The hour of the noontide sun had passed, yet still the day’s first allotment lingered in wait.

From amidst the gathered aspirants, one spoke, a man barely past his twentieth year, with a face long as a horse’s. His chin jutted skyward, eyes narrowed in haughty disdain. “Silence, Junior Brother Wang,” he drawled. “Are you truly ignorant of the grand jest that sweeps through Hengyue Sect? Just as Junior Sister Xu so eloquently declared, Wang Lin clawed his way into the inner circle through methods… less than honorable.”

Wang Zhuo, for it was he, erupted in a booming laugh. “I confess, you startled me, Wang Lin! To think you snuck your way in! But alas, with your meager talent, you’ll never so much as glimpse the first stage of Qi Condensation. Why embarrass yourself, or worse, besmirch the Wang family name?”

A woman, her voice like the gentle murmur of a stream, offered a counterpoint. “You err, Junior Brother Wang. Talent is but one thread in the tapestry of cultivation. Perseverance, too, is a key, for taming the Immortal Dao is a matter of destiny. Without unwavering resolve, the most gifted soul will surely falter.” Her name, whispered among the others, was Zhou.

“Senior Brother Wang speaks true,” chirped the girl surnamed Xu, sidling closer to Wang Zhuo, eager to catch his favor. “Wang Lin possesses a dullness that glares plainly. He carries the air of a common fieldhand, not a seeker of immortality.”

Wang Lin chuckled, observing the dance of affections before him. It was clear: Wang Zhuo harbored affections for the woman Zhou, while the girl Xu desperately sought to claim Wang Zhuo for herself, attempting to sabotage any connection between them.

His amusement earned him a snort from Wang Zhuo. “A word of counsel, Wang Lin: abandon this pretense and depart Hengyue Sect. The year-end trials for inner disciples are brutal. You risk crippling, even death.”

Wang Lin recalled the words of Sun Dazhu, a fellow outer disciple: each year, inner disciples clashed in a grand tournament. The victors claimed enchanted weapons as prize. The contest was twofold: a general melee amongst all inner disciples for the top ten ranks, and a separate, fiercer brawl between the newest initiates, to crown the ‘New King.’

He shrugged, a gesture of calculated indifference. “My fate is my own. If I am crippled or slain, what concern is it of yours?”

Wang Zhuo’s lips curled in a sneer. “I act from familial concern, misguided as it seems. Since you reject my well-intentioned advice, do not expect mercy when the day of the competition dawns!” A flicker of cold steel danced in his eyes.

From his youth, Wang Zhuo had nursed contempt for Wang Lin’s lineage. Though he had never met the man, his father had filled his ears with tales of Wang Lin’s father, a silver-tongued charmer who had swayed their grandfather’s affections, wresting away a disproportionate share of the family wealth and subjecting his own father to humiliating insults. Only through the vigilance of the other relatives, with their unwavering sense of justice, had the property been reclaimed. Thus, Wang Zhuo considered Wang Lin’s family a stain on the family name, believing the son would inherit the father’s transgressions.

As he matured, doubts gnawed at him, suggesting his father’s narrative might be flawed. But pride had always been his shield, and he held even his father in mild disdain. He was not about to lower himself for someone like Wang Lin.

“Relatives?” the girl Xu gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

The other two also looked on with mild surprise.

Seeing Wang Zhuo’s darkening countenance, the girl Xu rushed to soothe him. “He doesn’t comprehend your kindness, Brother Wang Zhuo. He’s blinded by his own ignorance. You possess a noble heart and a superior intellect. Do not expect him to grasp your benevolence. Let him suffer, and then he will understand. I have similar kin. They are all the same. You must not expect others to be as noble as yourself. In fact, I understand your feelings, and you are unlucky. Steel, right?”

A flush crept up Wang Zhuo’s neck. Was this woman mocking him, or truly speaking from the heart? He couldn’t decide.

Hearing her words, Wang Lin chuckled again. “Wang Zhuo, perhaps I have misjudged you. Very well, I, Wang Lin, shall remember this… kindness. My gratitude.”

Just then, the doors of the Dan Room swung open, revealing a small boy in a simple tunic, Wang Hao. A quick and bright lad.

He coughed loudly, drawing all eyes to him. A hint of self-importance bloomed on his face. “The spiritual pills are not yet ready. The Master requires more time in his practice. Return in an hour.”

Wang Zhuo glared at Wang Hao, his teeth grinding, but dared not voice his displeasure. Wang Hao was the personal attendant of the Third Senior Brother of the Danfang, responsible for all the menial tasks within. To offend the boy was to risk the Senior Brother’s wrath, and a significant reduction in his monthly stipend.

Wang Hao, having delivered his pronouncement, glanced at Wang Lin. Surprise flickered across his face. He quickly pulled Wang Lin aside, whispering urgently, “Brother Tiezhu, congratulations on becoming an inner disciple! I heard the news and longed to speak with you, but I am trapped within these walls. Do not give heed to their scorn. When your immortal arts blossom, they will see their error!”

A warmth bloomed within Wang Lin’s chest. “Thank you, Wang Hao.”

Wang Hao sighed. “I was present in the great hall that day. I wished to speak in your defense, but my father silenced me with a glare. I was to not interfere. Do not hold it against me, Brother Tiezhu.”

Wang Lin shook his head. “The past is gone. I must focus on my practice, on reaching the first level of Qi Condensation as swiftly as possible.”

Wang Hao’s eyes darted around. When he was sure they were unobserved, he produced something from within his tunic, pressing it into Wang Lin’s hand with a wink. At that moment, a voice, sharp as winter wind, echoed from the alchemy room.

“Errant boy! Return to your duties!”

Wang Hao scurried back into the alchemy room.

Wang Lin clutched the object in his hand, catching a glimpse of three crystal-clear pills. Without hesitation, he concealed them within his storage bag, and settled into a cross-legged posture, inhaling and exhaling, lost in meditation.

Except for the 28-year-old man, who cast a considering glance at Wang Lin and joined him in seated meditation, the remaining three stood to the side.

Wang Zhuo continued his obsequious flattery towards the woman Zhou, while the girl Xu, her face taut with suppressed fury, interjected every chance she could get.

Time wore on, and darkness descended, shrouding the land. As the moon crested the horizon, the doors of the Danfang opened once more. Wang Hao emerged, his face etched with fatigue, carrying a plate in his hands.

Upon it rested five low-grade spirit stones and five crystalline pills.

Each disciple stepped forward to collect their due. Wang Lin was last. He accepted his portion, smiled at Wang Hao, and departed with a respectful fist salute.

He would not forget Wang Hao’s kindness. Those three pills he had slipped him, the Spirit-Slaying Pill, were a gift of inestimable value.