A Gathering of Saints and the Training of a Thousand Years
Dawn arrived quietly.
A pale, cool light spread across the stone terraces of the sect, washing over ancient walls and carved steps that had witnessed countless generations of cultivators rise—and fall. The morning breeze carried a faint chill, brushing against the robes of the disciples gathered below, stirring unease in their hearts.
High above them, the Seven Saints stood assembled.
Their presence alone altered the air.
Each of them radiated a distinct, overwhelming pressure—sharp, heavy, and absolute. Though none spoke at first, their gazes swept across the courtyard with silent authority. Every disciple felt it: the weight of being seen, measured, and judged. Long shadows stretched behind the Saints, merging with one another, touching the far edges of the sect grounds as though the heavens themselves had leaned closer to observe.
The courtyard fell into complete silence.
Then, one figure stepped forward.
The Saint of the Xiwu Sect.
His movements were calm and deliberate, yet the moment he spoke, his voice rang clearly across the vast assembly, cutting through the morning air without effort.
"Every disciple from all sects will participate in the once-in-a-thousand-year training."
A ripple ran through the crowd.
Even the most disciplined among them could not completely hide their reactions. Some stiffened with excitement. Others felt their hearts sink. The words once in a thousand years carried both promise and terror.
"Each group will consist of one boy and one girl," the Saint continued, his gaze unwavering. "Only those who survive all the trials will qualify to become immortals."
The word survive echoed heavily in Xiao Yan's mind.
"You may quit at any point," the Saint said, his tone unchanging, "but know this: if you die during the training, no one will take responsibility for your life."
The chill in the air deepened.
"Should you find yourself in danger, quit immediately," he added. "But if you persevere and overcome every obstacle, immortality will await you."
A pause.
Then, with a voice that carried unquestionable finality, he declared, "Now… line up!"
The moment the command ended, magical prowess surged through the courtyard.
Invisible forces flowed between the disciples, weaving through them like unseen hands. The air shimmered as power rearranged the assembly, pulling individuals apart and placing them together with precision. One by one, pairs formed—boy and girl—standing side by side beneath the watchful eyes of the Saints.
Xiao Yan felt a sudden tug.
His heart skipped as the power guiding the formation settled, and when he looked to his side, his breath caught.
Mi-An.
She stood beside him, her posture composed but her eyes briefly flashing with something sharp. The moment their gazes met, she let out a small, restrained sigh—one that carried more weight than words ever could.
Xiao Yan understood immediately.
She knew.
She knew he had no inner energy. No cultivation to speak of. No strength that would matter in a trial meant to test beings destined for immortality.
Her expression betrayed regret—not for herself, but for the burden she had been given.
She would have to carry him through the trials.
Xiao Yan's chest tightened.
He lowered his gaze slightly, the familiar weight of inadequacy pressing down on him. He could almost feel the distance between them despite their physical closeness—a gap formed not by emotion, but by power.
Nearby, Nem stood with Mi-An's friend at his side.
Their pairing was seamless.
Even without speaking, their auras blended naturally, flowing together as though they had been forged for this purpose. Compared to them, Xiao Yan felt painfully out of place. The contrast was undeniable, and it stung more than he expected.
His thoughts began to drift.
The Saint's words replayed in his mind, but another warning rose above them all—the mention of demons in the coming trials. The mere thought sent a sharp reminder through him, dragging his memories back to the heavens split by thunder, to the blue-robed figure standing untouched amidst chaos.
The Ansha.
The terrifying power he had witnessed still lingered in his bones.
Xiao Yan clenched his fists at his sides.
The training had not yet begun, yet his heart already felt heavy. Between the looming trials, the threat of demons, and the shadow of the Ansha that refused to fade from his thoughts, the promise of immortality felt distant—almost unreal.
As the Saints watched from above, and the disciples stood in their assigned pairs, Xiao Yan understood one thing clearly:
This was no ordinary training.
And survival alone would not be easy.