The world did not announce turning points with thunder or light. It preferred subtler cruelties—whispers behind silk sleeves, expectations pressed gently against a child's spine, and a sky so clear it made no promises at all. Beneath that indifferent blue, within the grand awakening hall of the Heavenly Meridian Pavilion, countless lives waited to be measured and found wanting. Some would leave with tears staining their sleeves, others with pride sharp enough to draw blood, and a very few with futures heavy enough to bend the heavens themselves. As for Li Yuan, standing silently at the center of it all, he understood one thing with unsettling clarity: this moment would decide nothing—only reveal how the world intended to treat him for the next ten years. - The ForgottenBlade_Ace
The sun stood high, yet not at its zenith—tilted slightly westward, casting elongated shadows across the mountains of the Eastern Wilderness Continent. Clouds stretched thin and pale across the sky, pulled into long wisps by a high-altitude wind that carried the faint scent of ozone and incense. The light that filtered through them was cool, restrained—illuminating the vast Mountain Ranges without warmth, without mercy. The air carried a faint pressure, subtle yet undeniable, the kind that made even seasoned cultivators unconsciously regulate their breathing.
The wind whispered.
Not cold.
Not warm.
It carried expectation.
Below that vast sky stood the Heavenly Meridian Pavilion, carved into the spine of the Meridian Peaks. From afar, it resembled a colossal celestial instrument—terraces layered like rings, formations etched into jade-white stone, silver ley lines pulsing faintly beneath the surface.
At its heart lay the Heavenly Meridian Awakening Hall.
Within the hall, tens of thousands stood.
Stone pillars carved with meridian diagrams rose like the spines of ancient beasts, supporting a domed ceiling etched with constellations so old their names had long since eroded into myth. Astral lamps hovered in fixed formation, their glow steady and cold, illuminating ranks of cultivators, elders, clan heirs, sect disciples, merchants, and observers from across the Eastern Wilderness Continent..
The hall was circular, spanning nearly three thousand meters across. Its ground was forged from black starstone, smooth and reflective, veined with mysterious glyphs that converged at the center where the Astral Awakening Stone Stood.
This was not merely a ceremony.
It was an accounting.
At the center of the hall stood the Awakening Steele—a massive crystalline monolith embedded in a circular dais of black starstone. Its surface was smooth and translucent yet dark, as if the night sky itself had been condensed into solid form. Within it, veins of dormant light coiled within it like sleeping serpents.
Around the Stele stood hundreds of children, all between seven and eight years of age, arranged in disciplined rows.
Most wore plain ceremonial robes—pale blue, white, or light grey—indicating common disciples or unaffiliated families.
One by one, children were called forward.
Some walked with trembling steps. Others with forced confidence. Many did not return with their heads held high.
A boy collapsed to his knees, face pale, tears streaking down his cheeks as the stone remained dull. His mother sobbed openly. His father stared ahead, jaw clenched, hands shaking beneath his sleeves.
A girl screamed in joy as a faint glow emerged—Low Grade. Enough to change her fate. Enough to live.
Laughter followed elsewhere. Soft, indulgent. Cruel.
Yet a young boy watched all of it in silence.
He stood among the final group, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight but unassuming. His robe—deep indigo edged with faint silver meridian lines—marked him unmistakably as a member of the Heavenly Meridian Pavilion.
Unlike the others, his sleeves were unadorned. No talismans. No protective charms. No displays.
His hair fell down his back in a smooth curtain of glossy black, tied loosely with a simple jade clasp. Only those who knew him well would notice the faint strands of grey buried close to his scalp—unnatural, subtle, easy to miss.
His face was calm. Too calm.
Sharp brows. Narrow eyes the color of storm-shadowed steel. A youthful face that did not match the weight behind his gaze.
Fear was loud, he thought. Expectation louder. Desperation… deafening. His eyes observing the murmurs*,* the shifting gazes*,* the hostile undercurrents*.*
Good then, loud people make mistakes.
Around him, whispers bloomed like rot.
"When is going to be his turn?"
"Grandson of the Pavilion Master… surely—"
"Even heaven tires of favoritism."
A low chuckle rippled through a cluster of pale-gold robed youths to the east.
At their center stood Yan Hongrui.
The twelfth son of the Sunflame Emperor stood with his chin lifted slightly, hands folded behind his back in a posture that spoke of practiced superiority. His robe shimmered faintly—pale gold embroidered with sun sigils that caught the astral light and reflected it outward.
A crimson jade pendant hung at his waist, carved into the shape of a raven mid-descent.
His features were sharp, handsome in a commanding way. Straight nose.
Thin lips curled into an amused smile. Eyes alight with restrained fire.
Behind him stood several youths—disciples from the Crimson Gale Manor, a few prodigies from minor clans—clustered close, their expressions mirroring his own.
"So that's the Pavilion Master's grandson? Li Yuan?" he said casually, voice carrying. "He looks… ordinary."
Soft laughter rippled behind him.
Li Yuan simply stood unconcerned, he felt no nervousness.
No anticipation.
Only calculation.
Awakening is not fate..., he reminded himself.
It is exposure.
His eyes lazily drifted briefly to Yan Hongrui.
An idiot, he decided calmly.
Imaginary rival. Loud mouth. Borrowed confidence.
Li Yuan looked away.
Yan Hongrui noticed.
His smile stiffened.
Li Yuan casually lifted up his head, looking towards the people sitted on the higher dais of the hall.
Members of the Heavenly Meridian Pavilion wore flowing robes of deep indigo, edged with fine silver meridian lines that shimmered faintly as Astral Yuan Qi moved through the air. Their expressions were calm, composed, aloof.
Their elders wore purple robes, darker and heavier in tone, each cinched with a jade belt engraved with Sky Patterns—one pattern for lower elders, increasing in number with rank.
Not far from the Pavilion platform sat representatives of the Mu Hidden Clan.
A major power.
Ancient.
Reclusive.
Feared.
The men wore ash-grey robes, the women midnight violet, their sleeves long, their expressions unreadable.
Their presence was subtle—like shadows pressed against the edge of perception.
At their forefront stood a man with sharp features and calm eyes.
Mu Qingchai.
Li Yuan's second maternal uncle.
His mother's Second elder brother.
His fingers were clasped behind his back, posture composed—but his gaze lingered on the children longer than necessary.
Three Mu descendants stood among the participants.
They had come to compete.
To test themselves.
To measure against other prodigies, especially Li Yuan .
At an adjacent spot stood members clad in pale blue sword robes, blades never far from reach. The Cloudstep Sword Sect, their expressions were proud, restrained, eyes sharp with obsession toward purity of technique.
Further ahead sat the Iron Mountain Sect.
Men and women built like fortresses.
Robes of brown and brass, sleeves rolled back to reveal arms corded with muscle, veins like steel cables beneath skin. Their gazes were blunt, unrefined.
"Steel blocks with meat heads," as called by Li Yuan.
To the far left—
The Crimson Gale Manor.
Wind-based cultivators.
Sharp tongues.
Sharper eyes.
And Faster Legs for escaping trouble.
Their robes were crimson trimmed with silver, light and flowing. Their smiles were thin. Their gazes lingered too long on the pavilion platform.
An elder of the Heavenly Meridian Pavilion stepped forward, purple robes billowing softly.
"Let the Awakening Ceremony commence."
The plaza fell into silence.
Wind whispered.
The Stele pulsed.
And heaven watched.
*RUSTLE.....WHISH*
The wind shifted.
Not strongly—just enough to carry whispers more clearly.
The Astral Awakening Stele hummed, its surface rippling like water disturbed by a stone. The faint star-like lights within it drifted faster now, as if responding to the anticipation saturating the hall.
Children stepped forward one by one.
A hand pressed to the Stele.
A pulse.
A manifestation.
And judgment.
"Low grade—Pot Lid Battle Soul."
A dull bronze disc flickered above a boy's head before dissolving into mist.
The boy's face went white.
Behind him, his mother clutched her chest, lips trembling, eyes wet.
A few soft sighs rose from the crowd. Others looked away.
Low grade.
Useful only for survival.
A life measured in mediocrity.
"Low grade—Chopping Board."
Another child stumbled back, shoulders shaking as snickers rippled from certain corners.
From the Crimson Gale Manor's platform, a young man scoffed openly.
"Honestly," he muttered, "why even allow these people to attend?"
A sect elder frowned but said nothing.
"Mid grade—Grey Wolf."
Cheers erupted.
The boy straightened instantly, tears forgotten, eyes blazing with hope. His father laughed loudly, slapping his thigh.
Mid grade.
A path forward.
A chance.
Li Yuan watched it all with quiet eyes.
Hope is cheap, he thought.
It's sold here in measured portions.
Another child stepped forward.
"Mid grade—Iron Willow."
Applause.
Then—
Silence.
A girl from a lesser clan placed her trembling palm against the Stele.
Nothing happened.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Her face drained of color.
A low murmur spread.
"She's crippled…"
"Such a pity…"
Her father clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles bled.
Finally, the Stele dimmed.
"No Battle Soul."
The girl collapsed to her knees, sobbing.
Her future ended in a sentence.
Li Yuan exhaled slowly.
This world is honest, he thought.
It doesn't lie about cruelty. Only people do.