The Road to Defying Heaven

Chapter 3 — The Initiation Trial

The towering gate of Tianxuan Sect loomed high, with two stone lions standing in front like silent mountains, their mouths seeming to contain thunder. Outside the sect, incense coils spiraled into the air, and banners snapped violently in the mountain wind. From afar, one could sense a weighty authority that pressed on the chest. Lin Yuan stood beneath the gate, his travel bag set aside, the Yun family’s recommendation certificate warming slightly in his palm—a token of entry into a new world and a new beginning he could not avoid.

He was far from calm. The mountain path had worn on him, and Yun Tianling’s parting instructions kept echoing in his mind, while Su Yan’s words repeatedly rang in his ears: “Wait until you become strong, I’ll be here.” His fingers unconsciously brushed the black jade at his chest, where an invisible hand seemed to gently grasp, sending a faint warmth that steadied his heart.

The entrance examination was held in the main courtyard of the sect. The plaza was even more spacious than he had imagined, paved with millennia-old blue stones, with an ancient spiritual platform standing at the center. By now, dozens of young people had gathered, all neatly dressed, their presence enough to intimidate. Some had striking features, some radiated natural charisma as if born to stand atop the stars; others, like him, harbored defiance and longing in their eyes.

The examiner was an elder near the end of his years, his face steady, a long scar etched across his temple. He glanced over the crowd and spoke in a calm, unhurried voice: “Today’s entrance test consists of three trials. First, spiritual resonance; next, basic martial skills; finally, a test of mental fortitude through illusion. Each of you will take the stage in turn; those who act with composure may enter.” He lightly tossed a scroll, bearing the Tianxuan Sect seal, its ink fragrance carrying an irreplaceable authority.

The first trial: spiritual resonance.

Spiritual resonance was not merely absorption but a communion with the breath of heaven and earth. Each candidate needed to stand upon the ancient platform, staring at the spiritual vein array set by the sect for three breaths. If one could draw the surrounding spiritual flow evenly into the dantian, the trial was passed. Young practitioners stepped forward, closing their eyes to regulate their breath or stretching their fingers, as strands of spiritual energy rose from the ground. Those with exceptional talent drew it in like drinking water, their eyes clear and faces faintly glowing.

When it was Lin Yuan’s turn, his chest tightened. He knew his spiritual roots were modest, and he had only reached the third layer of Qi refinement. The natural spiritual flow around him seemed shrouded behind a thin veil, hard to reach without effort. He slowly stood on the platform, closed his eyes, and guided the Qi into his body using the breathing method taught by his master. At first, chaos ensued—spiritual energy surged like tides, colliding randomly within, causing prickling pain and chills. He gritted his teeth, steadied his breath, and his mind firm as rock: “Slowly, steadily.”

Just as he felt on the verge of collapse, the black jade at his chest trembled slightly. A gentle stream of light emanated from its core, like a key quietly connecting with the thin veil. At that moment, the outline of the spiritual energy seemed illuminated. He felt like a traveler who had just found direction, guiding the chaotic flow into his dantian along the light. The stone patterns around the platform flickered faintly, drawing glances from other candidates—some surprised, some whispering.

Lin Yuan felt an unprecedented harmony—not a sudden surge of innate power, but a perfectly timed guidance and coordination. He was not the top scorer, nor was he far behind. The elder recorded his performance, eyebrows slightly raised, as if he had taken an extra look at him.

The second trial: basic martial skills.

This task seemed simple: fists, kicks, footwork, body dodges, and basic inner energy manipulation. The score depended on standard movements and adaptability. Most talented youths handled it effortlessly, fists cutting through air, steps light as swallows. Lin Yuan stepped forward with only his wooden practice sword and an old family martial manual, lacking flashy techniques, but his movements were practical and extremely stable.

Xiang Lan, a tall and imposing youth, sneered: “Watch closely, those who rely on family connections are mostly useless.” He rallied a few others to mock him, their words sharp like stones hitting Lin Yuan’s heart. Lin Yuan did not retaliate, remembering the elder’s words: “Convince with strength; nothing persuades like power.”

The examination began. Xiang Lan performed a series of soaring steps, clean and precise, drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd. Lin Yuan took the stage, replicating the routines he had painstakingly practiced at night, his rhythm plain but unhesitating. When several examiners launched sudden attacks, he did not rely on flashy tricks, yet his steady defense and accurate strikes repeatedly repelled them. One of the examiners whispered, “This one’s defense is solid, with a certain rustic elegance inherited from his family style.”

Xiang Lan snorted beside him: “Rustic elegance is just one step away from incompetence.” Some disciples in the audience chuckled, yet others secretly watched in surprise. Lin Yuan’s movements lacked glamour, but each punch carried weight, as if pressed against stone. The elder recorded his performance, his expression complex, perhaps impressed by Lin Yuan’s unassuming composure.

The third trial: mental fortitude in illusion.

This test was the most challenging of character. The elder used an ancient array to generate an illusion, forcing the candidate to maintain their true heart and not be lost to desire. The illusion could present the weakest parts of one’s memories, confronting them with fear and humiliation. Many failed at this stage, either seduced by exaggerated grandeur or overwhelmed by past shame.

Lin Yuan was drawn into the illusion. Before him appeared the scene of being mocked at a family banquet in his youth, the laughter amplified, every detail hyper-realistic. The illusion then presented him with a choice: to wield hatred as a blade and strike back, gaining everyone’s admiration, or to use forgiveness as a shield, enduring more humiliation and slowly changing others’ perception through action. The test was not about lashing out but whether one could preserve their faint yet genuine**.

A wave of emotion surged within Lin Yuan. Resentment rose like a tide, and he almost succumbed to the allure of sudden glory. Yet he quickly recalled Su Yan’s silent gaze, Yun Tianling’s instructions, and his midnight vow: not to seek admiration, but to protect those in front of him from harm. He whispered to himself, “Let hatred harden, let love be a shield.” Choosing patience and perseverance, the illusion gradually faded, revealing the elder’s face in the void, eyes reflecting a trace of satisfaction.

When the test ended, the elder stood at the front, voice low but firm: “Today, each of you performed with your own merits. Lin Yuan, though not the most outstanding, you possess a subtle steadiness and endurance. Tianxuan Sect values precisely this heart. You have passed. With the entrance secured, assign yourselves to your masters and halls.”

As his words fell, whispers arose in the audience. Xiang Lan cast a cold smile at Lin Yuan, a remnant of disdain lingering. Yet in a shadowed corner of a side hall, a middle-aged man in white paused, his gaze lingering on Lin Yuan. He did not approach, merely placing his folded fan down and closing his eyes in thought. His aura was inconspicuous, yet gave a faint impression of unusual steadiness—a latent force quietly observing the world.

Lin Yuan was assigned to the Plain Hall of the sect, where disciples focused on foundational cultivation and needed diligent practice to stand out. Some muttered, “Plain Hall? That’s the lower tier, yet many have risen from there in history.” Others scoffed, “They’ve just been sent here as a formality.”

Lin Yuan paid no mind to rankings. Under the night sky, he established a routine in the Plain Hall courtyard: a daily round of basic techniques, nightly training of movement and footwork, and study of sect scrolls. Some mocked him, others observed in secret; he devoted himself entirely to one purpose—hard training.

He knew the true battlefield lay not in today’s ridicule but in some yet-unseen future. The black jade on his chest glowed faintly with warmth, like a distant yet clear summons, reminding him: adversity merely sharpens the edge; a comeback is never absent.