Chapter 11 – The Challenge Begins With a Funeral Bell

Outer Sect Challenge

Dawn broke without birdsong.

No horns. No drums. No banners in the sky.

The arena, usually filled with boisterous outer disciples, was unnervingly quiet. Even the wind circled the platform rather than touch it.

It felt like a tomb.

And Lin Feng hadn't arrived yet.

> "Maybe he fled," someone muttered.

"Wouldn't blame him," another said.

But Wei Zicheng stood in the center, arms folded, head bowed — smiling.

Not kindly.

> "He'll crawl here eventually," Zicheng whispered. "They always do."

His spiritual pressure seeped into the tiles, cracking one.

No one dared look him in the eye.

He had reached the fifth layer of Core Foundation.

He was no longer considered "outer sect talent."

He was something else now.

> And he wanted to make sure Lin Feng died slowly.

---

An hour passed.

Then…

He came.

Not walking.

Staggering.

Lin Feng's steps were uneven, like a man returning from war — not heading into one. His robe clung to his skin from sweat. His body gleamed faintly in the sunlight, as if light could no longer leave him untouched.

His eyes…

They were no longer fully human.

Dark rings beneath them.

No emotion behind them.

Only a deep, horrible calm.

> "He looks like he already fought someone…"

"…and lost."

"…then killed them anyway."

Some disciples turned their gaze away.

Others felt their stomach twist — not out of pity… but dread.

Wei Zicheng grinned wider.

> "You're even uglier than I remember," he called.

Lin Feng didn't reply.

He knelt in the center of the arena, touched the stone… and whispered to it.

> "Don't forget me."

Then he stood.

---

The Bell Tolls

The Sect Bell rang once.

Deep. Old. Cold.

It did not sound like a gong.

It sounded like a grave being sealed.

The Elder overseeing the challenge didn't speak.

He looked at Lin Feng once.

And his fingers trembled beneath his sleeves.

---

Wei Zicheng didn't wait.

He surged forward, flames curling around his fists, his aura roaring like a wildfire.

He meant to end it in one strike.

> "You're not worthy of a drawn-out fight," he spat.

His flame-covered punch struck Lin Feng's chest directly.

> Crack.

Burn.

Break—?

No.

Lin Feng didn't move.

The flames licked his torso… and snuffed themselves out.

> "What—?"

Then Lin Feng's hand moved.

Slow. Deliberate. Terrifying.

He grabbed Wei Zicheng's arm.

And squeezed.

> Crack.

"AHHH—!"

Zicheng screamed in pain.

From fear.

He leapt back, clutching his twisted arm. His flames ignited wildly, shielding him.

Lin Feng exhaled.

> The breath was white.

Too white.

Like it came from something ancient.

---

Lan Xueyin Watching From Above

From her hidden perch, Lan Xueyin's eyes narrowed.

She didn't move.

Didn't speak.

She simply pressed her fingers against the stone railing…

And the stone cracked beneath them.

> "He's not cultivating anymore," she whispered.

"He's waking up."

And the heavens, once again, did nothing to stop him.

---

Chapter 11.5 – A Blade Watches from the Ashes

Far-Edge Barracks, Near the Outer Sect Boundary

Most disciples had gathered at the arena.

But not Han Yu.

He sat beneath a broken spirit lantern, sharpening a chipped saber on a whetstone older than him. His robes were plain, the hem burned. His boots — half-melted from a beast hunt weeks ago — scraped against the stone with each motion.

He didn't glance at the sky, though the faint ringing of the Sect Bell reached even here.

> "So it begins…" he murmured.

A younger disciple peeked from behind a tent.

> "Aren't you going to watch the challenge?"

"Everyone's saying Lin Feng's going to die."

Han Yu didn't respond.

Not at first.

Then he paused mid-sharpening and looked up — eyes sharp, but not cruel.

> "If he was going to die, it would've already happened."

---

Flashback – One Year Ago

A collapsed spirit quarry. A night mission gone wrong.

A beast — wrong in its shape, wrong in its hunger — had cornered six disciples in a pit of dead Qi.

Only Han Yu and one other made it out.

That other was Lin Feng — bloody, half-conscious, dragging the corpse of the beast behind him… even though no one had asked him to.

Han Yu had carried him back when his legs finally gave out.

They hadn't spoken since.

> "You fight like someone with nothing to live for," Han Yu had said that night.

Lin Feng, barely breathing, had whispered back:

"No. I fight like someone who wants to earn the right to live."

Han Yu never forgot that.

---

Present_—

He stood, saber now silent in its scabbard.

He didn't head to the arena.

Instead, he climbed the back ridge — a jagged path few dared walk — until he reached a cracked overlook where the arena was faintly visible in the distance.

> "If you die today," he muttered to no one,

"then this sect never deserved you."

His knuckles tightened around the hilt.

> "But if you live…"

He exhaled once — slow and heavy.

> "…then I'll follow you."