Cloudfall Mountain came into view at dawn.
It did not rise sharply from the land. Instead, it unfolded in layers—terraces of stone and forest stacked one above another, as if the mountain itself had been shaped to test patience rather than strength. Mist clung to the upper tiers, thin but persistent, blurring distance and height alike.
Yan Xuan slowed as he approached the outer grounds.
He felt it before he saw it.
Qi.
Denser than anywhere he had walked since leaving Blackstone Village. Not aggressive, not violent—just present, pressing evenly, like water rising around the ankles. His body responded automatically, posture aligning, muscles firming in quiet coordination.
Others did not fare as well.
The outer grounds were already crowded. Dozens of young cultivators stood scattered across the stone plaza, some shifting uncomfortably, others forcing slow breaths as they tried to circulate Qi too early. A few sat down outright, faces pale.
Yan Xuan observed without comment.
This pressure wasn't an attack.
It was a filter.
A bell rang—low, resonant.
Conversations died down.
A stone platform at the far end of the plaza illuminated faintly as formation lines activated beneath it. Several figures in Cloudfall Sect robes stepped forward, their expressions neutral, movements precise.
One of them spoke.
"Welcome to Cloudfall Sect's recruitment grounds," the disciple said, voice carrying clearly without strain. "If you are here, you believe you can walk the path of cultivation."
Yan Xuan's gaze remained steady.
"Belief is irrelevant," the disciple continued. "Only results matter."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"The first trial begins now," the disciple said. "Remain standing."
That was all.
No time limit announced.
No instructions beyond that.
Yan Xuan adjusted his stance slightly and settled.
The pressure increased.
Not suddenly—gradually, inexorably. Qi thickened, pressing down through skin and bone alike. Several candidates stiffened immediately, faces tightening as they forced circulation to compensate.
Yan Xuan did not.
He let the pressure distribute naturally, allowing his Body Tempering to absorb the load along reinforced joints and tendons. Breath slowed. Balance held.
Minutes passed.
One candidate dropped to a knee.
Then another.
Some gritted their teeth and pushed harder, veins standing out as Qi surged chaotically through unprepared meridians. The pressure punished them mercilessly. Two collapsed outright, carried away by sect attendants without ceremony.
Yan Xuan watched calmly.
So this was Cloudfall Sect's method.
They weren't looking for explosive potential.
They were eliminating instability.
The pressure continued to rise.
Yan Xuan felt it clearly now—his muscles working, bones bearing weight that no mortal body should have tolerated comfortably. A faint warmth flowed beneath the strain, reinforcing stress points exactly where needed.
Efficient.
Unnoticed.
He became aware of eyes on him.
An outer disciple near the platform frowned slightly, gaze lingering on Yan Xuan longer than the rest. Yan Xuan did nothing to acknowledge it.
Attention invited scrutiny.
Scrutiny invited cost.
Eventually, the pressure stopped increasing.
Another bell rang.
"Enough," the disciple said.
The formation dimmed.
Those still standing remained where they were. Less than half.
Yan Xuan exhaled slowly.
His body felt worked—but intact. No tremor. No lingering pain.
Around him, survivors exchanged glances, some relieved, some wary. More than a few looked at Yan Xuan with faint confusion.
He had not looked strained.
But he had not looked impressive either.
Good.
"The first trial tests endurance and stability," the disciple said. "Those who passed may proceed."
Attendants guided the remaining candidates toward the next terrace.
As Yan Xuan followed, he caught a fragment of quiet conversation behind him.
"Did you see that one?" someone whispered.
"Which?"
"The quiet one. He didn't circulate Qi at all."
Yan Xuan did not react.
Cloudfall Mountain rose ahead of him, tier by tier.
The first measurement had been taken.
And he had passed—not by standing out…
…but by fitting perfectly within the pressure.