Snow fell like ashes over the arena.
It hissed as it landed on black mud, turning to slush that clung to boots and bare feet alike.
The wind screamed over the cracked walls, making ropes sway and groan.
The poles stood like gallows in the pale light, scarred by countless old bloodstains that would never wash away.
Disciples huddled near the entrance.
No one spoke.
Steam rose from their ragged breaths, swallowed by the freezing air.
Meng Fei lay near pole fifteen, sobbing in the mud.
Blood oozed from his mouth, dark and thick.
Teeth scattered in the slush.
Wei Lian didn't look at him.
He stood in line.
Silent.
His fists were split open.
Blood caked in the creases.
He didn't wipe them.
He watched the others.
Not with pity.
With calculation.
Jin Xiu stood a few paces away.
Breathing hard.
Knuckles swollen.
Eyes locked on the ground, but darting sideways now and then.
Sizing up the survivors.
Liu Qing trembled, arms hanging limp.
Mud plastered to his robes.
He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
Mu let the silence stretch.
Snow collected on his shoulders.
He didn't brush it off.
His staff hit the platform with a dull thud.
"Next."
The word made some flinch like he'd struck them.
He drew slips from the battered iron box.
The parchment was wet, half-rotting.
"Han Zi. Liu Qing. Pole twelve."
Han Zi whimpered before he even moved.
He shook his head once, mouth open, but no words came.
Mu's voice was cold.
"Go."
Liu Qing swallowed hard.
He turned to Han Zi, eyes pleading, as if begging him not to make it worse.
But Han Zi's legs gave out.
He fell to his knees in the mud.
Hands clasped in front of him.
"Don't. Please don't. I—I can't—"
Mu's staff slammed the platform.
"Fight or yield."
Han Zi shook so hard his teeth clacked.
"Yield!" he screamed.
"I yield—I yield!"
Silence.
Liu Qing stood there, shaking, breathing like a man who'd outrun death.
Mu's mouth twisted.
"Pathetic."
Han Zi sobbed in the mud.
"Drag him away."
Two older disciples—assistants Mu barely trusted—came forward.
They grabbed Han Zi under the arms.
He didn't resist.
Just cried like a beaten child.
Mu didn't even watch them go.
"Winner: Liu Qing. By default."
Liu Qing turned away, gagging.
He wiped his mouth with a filthy sleeve.
Didn't speak.
Didn't look at anyone.
He slumped back into line.
Snow fell harder.
Melted on hot skin.
Ran in rivulets of mud and blood.
Mu didn't wait.
"Next."
He drew the last slips.
"Jin Xiu. Gao Fan. Pole ten."
Jin Xiu cracked his knuckles.
Sounded like snapping twigs in the cold.
He didn't say a word.
Just walked.
Gao Fan backed away.
Eyes huge.
"No. No—I won't—"
Mu's staff cracked the platform.
"Step. Forward."
Gao Fan shuddered.
He stepped.
Mud sucked at his boots.
He nearly fell.
Jin Xiu waited.
When they reached the pole, Mu didn't give them time to breathe.
"Begin."
Jin Xiu exploded forward.
Gao Fan tried to block.
But Jin Xiu's fist smashed past it.
Crack.
Blood spurted.
Gao Fan's nose bent sideways.
He screamed.
Jin Xiu didn't stop.
He tackled him.
They went down in the mud.
Punches rained.
Sickening, wet thuds.
Blood flew in arcs.
Gao Fan's arms flailed, then fell limp.
Mu didn't stop it.
Wei Lian watched.
Carefully.
Noting Jin Xiu's stance.
The way he overcommitted with his shoulder.
How he didn't guard his ribs.
Weaknesses.
The others didn't see that.
They just saw blood.
Jin Xiu stopped only when Gao Fan gurgled.
Eyes rolling.
He stood.
Breathing hard.
Blood up to his elbows.
He grabbed Gao Fan by the collar.
Dragged him to the pole.
Gao Fan's head lolled.
Mouth leaking red foam.
Jin Xiu tied him one-handed.
Other hand dripping blood onto the rope.
Mu watched without expression.
"Yield," Jin Xiu growled.
Gao Fan wheezed.
Blood bubbled.
"Y… y—ield…"
Jin Xiu dropped him like garbage.
Mu's voice rasped over the wind.
"Winner: Jin Xiu."
Snow fell harder now.
Covered the blood only for a second before it melted and mixed into new mud.
Jin Xiu turned.
Met Wei Lian's gaze.
No challenge.
Just warning.
Wei Lian didn't blink.
He let Jin Xiu see nothing at all.
Mu waited.
Silence.
Steam rose from the exhausted, beaten disciples.
The wind howled like a starving animal.
Finally, Mu spoke.
"Three pass. Three fail."
"Better than I expected."
He spat.
"Not by much."
His staff slammed the platform again.
"Look around you."
They did.
Meng Fei still lay half-conscious, mewling like a broken dog.
Han Zi was gone, but his sobs still seemed to echo.
Gao Fan twitched against the pole.
Mu's voice was quiet.
"This is your reward for failure."
Silence.
Except for the wind.
"Tomorrow you will train. Day after that—the second trial."
Someone whimpered.
Mu's eyes narrowed.
"Eat tonight if you can. Sleep if you dare."
"But remember this: no one here will save you."
He let that hang.
"Leave."
They didn't run.
They limped.
Dragged themselves away.
Jin Xiu cracked his neck, didn't even glance at Liu Qing.
Liu Qing nearly fell twice before finding his balance.
Wei Lian walked last.
Snow melted against his warm skin.
Blood dried stiff on his knuckles.
He didn't look back.
Inside, the ember burned.
The crack pulsed.
He wasn't satisfied.
He was waiting.
Because tomorrow wasn't for kindness.
It was for sharpening the blade he would become.