Inscribing the Heavens

Chapter 3: The Gathering at the Cloud-Stele

Three days passed in the blink of an eye, yet inside the quiet courtyard of the Eastern Medicine Pavilion, those three days had quietly rewritten a destiny.

The dawn mist of Border Cloud City carried the bite of late autumn, clinging like frost-spun silk to the high eaves of Canglan Academy. Down in the valley, the Central Martial Square was already a sea of emerald-robed outer disciples and silver-trimmed inner disciples. Today was the triennial Autumn Assessment—the trial that determined who advanced into the inner sanctum and who had their disciple tokens stripped, cast back into the mortal dust.

Among the thousands gathered, excited murmurs fluttered like dry leaves in an autumn gale.

"Look, that’s Senior Sister Chu Qingxuan! Just seventeen years of age, yet she has already cultivated the Frost Lotus Sword Art to the peak of the Sixth Layer of Qi Condensation!"

"Peerless... truly the number one jade beauty of our frontier. The heirs of the four great clans have worn down the Chu Clan’s thresholds with gifts, yet not one has ever earned a smile from her."

On a high viewing pavilion stood a young maiden draped in snow-white silk lined with silver embroidery. Chu Qingxuan was seventeen, endowed with skin like cold suet jade, lips tinted the shade of winter cherries, and eyes clear and frigid as glacial springs. A slender sword in a scabbard of Millennium Cold Jade hung at her waist, exuding ribbons of pale azure mist. Her beauty was an aloof, untouchable grace that commanded pure reverence. Around her stood several senior disciples, puffing their chests to display their poise and lineage, hoping to catch even an idle glance from the academy’s icy fairy.

Not far away, beneath the Murong clan’s banner, Murong Feng stood clad in sapphire robes. At eighteen years of age, he possessed sharp, aristocratic features, straight brows resembling drawn daggers, and a proud bearing that drew giggles and adoring glances from younger female disciples.

"Brother Feng is so handsome and dignified," whispered an outer court maiden, cheeks flushed crimson. "At only eighteen, he is already at the peak of the Fifth Layer of Qi Condensation. He looks like an immortal prince descended to earth."

Murong Feng heard the praise and smiled faintly, flicking dust from his silken sleeve. His vanity was stroked, yet his gaze lingered covetously upon Chu Qingxuan’s distant silhouette. For years, he had regarded her as the only woman worthy of standing at his side. But when his eyes swept across the square, a venomous sneera twisted his handsome face.

"Has that trash Lu Chen shown himself yet?" Murong Feng muttered, resting his hand on the hilt of his Frost-Biting Sword. "If he hides in his medicine garden today, the elders will strike his name from the registry before noon."

"He wouldn't dare show his face, Brother Feng," sneered Liu Tao, a sycophantic disciple beside him. "That sluggard is seventeen and hasn't condensed a single drop of true Qi. Three days ago, he only puffed out his chest because that brute Kuang Yan intervened. Without Kuang Yan, he wouldn't survive three breaths in your hands!"

Just then, a rhythmic tremor rattled the flagstones of the northern walkway.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The disciples near the entrance parted with hurried gasps. Striding into the square was a mountain of a youth. Kuang Yan stood nearly eight feet tall, broad as an ox, his bare bronze arms corded with thick muscle. At eighteen, his wild black hair was tied back with rough hemp, and an enormous heavy iron broadsword hung across his broad back. The raw, primal aura radiating from him pressed down on the crowd like a boulder.

Yet, all eyes almost instantly bypassed Kuang Yan to fix upon the youth strolling leisurely at his side.

A sudden hush fell over the square.

"Wait... who is that beside Kuang Yan?"

"Is that... Lu Chen?!"

Walking calmly beside Kuang Yan was Lu Chen. He wore only a clean azure robe devoid of clan crests, yet the aura around him seemed to separate him from the mundane world. At seventeen years old, his appearance was marked by an ethereal, breathtaking elegance. His jet-black hair flowed loosely over his shoulders, held by a simple ribbon. His facial features seemed sculpted by a divine brush—high brow, straight nose, and dark obsidian eyes that held the tranquility of an ancient well. His skin was pale and radiant, lustrous as polished jade, untouched by mortal blemishes.

There was no swagger in his step, no arrogance like that of the clan scions. Yet as he walked with hands tucked in his wide sleeves, a breezy, transcendent grace accompanied him, as though mountain winds themselves parted for his passage.

Several female disciples who had been fawning over Murong Feng moments before fell silent, their eyes widening in admiration.

"He... he is that 'sluggard' Lu Chen?" one girl whispered, clutching her friend’s sleeve, heart fluttering. "I heard he was a useless sleeper for three years, but how can he be so handsome? Even noble lords from the capital cannot match such grace..."

"Looks are useless without martial strength," an envious youth muttered through gritted teeth. "A pretty face cannot parry a blade!"

High on the pavilion, Chu Qingxuan felt a faint ripple disturb her icy composure. Her cool eyes paused on the azure-robed youth. In her memory, Lu Chen was merely a quiet disciple who slept under the weeping willow. But today, the effortless balance of his stride and the fathomless stillness in his gaze made her heart stir.

His breathing aligns perfectly with the wind, she thought, a slender brow arching. Can someone truly unawakened move with such natural Dao rhythm?

Murong Feng’s jaw tightened. Seeing the admiring stares of the disciples—and worse, catching Chu Qingxuan’s lingering gaze on Lu Chen—ignited a blaze of jealousy in his chest. In status and cultivation, Murong Feng had always felt superior. Yet standing across from Lu Chen, his own groomed nobility suddenly felt shallow and painted, dwarfed by Lu Chen’s effortless immortal demeanor.

"Lu Chen!" Murong Feng barked, his voice carrying biting frost Qi. "You actually had the nerve to crawl out of the Eastern Medicine Pavilion! I assumed you would break your own legs to evade today's trial."

Lu Chen halted, casting a calm, half-lidded glance at Murong Feng. A faint, amused smile touched his lips.

"Elder Brother Murong speaks with such eagerness," Lu Chen said, his tone clear as mountain water flowing over jade. "The autumn air is crisp and refreshing. Why carry such heavy venom before the sun has even crested the peaks?"

"Venom?" Murong Feng sneered, stepping forward. "The rules of Canglan Academy are ironclad. Those who fail to reach the First Layer of Qi Condensation by age seventeen must surrender their jade badges and be expelled. You have wasted academy resources for three whole years. Today, everyone will witness you crawling back to the mortal dust!"

Kuang Yan took a heavy step forward, cracking the stone beneath his boot. His bronze eyes flared. "Murong Feng, your mouth stinks worse than a swamp viper! If you want to talk about expulsion, step onto the stage with your grandfather Kuang right now! Let’s see if my iron blade or your clan’s frost sword breaks first!"

Murong Feng’s followers shrank back under Kuang Yan’s terrifying presence.

"Silence! All of you, stand down!"

A stern voice boomed across the square. From the grand podium, Instructor Zhao marched forward with grey-robed elders from the Discipline Hall. Zhao’s Fifth Layer Qi Condensation pressure descended, quelling the commotion.

"Today is the triennial Autumn Assessment," Zhao declared. "Private brawls will be punished with thirty lashes of the Soul-Scourge Whip! If you have grudges, settle them upon the martial ring under academy law!"

Zhao glanced toward Lu Chen with obvious disdain. To an instructor whose prestige depended on nurturing prodigies, an unawakened seventeen-year-old was worthless baggage.

"The assessment consists of two trials," Zhao announced. "The first trial is the Stele of Heaven's Gauge! It measures spiritual purity, meridian capacity, and Qi foundation depth. Those below the First Layer fail immediately and leave Canglan today! The second trial is the Martial Ring, where inner court rankings are decided."

At the center of the square stood an ancient thirty-foot monolith carved from celestial obsidian—the Stele of Heaven's Gauge. Etched across its surface were nine concentric runic rings that ignited to display cultivation realm and meridian quality.

"Let the assessment commence!" Zhao bellowed. "Outer court disciples, step forward!"

Disciples stepped onto the platform one by one with trembling hands.

"Outer Disciple Wang Lin! First Layer Qi Condensation, Low-Grade Spirit Meridian—Passed!"

"Outer Disciple Han Feng! Unawakened... Failed! Badge confiscated!" The youth broke into tears as enforcers stripped his robes of the academy crest.

"Next! Murong Clan, Murong Feng!" Zhao’s voice softened respectfully.

Murong Feng smirked with aristocratic pride. He adjusted his sapphire robes, cast a mocking glare at Lu Chen, and strode onto the elevated platform. Basking in the cheers and starry-eyed gazes of the crowd, he placed his right palm firmly against the obsidian stele.

HUMMM—!

Glacial radiance exploded from the stele’s base. One ring... two rings... three... four... five!

Five brilliant rings of azure light blazed across the monolith. At the sixth ring, faint frost runes flickered. A chilling mist spilled off the stone, dropping the temperature until frost glazed the nearby flagstones.

"Murong Feng! Peak of the Fifth Layer of Qi Condensation! Mid-Grade Frost Spiritual Meridian!" Instructor Zhao cried out in delight. "Magnificent! At only eighteen years of age, your frost Qi rivals inner court seniors!"

The crowd erupted in thunderous praise.

"Fifth Layer peak! He's a true dragon of our frontier!"

"He will surely be taken as a direct disciple by an Elder!"

Murong Feng withdrew his palm, savoring the glory. Rather than stepping down, he stood tall on the dais, pointing a condescending finger straight down at Lu Chen.

"Lu Chen," Murong Feng called out, his voice ringing over the crowd. "It is your turn. Come up here and show everyone what three years under that willow tree produced! Or do you need Kuang Yan to lift your hand to the stone?"

Jeering laughter broke out among Murong Feng’s lackeys.

Kuang Yan’s knuckles popped as his grip tightened on his broadsword, but Lu Chen reached out, gently tapping his sworn brother's shoulder.

"No need to argue with a crow," Lu Chen said softly, untroubled. "A crow croaks loudest when it fears the dawn."

With calm, unhurried strides, Lu Chen walked toward the center of the square.

The sea of disciples parted before him. As he walked, the morning sun finally broke through the clouds, bathing his azure robes and handsome, serene face in radiant golden light. His posture was effortless, possessing an innate dignity that caused several elders on the high dais to narrow their eyes in curiosity.

Deep inside his consciousness, the Wordless Heavenly Scripture spun silently. Its starlit pages turned, resonating with the Primordial Dao Origin Bloodline coursing through his newly opened meridians.

Lu Chen came to a stop before the towering Stele of Heaven's Gauge.

Instructor Zhao crossed his arms, his tone frosty. "Lu Chen, place your palm upon the stone. Channel whatever trace of Qi you have. Do not waste the elders' time."

High above on the terrace, Chu Qingxuan leaned slightly forward, her cold, lovely eyes fixed intently upon the azure-robed youth below.

Lu Chen raised his right hand. His fingers were slender, pale, and fair as carved white jade, devoid of calluses, like the hand of a celestial scholar.

Without hesitation, he pressed his palm against the ancient obsidian stone.