The sun hadn't fully climbed past the peaks of the Thirty-Second Gate when something slammed into the door of Room 32-Z hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.
Xiao Yan's eyes snapped open.
His hand was already on the hilt of the cloth-wrapped sword propped beside his bed before his mind caught up with his body. His ribs flared in protest as he pushed himself upright, a sharp reminder that healing in the Academy didn't mean comfort.
He exhaled slowly.
Not an ambush.
Just noise.
"Up! Up! Up!" Yanlin's voice boomed through the room like a drum. "First day of classes! If we're late, the Gate Master makes us carry water up the Thousand-Step Staircase. I did it once. I still dream about it."
Xiao Yan squinted across the room.
Yanlin was already dressed in the grey-blue robes of the Thirty-Second Gate, sleeves rolled, massive frame moving through slow, controlled squats that made the floorboards creak.
"Do you always wake up like a thunderclap?" Xiao Yan muttered.
"Only when I'm motivated," Yanlin grinned. He tossed a folded set of clean External disciple robes at Xiao Yan's face. "And you smell like smoke and poor decisions. Get changed."
[He's not wrong,] Michael chimed in calmly. [Also, there's a high-velocity spirit signature approaching the door. Three… two—]
The door burst inward.
Not kicked. Not pushed.
Pulled open by a gust of wind so sharp it felt like the room had inhaled.
A girl stepped in on that wind, landing lightly on Yanlin's meditation mat as if she'd simply decided that gravity was optional.
Her robes were green and white, embroidered with subtle swirling patterns. Her long ponytail was still swaying from her abrupt stop. A jade fan rested in her hand, tapping idly against her chin as she looked Xiao Yan over.
"So this is him?" she asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "The Mortal who didn't collapse during the bell?"
Yanlin's ears turned red. "Qingya! Knock next time!"
Ma Qingya waved him off. "You're both fully clothed. Relax."
She hopped down and circled Xiao Yan once, slow and deliberate.
"He looks rough," she mused. "You sure you didn't pick him up off the road?"
Xiao Yan pulled the clean robe over his head without looking at her. "Morning to you too."
She grinned. "I'm Ma Qingya. Wind Hall. Scout division. If there's a trap in this Gate, I know about it before it springs. Congratulations — you're interesting."
"That's not usually a good thing," Xiao Yan replied.
"It isn't," she agreed cheerfully. "Word's spreading. The elites in this Gate don't like mysteries. Especially Mortal Realm ones."
Yanlin crossed his arms. "They're already stirring trouble?"
Qingya flicked her fan open slightly. A small breeze stirred the room. "They're at the Training Plaza. Waiting. Mostly Divine Stage Eight and Nine. They think you're babysitting a weakling."
Her gaze flicked back to Xiao Yan.
"They want to see if that Mortal Peak body of yours can survive something sharper than a bell."
Xiao Yan tied his sash calmly.
"Then let's not keep them waiting."
The walk to the Training Plaza said more about the Academy than any lecture could.
Disciples moved in small clusters. Some wore subtle insignias marking their ranking within the Gate. Others walked with an ease that came from confidence — or pedigree.
Yanlin walked beside Xiao Yan like a wall of stone. Qingya didn't so much walk as appear and disappear, drifting ahead and then rejoining them in lazy spirals.
When they stepped onto the stone-paved plaza, the noise dipped.
Not completely.
But enough.
About fifty disciples stood scattered across the open space. Conversations faltered. Eyes shifted.
A tall, thin young man stepped forward from the group. A silver stripe marked his collar — Gate Ranker.
"There he is," he said lightly. "The Mortal miracle."
His eyes were sharp. Calculating.
"Lu Chen," Yanlin said flatly.
Lu Chen's lips curved faintly. "Shield."
He looked back at Xiao Yan.
"So. You survived the bell. Impressive. Or lucky." His gaze swept over the plain robe. "Did you mistake endurance for talent?"
Xiao Yan didn't respond.
Yanlin stepped forward, skin taking on a faint, stone-like texture as his Earth Titan Physique stirred.
"You want a fight, Lu Chen? You fight me."
Lu Chen laughed softly. "Why? Afraid he'll break?"
He drew his saber. It was slender and curved, the metal polished enough to catch the morning light.
"How about this," Lu Chen continued. "If he wants to stand among us, he proves he can withstand us."
Michael's tone sharpened slightly.
[Divine Stage Nine. Speed-focused. Foundation unstable. One controlled strike would end this quickly.]
Xiao Yan stepped out from behind Yanlin.
"I don't want trouble," he said evenly. "I'm here to register for the Gate Challenge."
Lu Chen's smile thinned.
"Too bad."
He moved.
There was no dramatic windup. No roar.
Just speed.
The saber flashed toward Xiao Yan's shoulder.
Xiao Yan didn't reach for his sword.
Didn't step back.
He shifted his weight.
The Bone and Law foundation settled through him like roots driving into earth.
The blade struck his forearm.
CLANG.
The sound rang across the plaza.
Not flesh tearing.
Metal striking stone.
Lu Chen staggered back half a step, eyes widening. His wrist trembled from the recoil.
Xiao Yan lowered his arm slowly. There wasn't even a mark.
Silence fell across the plaza.
A few disciples exchanged glances.
Lu Chen's jaw tightened. "What kind of body refinement—"
"My turn?" Xiao Yan asked quietly.
He didn't strike.
He stepped forward.
For a fraction of a second, something heavy rolled outward from him — not violent, not explosive.
Just weight.
The Trinity Path stirred beneath his skin, a presence dense and layered.
Lu Chen's breath hitched.
His knees buckled before he understood why.
He dropped face-first onto the stone as if pressed down by an invisible hand.
Xiao Yan stepped past him without looking back.
No gloating.
No speech.
Just movement.
Qingya let out a low whistle. "Well. That was educational."
Yanlin stared at the faint indentation left where Xiao Yan's foot had pushed off the stone.
"I thought I was strong," he muttered.
"You are," Qingya said lightly. "He's just… different."
Xiao Yan reached the registration booth and handed over his token calmly while the murmurs behind him slowly rebuilt into noise.
He could feel the shift.
Curiosity.
Wariness.
Calculation.
Being underestimated had been easy.
Being noticed would be harder.
It was Qingya who noticed first.
Her posture changed mid-sentence. The lazy ease vanished.
Her eyes tilted toward the forest lining the edge of the Gate territory.
Wind stirred differently there.
Wrong.
Her Sky-Sense Eye flickered open behind her lashes.
Shapes moved between the trees — dark, armored, silent.
Not disciples.
Their presence carried something oily and wrong.
Abyssal.
Her smile faded.
"Yanlin," she murmured.
He followed her gaze immediately.
Xiao Yan felt it too — faint, distant, but familiar in a way he disliked.
Qingya stepped closer to him, voice low.
"Uninvited guests," she said. "And they're not here to test rookies."
The figures in the trees weren't advancing toward the plaza.
They were angling upward.
Toward the higher gates.
Toward the floating halls.
Xiao Yan's grip tightened slightly around his registration slip.
His gaze lifted instinctively toward the distant Immortal Hall suspended above the clouds.
"Bingxue," he murmured.
The wind shifted again.
And somewhere beyond sight, something ancient began to stir.
To be continued.