Qingyang Village hadn't changed.
The same crooked fences. The same cracked stone paths leading nowhere. But now, I walked its roads not as the cripple scraping by on pity--but as something else.
No one said it aloud. But they noticed.
The way I stood straighter. The calm in my steps. How I looked people in the eye, not above or below.
They feared it.
Because fear doesn't bloom from power--it blooms from the unknown.
I didn't need to do much. I fetched water. Sharpened old tools. Helped mend a collapsed roof during a summer storm. Quiet things. Small things.
But it was enough.
By the fifth day after the incident with Liu Yuan, no one blocked my path.
On the seventh day, the village chief sent for me.
He lived near the old well, in a sturdier wooden house propped up by spirit-forged nails. Age weighed down his shoulders, but not his eyes.
Those still burned sharp.
He poured us tea without speaking, then set the cup before me.
"I've watched you since you were a child," he said finally. "The old you--he died two years ago."
I sipped the bitter brew. "So I've heard."
He didn't smile. "Now you walk like someone who's killed before."
That gave me pause.
Not many mortals could see that. But then again, the old man had served in a border war decades ago. I saw it in the way he scanned doorways and kept his back to the wall.
"You're not planning to stay in this village," he said.
"No."
"Good." He reached into his sleeve and tossed a small wooden emblem onto the table. "Then take this."
I picked it up.
A fox carved into the side. Spirit-etched symbols faded from weather and age, but still faintly pulsing.
An entry token.
I looked up, genuinely surprised. "Ironwind Sect?"
The chief nodded. "My son died during his first year there. They never returned his body. I've kept this in a drawer for too long. Maybe it's time someone used it properly."
I bowed my head, not out of courtesy--but respect.
Then I asked, "Why give it to me?"
He stared at me.
"Because I don't know who you are now. But you scare the ones who need to be scared. And the sect? It's full of people who've never been afraid of the right things."
Two days later, I left Qingyang Village.
I carried nothing but a satchel of dried meat, the fox token, and the clothes on my back.
There was no need for a dramatic farewell.
Only three people watched me go. Two boys I once shared a school hut with, and an old woman who mended robes. They said nothing. Just stood by the path as I walked into the wilds.
Ironwind Sect's outer gates were two hundred li away--over hills, through ruins, past the Whispering Pines.
It took me three days on foot.
Long enough to feel the hunger. The fatigue. Long enough to remind myself what it meant to earn each step.
No spirit beast attacked me.
No robbers stopped me.
I suppose the void still whispered warnings into the world's edges.
By the time I arrived at the outer gate, a hundred others had gathered.
Young men in fine robes with family crests. Dirty children clinging to hope. Veterans with dead eyes and fresh scars. Each clutched a token of entry.
Some tokens gleamed with jade. Others were cracked and nearly useless. Mine looked ordinary.
But that didn't matter.
The stone gates of Ironwind loomed like a sleeping beast. Thirty meters high. Twin statues of sabers etched into their sides, mouths open in silent warning.
A disciple in gray stood watch, arms folded.
He looked no older than twenty, but the pressure rolling off him was solid. Late Foundation Realm, at least. Too low to be a core disciple, too proud to speak with us.
Still, he announced:
"The trials begin at first light. Only those with entry tokens may remain past dusk. Anyone caught forging tokens will be crippled. If you don't like it, leave."
No one moved.
A cultivator's path begins with enduring humiliation.
He turned and walked through the gate.
We followed.
Inside was a training arena carved into the cliffside, surrounded by a wall of bluesteel ore. A waterfall crashed in the background, mist rising like smoke. At its center, a massive bronze circle was etched into the earth, inscribed with formation runes.
That's where the trials would begin.
I took a seat beneath a cypress tree, away from the crowd.
Nearby, a girl in silver robes was meditating. Her spirit energy was calm, coiled, disciplined. She wore no clan insignia, but her aura told me enough--she was dangerous.
Not because she was strong.
But because she knew how to hide it.
Then, someone laughed.
A loud, arrogant sound that broke the stillness.
I looked.
A young man in crimson walked toward the center circle, flanked by two attendants. He carried himself like a prince, and his cultivation was no secret--he let his qi flare with every step.
Early Foundation Realm.
At seventeen.
He wore the crest of the Luo Clan--a mid-tier noble family famous for their ruthless sect politics.
"Only one of us will leave with a sect badge," he said to the crowd. "So make peace with your mediocrity now."
Some glared.
Others looked away.
I studied him carefully.
He would likely pass the first trial easily. But his arrogance… it wasn't hollow. There was blood under his nails. A history of being allowed to win.
He turned toward the girl under the cypress tree. "Unless of course, the lady wishes to share the honor? I'm happy to yield if it's in the name of love."
The girl didn't answer.
He frowned, then noticed me nearby.
His eyes narrowed. "And you. The cripple. Are you lost?"
I looked up at him.
Then stood.
One step.
Two.
Face to face.
"No," I said softly. "I'm exactly where I need to be."
He chuckled. "Brave words for someone who reeks of dirt and rot."
"Better that," I said, "than reeking of fear beneath perfume."
The crowd hushed.
His attendants stepped forward.
He raised a hand to stop them.
"I'll remember you," he said. "Assuming you survive the first round."
He walked away.
And I smiled.
Because arrogance makes you predictable.
And predictable things are easy to break.