CHAPTER 6: BETWEEN SHADOWS AND TRIALS

Morning came not gently, but with the silent weight of unspoken expectations.

The sun's light filtered through silk-curtained windows, casting long golden slants across the polished wooden floors of the outer disciple courtyards. Birds chirped nervously outside, as if aware that today was not just another morning—but the calm before another series of storms. The air itself carried the faint metallic tang of honed blades and the distant murmur of disciples already preparing for the day's trials.

Lin Feng opened his eyes. Not abruptly. Not slowly. Just opened, as if they had never truly been closed. His bare chest rose with a deep breath, muscles shifting beneath skin that bore no scars despite the countless battles he had endured. His black eyes gleamed with sharp lucidity, already fully awake despite the early hour. His hair, dark as ink, fell perfectly across his forehead, slightly tousled in a way that made the passing female disciples pause in their tracks just outside the room. One girl, carrying a tray of freshly brewed spirit tea, nearly stumbled when she caught sight of him through the half-open door.

Across the room, Meixiu sat cross-legged on a pile of folded blankets, brushing Mr. Bunbun's ears with surprising delicacy. The rabbit's nose twitched as he sniffed the air, his beady eyes half-lidded in contentment. She looked up, her lips curling into a smirk when she noticed Lin Feng's state of undress.

"Still no shirt on, baby? Trying to kill the daughters of good families this early in the morning?"

Lin Feng rolled his eyes, reaching for the robe Feng Yan had tossed him the day before. "You want me to wear the one she gave me?"

Meixiu's smirk deepened. "No. I want you to wear a potato sack, just to make things fair. But fine. That one looks good. It even smells expensive."

He slipped it on without comment. The robe—black with subtle phoenix feather embroidery—fit as if tailored for him, the fabric whispering against his skin like a second layer of shadow. The moment he adjusted the collar, the faint hum of restrained energy around him seemed to settle, as if the very air acknowledged his presence.

The courtyard was already stirring when they stepped outside. Dull clanks of practice blades echoed from a side hall, where a group of disciples drilled basic sword forms under the watchful eye of a junior instructor. Smoke from steamed buns wafted over the rooftops, mingling with the faint scent of ink and parchment from the nearby scriptorium. Small clusters of disciples gathered under pavilions, whispering about yesterday's results—the orb that had cracked, the disciples who had shone, and the ones who had faltered.

From behind a gnarled plum tree, two girls gawked as Lin Feng walked by.

"That's him. The one who cracked the orb."

"He didn't crack it. It cracked for him. Big difference."

The first girl sighed dreamily. "Do you think he's really from some hidden lineage? Look at the way he carries himself—like he's already an elder."

The second girl elbowed her. "Stop staring. He'll notice."

Meixiu, now walking beside him with Mr. Bunbun perched proudly in her arms, leaned in. "Are you letting your presence leak again?"

"No."

"Because the way they're blushing, I'm starting to think we'll need to start charging taxes."

He gave her a flat look. She only smiled, her fingers idly scratching behind Bunbun's ears.

Feng Yan intercepted them near the gate, her hair tied back today, robe sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with faint scars from past battles. "Morning, muscle boy," she greeted, her voice bright with amusement.

"...Morning."

She winked at Meixiu. "He always this talkative before tea?"

"No. You're getting premium-level chatter, honestly."

"I'll take it."

---

Not far off, a sword elder stood behind a distant lantern post. He watched Lin Feng silently. His robes bore no emblem, but his sword floated behind him, unsheathed and silent, its edge gleaming like a sliver of moonlight. His lips moved without sound.

"That boy... no, that pressure. That isn't sword intent. That's weight."

A junior disciple approached hesitantly. "Elder, the Sword Hall trial is about to—"

"I know." The elder didn't look away. "Tell them to wait."

The disciple bowed and scurried off.

---

The morning trials began shortly after breakfast. A red-robed elder strode through the courtyard, unfurling a scroll with a snap. "Hear this! Any outer disciple unchosen by an Inner Pavilion master may now challenge their preferred path—Sword, Dagger, or Mystic Arts. Prove your worth... or your audacity."

Among the sea of participants—hundreds of thousands of hopefuls crowding the mountain—a rare few shone like polished jade amidst rough stone. Most struggled, some failed spectacularly, and countless others vanished into the faceless mass of mediocrity that every great sect inevitably cultivates.

Feng Yan cracked her knuckles. "Finally. Something to actually do."

Lin Feng walked toward the Sword Path banner, led by Elder Bao—the Laughing Blade himself. The elder's jovial demeanor was a stark contrast to the sharpness in his gaze as he looked them over.

"This trial tests resonance with the Sword Hall echoes," he announced. "You'll enter, one by one, and walk through the hall where sword slashes from our Pavilion's ancestors still linger. If they acknowledge you... you'll pass."

The first disciple, a nervous boy from a minor clan, stepped in. The echoes remained indifferent.

The second, a girl with a scarred cheek, earned a faint hum—enough to pass, but barely.

Then came Lin Feng.

The Sword Hall was not made of stone. It was carved into the side of the cliff, from sword-intent-infused black steel. Each step he took, his footfall was met with a whisper—clang, slice, roar—the echoes of duels long ended.

When others had entered, the echoes grew wild or remained still.

When Lin Feng entered... the entire hall fell silent.

Then, slowly—like a tide returning—all the echoes began to hum. Not wild. Not reverent. Just aware.

One ghost of a blade dropped from the ceiling, hovering before him.

It didn't attack.

It bowed.

Lin Feng walked on, indifferent. At the end of the hall, a single sword scar glowed faintly, as if remembering something it had long forgotten.

Elder Bao stood outside, watching.

"He didn't resonate," one aide whispered.

"No," Elder Bao said quietly. "The hall... recognized him."

Meanwhile, the Dagger Path trial unfolded in a bamboo forest where shadows swallowed sound. Candidates had to eliminate puppet targets unseen. Most failed—one boy's boot snapped a twig, earning him a thrown pebble between the eyes.

Then the right Phantom Twin stepped forward. She vanished between the stalks like smoke.

"Targets neutralized," she said, reappearing behind the examiner.

"...There were ten."

She licked her blade. "I did twelve."

Back at the Illusion Trial, something strange happened.

Yan Lihua walked past the testing line without stopping.

"Wait," said the elder there, "You haven't taken—"

"She already passed," came a voice from above.

A paper-talisman-robed inner elder stepped into view, eyes unreadable. "Her spiritual sea is laced with fourth-layer moon harmonics. You couldn't test her even if you tried."

Yan Lihua gave a faint bow and walked on.

The others stared.

"That was Yan Lihua?"

"Of the Silent Moon?"

"She's not human, is she?"

"She's beautiful."

"She's terrifying."

"She's both."

The Illusion Maze hosted by a masked elder from the Silent Moon Clan tested willpower and clarity. Shui Daiyu entered and exited without a word, her face a placid lake. But later, a sect worker noticed a faint mark on her wrist—an illusion sigil melting like ink in rain.

"She passed," the elder confirmed, adjusting his fox mask. "She did not break the illusion. She taught it fear."

Feng Yan, for fun, joined the Fist Path Trial just to punch something.

She knocked out her opponent with one spinning back-kick.

"Still got it," she whispered, before blowing a kiss at Lin Feng across the yard.

He blinked once.

She laughed.

Even Jin Chen of the Frostblade Sect passed the Mystic Arts Trial—barely—by forming an ice shard that didn't melt under sunlight.

"Not bad," someone muttered. "But not inner sect material."

He heard it. His fingers curled, and the ground beneath him frosted over in jagged spikes before dissolving.

---

Back in the courtyard, Lin Feng sat beneath a tree, robe sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had one leg stretched, one arm resting lazily over his knee. A small cluster of girls and boys trained nearby, constantly stealing glances.

A faint hum emanated from his body. Not qi. Not killing intent. Just weight. His presence stretched like pressure rolling from a cliff's edge, subtle but undeniable.

"Stop it," Meixiu said from the stairs.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You are letting your presence leak again."

"It's unintentional."

"Well, unintentively, you're making that poor redhead forget how to breathe."

Lin Feng glanced sideways.

Indeed, one outer disciple had turned tomato-colored.

He sighed and looked away.

Meixiu plopped down beside him.

"You going to keep doing these trials like a movie star?"

"No."

"Too late. You already have fan clubs. I heard they're calling you Sword Ghost Husband."

Lin Feng blinked slowly. "...Husband?"

"Well," Meixiu shrugged, "not for long. Once they realize you belong to me, I imagine the name will change to Unreachable Ghost Husband."

He didn't respond.

She smiled.

Yan Lihua sat beneath a sword-shaped tree, reading a scroll by moonlight. Without looking up: "The way you dodged the third puppet's hammer strike? Not bad."

Lin Feng paused. "You were watching?"

"Always," she murmured, the moon glinting off her crescent hairpin.

Feng Yan flopped onto a nearby bench like a cat in heat. "I'm bored. Someone challenge me to a beauty contest."

"You'd lose," said Meixiu, appearing behind her like a ghost.

"Excuse me?"

Meixiu smiled. "You heard me. Bunbun agrees."

Mr. Bunbun blinked.

---

As the day waned, the announcement came.

"Tomorrow," said the pavilion herald, "is the final day of testing. All alchemy-focused disciples and spirit plant holders shall present their flame alignment and seed compatibility. The Alchemy Trial shall begin at sunrise."

Meixiu brightened.

"Did you hear that, Bunbun?" she whispered. "We're going to make so many kabooms."

Bunbun stared ahead, unblinking.

Lin Feng, eyes half-shut, muttered without looking. "Please don't explode the mountain."

"No promises, baby."

She leaned against his arm.

---

By sundown, the selected applicants were led to their temporary quarters—a series of modest pavilions nestled among ancient cypress trees.

A senior disciple with tired eyes gestured toward the wooden structures. "Outer courtyard bunkrooms. You'll receive permanent assignments tomorrow. For now, rest. Heal. Eat."

The lodgings surrounded a tranquil pond where glowing lantern lilies floated like fallen stars, their pale light shimmering across the dark water. Each disciple's room contained only the essentials: a narrow bed with thin blankets, a simple scroll shelf, and a washing basin filled with fresh water that smelled faintly of medicinal herbs.

"Men and women stay separate," the disciple added sternly. "No night wandering."

Meixiu's lips formed an exaggerated pout as she tightened her grip on Lin Feng's sleeve.

"What if I get scared?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. "These old buildings look haunted."

"...You won't."

"But what if I do?" she pressed, stepping closer until their shadows merged in the lantern light.

Lin Feng looked down at her, his expression unchanging.

"...You'll be fine."

She huffed and crossed her arms, the fabric of her robes rustling like autumn leaves. "Fine. Then I'll just slip into your room after midnight—maybe floating like a real ghost—and cling to you until sunrise. We'll see who gets scared then."

The senior disciple coughed pointedly.

Lin Feng said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Meixiu rose on her toes, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered: "Bodyguard." The word curled like smoke in the evening air. "Don't forget who summoned you here."

For a heartbeat, the lantern lilies seemed to glow brighter. Then she turned with a swirl of silk, her laughter lingering as she disappeared into the women's quarters.

Lin Feng stood motionless for a moment longer, the ghost of her touch still warm on his arm, before walking toward his own empty room where the shadows waited.

The murmurs of conversation gradually faded as disciples dispersed—some still whispering excitedly about the day's trials, others nursing bruised egos or hidden wounds. One by one, lanterns flickered to life behind paper screens, their golden glow painting brief silhouettes before being extinguished. The courtyard emptied like a receding tide, until only the night breeze remained, carrying the last fragments of hushed voices into the darkness as each disciple finally retreated to their quarters.

The moon began to rise.

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