smile, holding a bowl that seemed to catch the light, spilling an endless river of golden motes.
The old monk stepped forward and sat before the statue, gesturing for Tian and his companions to sit as well. "Why have you come here, young one?" he asked Tian.
Tian explained everything: the Murim Alliance's betrayal, the search for old allies, the purpose of their journey. He spoke of his master, his lineage, and the coming war. The old monk listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
When Tian finished, a single tear rolled from the old monk's blind eye. "So the betrayal came," he whispered, a deep sadness in his voice. "We have been in seclusion for a thousand years. I was a disciple of Shuheng, the master of your master's father. My master, his master, and so on... We were his direct line. We expected to be called upon, but the call never came."
He rose, his sorrow transforming into quiet determination. "You have not come for nothing. You have come to prove yourself. If you seek our help, you must pass a trial. Each of you."
The Companions' Trials
The old monk assigned a unique trial to each of Tian's companions, designed to challenge their core nature.
* For Seo Junrok: The old monk pointed to an empty courtyard. "Your blade is a perfect instrument of control. I ask you to walk across this courtyard a thousand times without casting a single shadow. You must control not only your body but the light itself." Junrok, the master of precision, took the challenge in stride. He moved with a grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics, his body becoming one with the light until, on his last step, he finally passed.
* For Yu Gwanjeong: Gwanjeong, with his fiery temper, was led to a chamber with a single, unlit candle. "You will meditate here until you can light this candle with only your internal qi, without a single aggressive thought." Gwanjeong gritted his teeth, his frustration a visible aura. He failed the first few times, his qi extinguishing the flame. But after hours of patient silence, a small, perfect flame ignited.
* For Yeon Soheon: "You are the silent blade that moves with the moon," the old monk said to Soheon. "I ask you to perform your dance in the darkness, but with a blindfold on. You must find your rhythm not from what you see, but from what you feel." Soheon, the master of disguise and speed, was forced to trust her instincts entirely. Her daggers flashed in the dark, carving a dance of grace and instinct. She finished with her daggers perfectly sheathed.
* For Ok Seryeon: Seryeon, the strategist, was given a single puzzle cube. "You will solve this puzzle without using your mind. Only your hands and heart will guide you." Seryeon scoffed, finding it impossible, but the old monk remained firm. It took her hours of silent frustration, but with a deep breath and a quiet mind, her hands moved on their own, finding the solution.
The Summit of Ancestors
While his companions faced their challenges, Tian followed the old monk to the peak behind the palace. The wind howled and screamed, but the monk walked as if on a gentle stroll. When they reached the summit, they found a simple stone tablet at its center. The old monk turned and smiled. "This is your trial, young one."
Then, without another word, he vanished.
Tian was left alone. He approached the tablet, brushing away the snow and ice. It was a tombstone. Engraved upon it were the words: Here Lies Shuheng, The First Master of the Pure.
A wave of profound sadness washed over Tian. He sank to his knees, his head bowed, and paid his respects. "Shuheng... the master of my master's master..." he whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek, freezing the moment it touched the stone.
Suddenly, a brilliant azure light erupted from the tomb, and a voice filled with laughter echoed in his mind. "My grand-disciple. Tell me, how is my dear grandchild, Master Wuheng?"
The spirit of Shuheng appeared before him, a gentle, smiling old man, transparent but vivid.
Tian explained everything. He spoke of Wuheng's loneliness, his pain, and his unwavering loyalty. Shuheng listened patiently, a quiet sadness in his eyes.
"He is an old fool," Shuheng said, a tear in his spirit's eye. "But he is a fool of honor. I knew he would not waver. We expected the Murim Alliance. We just never expected the heavens to fall so quickly."
Shuheng's face turned serious. "You deserve to know. The Heavenly Origin Sect was not founded by mortals. A hundred thousand years ago, an immortal descended from the sky. He found us a dying race, hunted by ancient creatures far more powerful than any beast. He taught our founder the true arts of cultivation. He gave us the wisdom to fight the very hands that feed us."
"But over time, the laws of immortality were lost. The Murim we know today was founded by the Eighteen Patriarchs, mortals who gained power through the Heavenly Origin's teachings. We blessed them with martial arts and helped them grow. But they grew jealous, and they betrayed us. The very ones we blessed bit the hand that fed them."
Shuheng looked at Tian. "The world has forgotten. But you cannot. My inheritance will remind you. It is a true form of the Heavenly Origin arts. But you must prove you are worthy to wield it. You must fight me."
The Falling Sky Hand
The spirit of Shuheng attacked, his movements fluid and powerful, a reflection of a martial art Tian had never seen before. It was not a physical battle, but a clash of souls, a dance of qi and will. Tian's Crimson and Azure Eyes flared, pushing his body to its absolute limit as he fought against the spirit.
The battle was fierce and beautiful, a true test of Tian's understanding of the martial path. He fought with every fiber of his being, and finally, after an exhausting clash of wills, he defeated the spirit.
Shuheng's spirit smiled, and a single golden mote of qi burst from his being, a scroll of light that entered Tian's forehead. "You have earned it, young one. This inheritance is a final, forgotten secret of the Heavenly Origin Sect."
The knowledge flooded Tian's mind. The art was called The Falling Sky Hand, a direct inheritance from the statue of Vasudhārā he had seen. The art was the purest form of martial arts—a hand that could either give life or take it away.
When Tian returned to the mausoleum, his companions had already passed their trials and were waiting for him. They had all been changed by their experiences.
"We leave now," Tian said, his voice firm and filled with a new resolve. "We have the strength we need."
The old monk smiled, a tear in his eye. "Go, young one. Your path is not an easy one, but you are not alone. And tell Wuheng... his old master is proud of him."
Tian bowed his head in respect and turned to face the world once more, his companions at his side. They had just gained a powerful new ally, a deeper understanding of their lineage, and a profound sense of purpose. The world was about to feel their presence.