The need for struggle…
and the struggle was already walking toward him.
Nilan went to register before the sun had fully risen.
The registration hall was quiet—no banners, no speeches. Just a wooden desk and a long scroll of names.
When his turn came, he stepped forward.
"Name?"
"Fang Nilan."
"Outer Hall disciple. Qi Gathering—Level Two?"
He nodded.
The disciple marked the scroll and handed him a wooden token.
"Keep this. Trial day."
Nilan accepted it and left.
The token was light.
Its weight was not.
Back at the living quarters, a few Outer Hall disciples were waiting.
"You registered, Fang?" one of them asked casually.
Nilan nodded.
A senior handed him a small pouch.
"You skipped your pills for two months. These are yours."
"Cultivation pills," another added. "Helps stabilize Qi."
Inside were pale, ordinary-looking pills.
He thanked them and returned to his room.
He didn't take them.
He trained instead.
Physical conditioning.
Breathing control.
Qi circulation.
By the time he lay down, exhaustion pressed against his bones.
Sleep came quickly.
But peace did not.
Fragments.
A battlefield under dark skies.
Then a clear horizon.
Lightning tearing across the heavens.
Silence.
Massive beasts.
Wind.
War.
Calm.
It shifted too fast to understand.
It felt less like dreaming—
and more like being dragged through broken memories.
He woke suddenly.
Night still covered the sect.
Something felt unstable.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Just… movement beneath stillness.
He stepped outside.
The courtyard was quiet.
Two disciples stood near the far wall, speaking in low voices.
Nilan couldn't hear them.
But he could sense their cultivation.
Qi Gathering—Low Level Peak.
Stronger than him.
He didn't approach.
He watched.
One of them took out a pill.
Red.
Deep red.
The air tightened the moment it appeared.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
Birds scattered from nearby rooftops.
The atmosphere shifted.
The two swallowed the pills and disappeared into the shadows.
Nilan remained still.
That pill…
was not the same as his.
He returned to his room.
Sleep wouldn't come.
So he cultivated.
But the fragments returned.
Battle.
Lightning.
Silence.
For a brief moment—
his Qi trembled.
He stopped immediately.
Not yet.
Whatever this was—
it wasn't time to force it.
Dawn came.
Six wooden creations stood before him in the courtyard.
The hawk adjusted its wings.
The serpent coiled.
The turtle steadied itself.
The rabbit's ears twitched.
The cat shifted lightly.
They were wood—
but no longer lifeless.
"Formation."
They moved instantly.
Not by strings.
By command.
"Attack."
The hawk dived.
The serpent struck.
The turtle guarded.
The rabbit distracted.
The cat flanked.
They fought with instinct.
They fought with power.
But instinct alone was not enough.
Nilan exhaled slowly.
The eagle, serpent, and turtle were already at Low Level Peak.
Strong enough to contend.
Strong enough to win.
But without refined mastery—
they could be damaged.
And he would not allow that.
He needed something that could withstand battle.
Something expendable.
Something he could refine through trial.
So he began preparing.
For fifteen days, he trained relentlessly.
Disciples passing by would sometimes call—
"Fang! Still practicing?"
He ignored them.
Sometimes they would laugh—
"Going to win the trial like that?"
He remained calm.
Every day, his beasts moved smoother.
More coordinated.
More disciplined.
They were no longer simple constructs.
They were an extension of his will.
Finally, the summons came.
All Outer Hall disciples gathered at the massive training grounds.
Stone platforms.
Wide combat fields.
Observation towers.
Voices filled the air.
Someone shouted, "Fang! Over here!"
Nilan walked forward quietly.
No fear.
No arrogance.
Only clarity.
The struggle had come.
And this time—
he would step toward it willingly.