The third terrace had no formations.
No pressure.
No stones.
It was simply a wide, empty platform overlooking the lower slopes of Cloudfall Mountain. The mist was thinner here, drifting lazily across open space. A few wooden benches lined the edges, but most candidates were left standing without instruction.
Yan Xuan noticed that immediately.
This was not an oversight.
An elder in plain robes stepped forward and spoke only once.
"Wait."
Nothing more.
No time limit.No clarification.No explanation.
The elder stepped back, folded his sleeves, and closed his eyes.
Silence followed.
At first, the candidates stood patiently. Some exchanged glances, unsure whether they were meant to cultivate, meditate, or simply endure. Minutes passed. The mountain breeze stirred robes and hair.
Then impatience began to surface.
One young man sat down cross-legged and began circulating Qi openly, face tightening with effort. Another followed, clearly afraid of wasting time. A third paced back and forth, muttering under his breath.
Yan Xuan did none of that.
He stood where he had been placed, weight balanced, breathing steady. His attention remained outward, not probing inward, not seeking response.
Waiting required no effort.
Only restraint.
After half an hour, the first cultivator groaned and coughed, Qi circulation stuttering. His face paled.
An attendant approached silently and guided him away.
Others followed.
Some tried to correct mistakes mid-circulation, forcing Qi harder in desperation. The result was predictable. They left, frustrated and confused, never told what they had done wrong.
Yan Xuan watched calmly.
So this was the final filter.
Not talent.Not strength.
Control.
An hour passed.
Then another.
Yan Xuan felt hunger. He noted it, adjusted posture slightly, and ignored it. His body remained quiet. Qi stayed dormant.
At some point, he sensed eyes on him.
The elder had opened one eye, gaze resting on Yan Xuan without expression.
Yan Xuan did not react.
Eventually, the elder stood.
"Enough," he said.
Those remaining—fewer than twenty—looked up.
The elder's gaze swept across them.
"Discipline is not action," he said. "It is knowing when not to act."
His eyes paused on Yan Xuan.
"You," the elder said. "How long were you prepared to wait?"
Yan Xuan answered honestly. "Until instructed otherwise."
A faint ripple passed through the elders present.
The elder nodded once.
"That," he said, "is sufficient."
By sunset, the results were finalized.
Names were recorded. Tokens distributed. Robes assigned.
Yan Xuan received a simple wooden plaque marked with his name and rank.
Outer Disciple — Cloudfall Sect
No applause.No ceremony.
Just confirmation.
As the newly accepted disciples were led down toward the lower residences, Yan Xuan glanced once at the upper tiers of the mountain, where mist concealed structures of greater importance.
He felt no ambition stirring.
Only assessment.
This sect was orderly. Efficient. Cold in its own way.
That made it usable.
Yan Xuan followed the others toward the outer disciple quarters, wooden plaque cool in his hand.
He had entered Cloudfall Sect not by standing out—
…but by knowing exactly when to remain still.
And for now, that was enough.