The gates of the Golden Sparrow Guild loomed before him like something ancient that had long since forgotten the concept of time.
Lu Mao slowed as he approached, though he did not consciously choose to.
The stone itself demanded it.
Two towering slabs rose on either side of the entrance, their surfaces scarred by wind, rain, and centuries of silent endurance. Carvings stretched across them in winding patterns—symbols so worn they seemed more like echoes than inscriptions. And yet, even faded, they carried weight.
Not visible.
Not tangible.
But present.
He felt it the moment he stepped within their shadow.
A faint pulse stirred beneath his feet.
Low.
Steady.
Like a heartbeat buried deep beneath layers of stone.
Lu Mao's steps faltered for half a breath.
The sensation climbed upward through his soles, into his legs, settling somewhere behind his ribs. Not painful. Not even uncomfortable.
Just… there.
Alive.
He exhaled slowly, letting the feeling pass through him instead of resisting it.
Behind him, Azure Sky City continued its endless noise.
Carts rattled.
Vendors shouted.
Steel clashed faintly in distant alleys.
But here—
It all dimmed.
Muted.
Swallowed.
The air itself felt heavier, as though the Guild stood at the center of something the rest of the city could not touch.
"Move forward in a straight line!"
The voice cracked through the space like a lash.
Sharp.
Precise.
Lu Mao's attention shifted instantly.
A senior disciple strode along the cobblestone path ahead, his black cloak swaying with controlled motion. The fabric was worn at the edges, threads frayed—not from neglect, but from use. Each tear spoke of battles survived, not lost.
A weapon hung at his waist.
Not decorative.
Not displayed.
Simply present.
Ready.
"No wandering," the man continued, his voice carrying effortlessly across the crowd without rising in volume. "No talking. No foolish attempts."
His gaze swept over the gathered candidates.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"Those who stray will learn discipline before being cast out."
The words didn't echo.
They pressed.
Like invisible hands brushing against the surface of Lu Mao's skin.
Around him, the crowd reacted immediately.
Children.
Teenagers.
Some barely old enough to stand steady under pressure.
Others hardened by years of survival.
They fell into line.
Instinctively.
A few lowered their heads, eyes fixed on the ground.
Others tried to look around—
Only to snap their gaze forward again as if something unseen had gripped the back of their necks.
Lu Mao stepped forward with them.
Calm.
Measured.
His hands rested loosely at his sides, fingers relaxed.
But his senses—
His senses stretched outward.
Qi lingered in the air.
Faint.
Uneven.
Every person carried it differently.
Some flickered like weak flames, unstable and scattered.
Others burned steady, controlled.
A few—
Barely visible at all.
Hidden.
Suppressed.
Lu Mao's gaze moved through the crowd slowly, quietly cataloging.
A boy with broad shoulders and clenched fists, his aura sharp and aggressive.
A girl with twin daggers strapped at her waist, her breathing slow, controlled—trained.
A thin child near the back, eyes darting constantly, qi flickering like a candle in wind.
Different.
All of them.
All here.
For the same reason.
Lu Mao's lips pressed together faintly.
Interesting.
The air carried layers of scent.
Dust kicked up from countless footsteps.
Sweat, sharp and nervous.
Steel.
And beneath it—
A faint thread of incense drifting from deeper within the Guild.
He followed it unconsciously, letting it anchor his awareness as he walked.
The line moved steadily.
No pushing.
No hesitation.
Only quiet tension.
His father's teachings surfaced, not as clear words, but as understanding shaped by repetition.
Sects demanded obedience.
Structure.
Lineage.
They molded their disciples like craftsmen shaping metal—heating, hammering, refining until nothing original remained.
Guilds were different.
Guilds didn't mold.
They tested.
They stripped away weakness and left behind whatever could survive.
Lu Mao preferred that.
It felt… honest.
A whisper rose somewhere ahead.
"…this year's trial will be harsher."
Lu Mao's attention shifted without his head moving.
"Why?" another voice asked.
"They're looking for real talent now. Nightmares have been appearing more frequently near the World Crevice."
The words settled into the air like dust.
Lu Mao felt something tighten slightly in his chest.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"Powerful cultivators are dying," the first voice continued, quieter now. "Even guild disciples."
A third voice joined, hesitant.
"They said a General-rank Nightmare was seen."
A pause.
"Leading others."
The silence that followed was heavier than any noise.
Lu Mao's fingers flexed slightly.
Nightmares.
He had grown up hearing the word spoken in low tones, always accompanied by stories that blurred the line between truth and fear.
Creatures born from the world's deepest wound.
Wrong in ways that went beyond form.
But hearing it here—
At the gates of the Guild—
Changed something.
Made it real.
"Maybe it's because of the Divine Thunder Convergence," another voice whispered from behind him.
"Sixty years left."
"That's nothing," someone replied.
"For cultivators… that's barely time to prepare."
"The Eternal Dao Shard will appear again."
"And when it does…"
The sentence trailed off.
Unfinished.
Unnecessary.
Lu Mao exhaled slowly.
Time.
For most, sixty years was a lifetime.
For cultivators—
It was a beginning.
Or an end.
The path began to rise.
Gradually at first.
Then more sharply.
The city vanished behind them completely.
Stone walls.
Narrow paths.
Then—
Open space.
Lu Mao stepped forward—
And the world expanded.
The inner courtyard unfolded before him like something carved from a dream.
A colossal arena stretched outward in a perfect circle.
Its walls rose impossibly high, narrowing as they climbed, like blades piercing the sky.
Balconies lined the upper edges.
Terraces.
Rooftops.
And everywhere—
People.
Guild disciples stood in silence, their figures draped in dark robes that seemed to absorb the light around them.
They didn't speak.
Didn't move.
They watched.
Every single one of them.
Lu Mao felt it immediately.
The weight of their attention.
Not curiosity.
Not hostility.
Assessment.
Judgment.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to remain steady.
The air here was different.
Thicker.
Charged.
Qi drifted through it like unseen currents, brushing against his skin, slipping through the gaps in his awareness.
Something deep inside him stirred in response.
Faint.
Distant.
He ignored it.
For now.
Ahead—
A stage rose from the center of the arena.
White stone.
Smooth.
Unblemished.
Crimson markings stretched across its surface like frozen lightning, branching outward in jagged lines.
They pulsed faintly.
Not visible to the eye.
But unmistakable.
Alive.
Figures began to appear on the stage.
Lu Mao's gaze sharpened.
They didn't arrive with sound.
They simply—
Were there.
One moment empty.
The next—
Occupied.
Elders.
They took their seats without ceremony.
Without announcement.
And yet—
The moment they settled—
The entire arena changed.
Pressure descended.
Not crushing.
Not overwhelming.
But absolute.
Space itself seemed to bend subtly around them, as though acknowledging their presence.
Some looked ancient.
Skin weathered.
Beards long and unkempt.
Eyes half-lidded, as though the world held little interest.
Others appeared young.
Too young.
Their skin carried a faint glow, like light trapped beneath the surface.
Their expressions calm.
Unmoved.
Lu Mao felt it brush against him—
And for the first time—
His heart skipped.
Not fear.
Recognition.
This is power.
Real power.
Not stories.
Not rumors.
Reality.
A voice broke through his thoughts.
"I finally found you."
Lu Mao turned.
Yan Mei stood beside him.
Hands resting lightly on her hips.
A faint grin playing at the corners of her lips.
"You again," she said.
Lu Mao exhaled quietly.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
She shrugged.
"Had to make sure you didn't get lost."
His lips twitched faintly.
His gaze shifted back to the stage.
"Do you know who they are?" he asked quietly.
A pause.
"They feel…" he hesitated slightly.
"…stronger than even my father."
Yan Mei's expression shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Respect.
"Those are Divine Saints," she said.
"They live in isolation most of the time. Only come out for things like this."
Her eyes flicked toward them briefly.
"Each one of them could level mountains if they wanted."
Lu Mao didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He could feel it.
Then—
The sky split open.
A streak of crimson lightning tore across the arena.
The air roared.
Wind surged downward, kicking up dust and debris in violent spirals.
Lu Mao's head snapped upward.
Something descended.
Fast.
Controlled.
Red robes flowed like fire caught in a storm.
Hair followed, blazing behind her like a living flame.
She didn't fall.
She arrived.
The moment her feet touched the stage—
Everything stopped.
Silence fell.
Complete.
Even the Saints behind her inclined their heads.
Slightly.
But enough.
Lu Mao's breath caught.
Her presence was different.
Not overwhelming like the others.
Not vast.
Precise.
Every movement deliberate.
Every breath controlled.
She didn't radiate power.
She contained it.
Perfectly.
Yan Mei leaned closer.
"That," she whispered,
"…is Madam Yan."
A pause.
Then, casually—
"…also my mom."
Lu Mao blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His gaze moved.
Stage.
Yan Mei.
Stage again.
"…your mom?" he muttered.
Yan Mei nodded.
Completely calm.
Lu Mao stared at her for a long second.
Then looked back at the stage.
Then back at her.
"…right," he said slowly.
"Of course she is."
Yan Mei's lips twitched.
"What?"
Lu Mao rubbed the back of his neck.
"Nothing," he muttered.
"Just… good to know I accidentally befriended the Guild Leader's daughter before the trial."
On the stage—
Madam Yan's gaze swept across the arena.
Sharp.
Steady.
When it passed over Lu Mao—
Something deep inside him stirred.
Brief.
Gone.
She spoke.
And the world listened.
"Welcome."
Her voice carried without force.
Yet reached everywhere.
"Today, you stand before the Golden Sparrow Guild."
A pause.
"Strength alone is meaningless."
"Skill alone is insufficient."
Her gaze moved slowly across the crowd.
Measuring.
Weighing.
"Only those who endure…"
"Adapt…"
"…and survive…"
"…will remain."
The air tightened.
"Fail…"
Her voice softened.
"…and you vanish."
Around him—
Some children flinched.
One dropped to their knees.
Another's breathing became uneven.
Lu Mao didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on her.
Not resisting.
Not submitting.
Observing.
Understanding.
This wasn't a speech.
It was pressure.
A test.
Already.
Yan Mei nudged him lightly.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Lu Mao nodded.
Slow.
Certain.
"Yeah."
His voice was quiet.
But steady.
"This isn't just a trial."
His gaze sharpened.
"It's selection."
The arena held its breath.
The Guild watched.
The stage waited.
And somewhere deep within—
Something aligned.
Not destiny.
Not fate.
Something simpler.
Clearer.
A path.
Lu Mao's lips curved faintly.
The game had begun.
And this time—
He wasn't watching from the shadows.
He was stepping into them.
And he would rise.