Scene 1: The Calm Before the Trial
Character banter, village buildup, rules, drums
By the break of dawn, Baizhu Village had transformed into a hive of eager anticipation.
Flags bearing the silver cloud emblem of the Shuilan Clan whipped sharply in the cool morning breeze.
Massive canvas tents lined the outer ridge, sheltering cultivators and visitors from distant settlements.
Their colorful robes shifted like autumn leaves as they approached the newly constructed arena—a simple yet sturdy circle of clay flattened and marked with glowing talisman-stamped borders designed to absorb and dispel stray spiritual energy.
Local craftsmen, under the strict supervision of high-clan disciples, had worked through the night to prepare the grounds.
Stone tablets displayed neatly carved lists of names, while scribes calmly gathered details: age, clan origin, cultivation level.
"Only those between fifteen and twenty-seven may participate," a disciple announced, voice firm.
"No enchanted weapons allowed. Talismans must be declared before entry."
The crowd of young cultivators buzzed with excitement and anxiety, some huddling with siblings, others exchanging wary glances with rivals or seeking encouragement from mentors.
High above, on a sun-warmed tiled roof overlooking the bustle, Lin Ye lay sprawled like a contented cat, lazily chewing a piece of dried plum and watching the scene below with playful mockery.
"Ah... the scent of sweaty ambition," he mused, waving a languid hand.
"What a beautiful morning."
Below, Lin Shen stood rigid in immaculate navy robes, sleeves rolled tightly above his elbows.
His sharp gaze scanned two younger village disciples as he barked orders.
"Focus your energy through the soles. Center your weight. If either of you trips in the ring like last year, I'm disowning you."
Lin Ye grinned and called up with a teasing lilt:
"Cousin! Try smiling! It's only a trial, not a wedding!"
Lin Shen's jaw clenched tightly.
"Maybe if you showed up on time for anything, you'd be more than a flute-playing fox chaser."
"Ouch," Lin Ye gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.
"So much venom before breakfast."
A softer voice interrupted from the steps below.
Mu Fan stood with his sleeves uneven and hair tousled by the wind, eyes calm and kind as ever.
"He's just nervous," Mu Fan said gently.
"He wants everyone from the village to do well."
Lin Ye leapt down lightly to stand beside him.
"Including me?" he teased.
Mu Fan smiled warmly.
"You might surprise them this year."
Lin Ye arched an eyebrow.
"You mean actually show up on time?"
Mu Fan grinned with a knowing smirk.
"I mean stop pretending you're not good."
The words landed heavier than Lin Ye expected.
His grin flickered but quickly returned as he ruffled Mu Fan's hair.
"Careful now—you're still the guy who got chased by a goat."
Mu Fan crossed his arms, mock-serious.
"Hey! That goat was clearly out to get me."
The two burst into laughter, eyes sparkling with mischievous delight.
Without warning, they lunged at each other, tugging and wrestling over their robe sleeves in a carefree tussle that echoed the easy camaraderie of Baizhu Village.
Their laughter rang through the crisp morning air.
After a moment, their playful scuffle turned toward Lin Shen, who watched with an amused, almost reluctant smirk.
In unison, Lin Ye and Mu Fan reached out, lightly swatting at him and pulling him into their jovial chaos.
The three stood tangled in laughter and teasing, the simple joy of friendship weaving a quiet strength beneath the towering pines.
Behind them, the deep boom of drums echoed from the far gate.
The Shuilan Pavilion's secondary carriage had arrived, bringing more disciples and several high-ranked stewards into the swelling crowd.
Whispers spread through the gathering:
"That's him! The one said to see spirits in moonlight."
"Young Master Xuan?"
"Not yet. That's just the steward. The young master only arrives just before the duels begin."
"They say he dislikes crowds. Or sunlight."
"He's probably meditating somewhere in the forest."
Lin Ye rolled his eyes, whispering to Mu Fan:
"Watch him show up with a white fox and a flute prettier than mine."
Mu Fan laughed softly.
Lin Shen simply sighed.
"Focus. Both of you. The trials begin at dusk."
As the crowd swelled and the air thickened with the crackle of gathering spiritual energy, Lin Ye glanced once toward the northern ridges.
Wind stirred his hair, and though his tone remained playful, something deeper stirred within him—an instinct, an echo older than Baizhu Village, older than the trials ahead.
Something was coming.
Scene 2: Arrival of the Young Master Xuan Luo
Silent entrance, reaction, Lin Ye's delay
The square brimmed with tension and rising excitement.
Low voices wove through the air—half-whispers of strategy, anxious greetings, and last-minute advice—while robes swayed and fluttered with every breeze.
Stray arcs of spiritual energy occasionally fizzed in the air, betraying unstable control.
Banners overhead shifted restlessly, casting flickering patterns across the packed earth.
Aspirants filled the grounds in quiet clusters: some dressed in the roughspun fabric of highland farmers, others in elegant robes marked by the insignias of minor sects, all drawn here by ambition and the promise of recognition under the Shuilan Clan's gaze.
Elders murmured among themselves.
Tension hummed in the air like a bowstring pulled taut.
A young disciple at the platform suddenly straightened, voice carrying clearly over the crowd:
"The Shuilan Clan's Third Young Master has arrived."
Then—without warning—the noise collapsed into silence.
A hush swept across the square like a passing wind, stilling breath and silencing movement. Heads turned instinctively.
From the narrow stone path that wound down the pine-cloaked ridge, a lone figure emerged.
Xuan Luo, heir to the Shuilan Clan, walked as though the world itself made way for him.
His presence was quiet, unforced—yet it demanded attention like the sudden silence before a storm.
He wore flowing white robes of silk layered with faint silver embroidery, stitched in the shape of drifting mist and ancient talismans.
A pale jade ribbon tied his ink-dark hair high, and at his side hung a white-lacquered sword, its fittings unadorned, save for the subtle sheen of purity runes etched along the scabbard's edge.
He neither spoke nor gestured; his stillness carried weight.
Every step was measured, unhurried, yet precise—like snow falling where it chose.
The villagers stared in reverent awe, some bowing too quickly, others too late, unsure how to respond to such presence.
Disciples lined up at the edges of the arena dropped into a formal salute—right fist enclosed by left palm, heads lowered in practiced respect.
Even those who had only heard his name felt something shift in their breath.
His expression revealed little: a calm mask, untroubled and unreadable, as though his thoughts existed somewhere beyond the world around him.
His gaze swept the crowd not with pride or scrutiny, but with detached awareness—as if he were seeing not people, but the ripples of their spiritual presence.
He paused.
For a brief moment, his eyes rested on two figures near the outer ring: Lin Shen, standing rigid with his hands folded behind his back, and Mu Fan, shoulders tense but eyes wide with curiosity.
Lin Shen's jaw clenched slightly, his posture stiffening beneath the weight of that gaze.
Mu Fan, unaccustomed to such gravity, forgot to breathe. He dipped his head out of instinct, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.
But Xuan Luo gave no sign of judgment.
He simply watched.
Then, something shifted.
As if stirred by an invisible thread, his gaze drifted upward—beyond the arena, beyond the onlookers—toward the rooftops and pine-covered ridgelines that circled Baizhu Village like guardians.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the barest flicker of thought breaking through the still surface of his expression.
Not suspicion, but recognition.
A quiet knowing.
It was as if he had sensed something not yet visible to others—something watching from the treetops, or waiting in silence behind laughter.
And just as quickly, the moment passed.
He stepped forward without a word, moving toward the main platform where the trial's officiants and high elders waited.
The crowd slowly exhaled.
Voices remained hushed—low murmurs filled with awe and wonder.
A young villager whispered, barely above breath:
"He's exactly as they said… like a spirit in human form."
Another nodded beside her, eyes still fixed on the young master's retreating figure.
"Graceful, distant… like he doesn't belong to this world."
An elder nearby added, voice rough with age but steady with certainty:
"He is the heir of the Shuilan Clan—raised in quiet solitude, trained beyond words, and touched by a power that few can understand."
As Xuan Luo took his place among the judges, Lin Shen and Mu Fan scanned the crowd, eyes sharp.
Lin Shen's lips curled into a knowing grin.
"Bet my cousin's late again. Always the same story."
Mu Fan shook his head with a smile.
"He didn't even stick around for the Young Master's arrival. Funny, since he seemed so eager to see him."
Lin Shen chuckled—a warm, teasing sound.
"Maybe all those rumors got to him. Scared him off."
Mu Fan glanced around.
"Think he even bothered to register?"
Lin Shen laughed—a warm, teasing sound.
"Ran away before the show even started."
They exchanged amused glances, the tension easing in their shared humor.
What they didn't know was that Lin Ye was at his uncle's house, lounging lazily on the wooden porch.
When his uncle caught sight of the time, he didn't hesitate—sneaking up behind Lin Ye.
Suddenly—pinch!
"Did you register your name?" his uncle demanded, voice sharp but full of amusement.
"Ow—ow, ow! Uncle Qingshan! Mercy!"
Lin Ye yelped, squirming as his uncle tugged his ear with practiced precision.
"I was just about to! No need to pull my ears off!"
Lin Ye protested, rubbing his ear like a sulking child.
"It's not even late yet!"
His uncle's grin deepened.
"I know that's why I registered you myself. Now get going—before I have to chase you there."
Lin Ye let out a dramatic cough, gave a sly smirk, and sprang to his feet, throwing a playful glance over his shoulder.
"No need to twist my ears, I'm already halfway there!" he called.
Then he broke into a sprint, laughter trailing behind him as he vanished toward the trial grounds—completely unaware that Xuan Luo had already arrived.