The vast arena of the Golden Sparrow Guild fell into silence as Elder Ji Han stepped forward, his robe trailing like a streak of storm clouds over stone. The old man's presence carried the quiet authority of a mountain — unmoving, eternal, and dangerous if provoked. Every movement of his body, every subtle shift of his robes, radiated calm control, as though the stone beneath his feet itself obeyed him.
Even the chatter of hundreds of candidates dimmed when he raised his hand. A faint ripple of qi pressure spread outward from his palm, brushing through the crowd like a cold breeze, carrying with it a subtle warning: the world this day would not yield to hesitation.
"The test of Qi is complete," he announced. His voice was calm but cut through the air like tempered steel, leaving no room for doubt. "Now begins the true trial. The trial that decides who among you will have the honor to step into the gates of the Golden Sparrow Guild as disciples."
The words sank deep, vibrating through every heart present. Lu Mao felt it in his chest — a subtle tightening, a mixture of adrenaline and focus. The air seemed to thicken, saturated with the raw hunger and nervous anticipation of hundreds of youths. He could see it in the eyes of the candidates: some shining with confidence, others clouded with doubt, and many flickering between fear and ambition.
"The Trial of Skill."
Even the air seemed to constrict at the utterance, as though holding its breath for the chaos to come.
Ji Han continued, his voice low but deliberate. "There are five hundred and fifty-three of you. You will form groups of five — a total of one hundred and ten teams. Each team will have to compete for the Red Fire Orbs scattered across Sparrow City."
A holographic projection shimmered into existence beside him, hovering like a constellation in the morning light. The city layout materialized in faint golden lines, and red pulses flickered at scattered points — the locations of the coveted Red Fire Orbs. Some floated atop towers, some nestled in courtyards, others disappeared into shadows along alleyways.
"There are only thirty orbs. Each orb is guarded by one of our senior disciples. You may defeat them…" His voice dropped an octave, tinged with the faintest trace of amusement. "…or you may steal the orb from their grasp. Whichever method you use, only the team that delivers the orb to me — here, at the gathering ground — will pass this trial."
A ripple of murmurs surged through the candidates, clashing like waves against rocks. Five hundred and fifty-three hopefuls, yet only thirty teams would survive.
"Defeat or steal?" one voice whispered, almost in disbelief.
"Against senior disciples? Are they serious?" another muttered.
"That's impossible!" a third exclaimed, tone trembling with a mix of awe and panic.
Lu Mao's gaze stayed sharp, fixed on Ji Han. The elder's face remained unreadable, the calm mask hiding centuries of knowledge, experience, and perhaps the occasional amusement at youthful hubris. Lu Mao knew immediately — this trial was more than physical strength. It would test intelligence, strategy, patience, and the subtle art of observation.
"If this seems unfair to you, you are free to leave now," Ji Han added, almost lazily, his calmness only magnifying the weight of his words. "The path of a cultivator was never meant for those who seek fairness."
Even the murmurs were silenced. Candidates straightened, some squaring their shoulders, others biting their lips. Lu Mao felt the tension thick around him like mist clinging to a mountainside.
He understood the truth immediately: this trial was not a measure of strength alone, but of adaptability. In the field, there would be no structure, no rules, no room for error. Teams that failed to think, that faltered under pressure, would vanish. The guild sought survivors, not just warriors.
"You have thirty minutes to form your teams," Ji Han boomed again, voice carrying to the far edges of the arena. "Those who fail to do so… will be eliminated."
The arena erupted into chaos. Candidates surged forward, colliding in the rush to secure allies. Names were shouted, bargains made, promises of protection and cunning, and occasionally outright lies.
"Join me! I'm a spear cultivator — we need a support-type!"
"Anyone from the Iron Wolf tribe? We have three already!"
"Qi level red! Looking for defensive cultivators!"
Lu Mao's eyes scanned the mass of activity like a predator observing prey. He noted patterns forming almost instinctively. High-Qi candidates clustered like stars, their confidence radiating arrogance. Those with mediocre or low Qi scurried, often desperate, often overlooked, trying to secure even a single advantage before time ran out.
Beside him, Yan Mei adjusted her gloves with quiet precision. The morning light caught the edge of her braid, her eyes shimmering faintly beneath the shadow of her hood. Her aura radiated calm, almost like water pooling in a still basin, yet there was an undercurrent of sharpness that made her presence feel formidable.
She turned to him, voice soft but commanding. "I want to be a part of your group. Is that all right?"
Lu Mao blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Of course."
Her decision wasn't just a gesture of partnership — it was strategic. Her high Qi level would bolster the team, giving them an edge in calculations and confrontations alike. In a trial where every orb and every second mattered, Yan Mei's choice was an unspoken recognition of his potential to lead.
While he pondered whom to approach next, a squeaky, wheezing voice cut through the clamor.
"Can I possibly join this fairy's team?"
Lu Mao turned. A round-faced boy waddled forward, jiggling slightly with each step. His robes were tight at the seams, a jingling talisman pouch bouncing at his belt. "I… I promise I won't fail you!" he said, puffing his chest. "I swear on the heavens themselves, my princess!"
Yan Mei froze mid-motion, blinking in complete confusion. Lu Mao couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Princess?" he repeated softly.
"I am Bao Fu," the boy declared, striking an unnecessarily dramatic pose. "Trap setter extraordinaire! Perhaps my size belies my skills, but my cunning is unmatched!"
Before Yan Mei could recover, a tall, lean voice called from the side, cutting through the laughter.
"Bao Fu, you're only asking because she has a high Qi level, you greedy pig. You couldn't trap a chicken if it stood still for you."
Lu Mao turned to see a tall youth, long black hair tied neatly, robes polished and flowing as if they had been brushed by wind itself. His eyes were sharp, calculating, a faint smile playing across his lips.
"Please include me in your team instead of this… ball of meat," he said, bowing with mock elegance. "I don't just eat, I deliver results."
Bao Fu's face flushed a deep red. "Chen Yuan! Stop following me everywhere, you moron!"
"It's the other way around!" Chen Yuan snapped. The argument had rhythm, a sort of unrefined harmony that drew sidelong glances from nearby candidates, some stifling laughter.
Lu Mao rubbed his temple, trying to hide his amusement. Yan Mei, for her part, struggled not to break into laughter at the absurdity, her composure strained just slightly by the unfolding farce.
Before the bickering could escalate further, another figure stepped forward — calm, tall, broad-shouldered. His skin tanned, his eyes steady, his blade sheathed across his back as if waiting patiently for use.
"Can I join you too?" the newcomer said simply. "I'm Marco."
Lu Mao studied him briefly. There was an ease in the way Marco carried himself, a quiet confidence that did not need declaration. He nodded once, approving.
Marco returned the gesture with a calm, silent acknowledgment.
Bao Fu puffed his chest again. "Ha! See? They accepted me too!"
"You whined," Chen Yuan muttered.
Yan Mei exhaled softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "All right. We have five."
Lu Mao took a moment to observe his companions:
• Yan Mei — calm, precise, her aura sharp yet fluid, each movement deliberate.
• Bao Fu — chaotic, loud, and perhaps far more capable than he appeared.
• Chen Yuan — proud, quick-tempered, but undeniably skilled.
• Marco — silent, grounded, a balance of patience and strength.
It was an unusual team, unbalanced on paper, yet alive with energy and potential.
The sun rose higher. Elder Ji Han's voice boomed across the arena:
"Time's up. Teams that have not yet formed are eliminated. The Trial of Skill begins… now."
The bronze gates around Sparrow City groaned as they opened, revealing the labyrinthine streets, alleys, courtyards, and towers that awaited the candidates. The scent of dust, burnt wood, and distant incense carried into the arena, tingling against the skin.
Red sparks ignited across the city like shooting stars — the Red Fire Orbs, each hiding behind stone, wood, shadow, and senior disciples alike.
Teams surged forward, a river of movement and qi. Cultivators sprinted, leaped, summoned weapons, and sent their qi blazing in bursts of color across the cityscape.
Lu Mao's gaze swept the chaos, sharp and calculating. "Looks like the hunt begins," he murmured.
Yan Mei's lips curved faintly, calm but resolute. "Let's make sure it ends with us."
He nodded once, feeling the familiar thrill of calculated danger coursing through him.
The Trial of Skill had begun. Alliances would be tested. Rivalries forged. And somewhere beneath the storm of motion, the faintest glimpse of true strength would emerge.
Lu Mao's smirk was quiet, but full of intent. "Let's see who survives Sparrow City… and who doesn't."
The gates closed behind them with a deafening clang, and the game — the hunt — was officially underway.