The clan arena stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun, its stone platform polished smooth by decades of battles and trials. Rows of tall pillars lined the square, each carved with the flame emblem of the Lin Clan, glowing faintly as though fire itself lingered within the stone. Around the arena, tiered seating rose in circles, already filled with clansmen, elders, and children, their murmurs layering into a wave of noise that never settled.
The air was charged, like the sky before lightning. Pressure weighed invisibly on the younger participants who stood off to the side, awaiting their turn. Their gazes were fixed on the battlefield, where the last embers of the older year's competition were just fading. Sweat trickled down youthful faces, though the autumn air was cool. Tension pressed on their shoulders, and the scent of excitement was almost suffocating.
The crowd had not yet ceased their commentary on the spectacle they had witnessed.
"The peak stage of Body Tempering… such power in a boy barely fourteen."
"No wonder he won. His fists were like iron hammers, every strike steady as a mountain."
"That final clash, ah, even I felt the shockwave in my chest!"
Loud, approving voices rose from all directions. They spoke of Lin Chenhai, a youth of broad shoulders and eyes sharp with confidence, who had emerged as the victor among the older year's disciples. He stood tall at the edge of the platform, his chest heaving with pride as a faint smile curved his lips. Sweat dampened his robes, but his bearing was unshaken.
The final battle replayed in the minds of many: two figures colliding on the stage, one wielding a fierce spear technique, the other relying solely on fists. The clash had shaken the platform, sending echoes through the square. In the end, Lin Chenhai's relentless blows had shattered his opponent's guard, the sound of bones cracking audible even over the roar of the crowd. With one last punch, he had sent his rival sprawling, sealing his victory in thunderous fashion.
"He will break through soon, perhaps within the year," an elder whispered, stroking his beard. "To be at the peak stage before fifteen… this is the fortune of the clan."
Children's eyes glowed with admiration, their whispers betraying envy. To stand in the limelight like that, to be called a genius by the elders — what greater glory could a young cultivator seek?
The Patriarch himself had nodded faintly during the conclusion, an action small yet enough to send ripples of recognition through the entire crowd. The Lin Clan was a place where recognition mattered as much as strength.
The atmosphere remained heavy, thrilling, as though the taste of battle lingered in the air. For the younger group waiting, the sight of Lin Chenhai's triumph was like a mountain casting its shadow across them. Their legs grew restless, palms damp, their breaths shallow. To step on that stage now meant stepping into the eyes of hundreds, under the scrutiny of elders whose judgment could decide their futures.
"Now," the instructor's voice boomed, pulling all attention away from the murmurs, "the time has come for the younger year's trial."
The crowd hushed at once.
"Participants, step forward!"
Dozens of thirteen-year-old children moved to the edge of the platform, their gazes darting nervously. This was the moment they had anticipated and feared since the day of their testing. Their names would be called, and they would show their progress before the clan. Victory or humiliation — both paths waited.
The instructor scanned the names, then spoke clearly, letting his voice carry:
"Lin Ming."
As if the heavens themselves had arranged it, the first name to be called was the very cousin of Lin Xun, the boy who had strutted with confidence since the day of testing. Lin Ming stepped forward with deliberate grace, his eyes flicking toward Lin Xun for a brief instant, pride glittering there like a blade.
"Opponent: Lin Fengyao."
A murmur swept through the seats. Lin Fengyao was another well-regarded youth, his roots tested as fire and wind, both true spiritual roots, his ratio favoring fire. He had been praised as a balanced talent, one likely to rise swiftly in the coming years.
The two boys mounted the stage, facing one another with youthful arrogance.
Lin Ming stood tall, his chin lifted, his fists clenched casually at his sides. "You should feel honored," he said softly, his words carrying to the front rows. "To lose against me first will save you from greater humiliation later."
Lin Fengyao snorted, taking a stance. "Your tongue is sharp, Lin Ming. Let us see if your fists are sharper."
"Begin!" the referee elder barked.
Lin Fengyao moved first, his footwork swift, his fists darting forward in a flurry. The wind in his steps gave him speed beyond ordinary youths, his movements leaving afterimages. His blows struck like fire crackling in the hearth, rapid and bright.
Gasps sounded from the audience. "Fast!"
But Lin Ming merely narrowed his eyes, lifting his guard. His steps were steady, unhurried. Each strike he parried or diverted, his frame unshaken. Then, with a sudden shout, his fist lashed forward, meeting Lin Fengyao's blow head-on. The sound echoed like two stones colliding.
The difference was immediate. Lin Fengyao staggered back three steps, the skin of his knuckles reddening, while Lin Ming had not budged an inch.
"He's too strong!" someone gasped.
Lin Ming pressed forward. His movements were not fast, but each carried weight, his fists descending like hammers. Lin Fengyao tried to dodge, his wind root lending him agility, but Lin Ming cut off his escape, his fire surging with every strike.
A straight punch struck Lin Fengyao's chest. The boy's body lifted from the ground before crashing onto the stone with a hollow thud. Dust rose around him.
Silence fell for a heartbeat, then erupted into cheers.
"Middle stage!" an elder declared, his voice brimming with approval. "Lin Ming has already reached the middle stage of Body Tempering!"
"A year ahead of his peers!"
"To reach the middle stage so soon… what monstrous cultivation speed!"
The crowd roared, admiration pouring like a tide. Some elders exchanged pleased looks, nodding as though they had just confirmed what they already suspected.
Lin Ming stood in the center of it all, his chest rising and falling, but his eyes shone with arrogance. He raised his fist slightly, acknowledging the praise, his lips curling in a faint smile. Every word of recognition seemed to roll over him like warm rain, soaking him in adoration.
"Truly worthy of his roots," one elder said.
"He will surpass even Chenhai if he continues like this," another mused.
Children whispered in awe, their gazes following Lin Ming with envy. To be the first called, to dominate his opponent, and to stand beneath the elders' praise — it was the dream of every youth.
Lin Ming basked in it, shoulders squared, posture flawless. He glanced once more at Lin Xun, his smirk carrying the weight of silent challenge. The message was clear: This is the light I stand in. Can you ever match it?
The younger year's trial had only just begun, yet already the air burned with expectation.