The Outer Training Grounds only opened at night.
Not because daylight was dangerous—but because visibility bred witnesses, and witnesses bred disputes.
Shen Yuan arrived after the third bell.
The grounds lay beneath the academy like a scar: uneven stone platforms, shattered pillars from old formations, cultivation grooves worn deep by desperate repetition. Moonlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling, pale and cold.
No elders.
Only shadows.
Tier Three provisionals gathered in loose clusters, each guarding a space as if territory mattered here. Shen Yuan chose a broken platform near the far wall—close to an old, half-collapsed array pillar.
He sat.
Closed his eyes.
The microfracture in his left arm channel throbbed faintly, like a reminder etched into flesh.
He circulated his cultivation slowly.
Too slowly for growth.
Just enough for maintenance.
Nearby, a girl cried out as her technique rebounded violently. No one helped. A boy laughed when his flame sputtered and burned his own sleeve.
This was not a place to improve.
It was a place to not fall behind too fast.
Shen Yuan opened his eyes.
The shard stirred.
Not warmth.
Not guidance.
A sensation like pressure behind the eyes—then a faint overlay appeared over the ruined pillar.
Cracks aligned.
Old grooves intersected.
An array.
Incomplete.
But familiar.
Not to him.
To the shard.
Shen Yuan stood and approached, careful not to draw attention. He brushed dust from the stone with his sleeve.
The lines were wrong by modern standards—too inefficient, too crude.
But they were layered.
Someone had carved a newer suppression array over an older one.
The shard pulsed once.
Remove restraint.
Accept backlash.
Shen Yuan hesitated.
Backlash meant injury.
Injury meant slower progress.
But staying here meant stagnation.
He knelt.
Using a chipped stone, he scraped away a single intersecting line—just enough to break the newer array's dominance.
The ground shuddered.
A pulse of mixed spiritual energy surged outward, uneven and wild.
Shen Yuan gritted his teeth and drew it in.
Pain exploded through his fractured channel.
Blood flooded his mouth.
He nearly blacked out.
But beneath the pain—
Something else.
The older array awakened.
Not power.
Efficiency.
The chaotic energy smoothed slightly, aligning into a pattern that bypassed his damaged channel—circulating through secondary paths most cultivators ignored.
His cultivation did not rise.
But it stabilized.
Hardened.
When the surge faded, Shen Yuan collapsed onto the stone, gasping.
Footsteps approached.
He rolled onto his side, forcing his breathing to steady.
Two figures stood nearby—outer disciples, Tier Two.
One frowned at the damaged pillar. "Wasn't broken yesterday."
The other sniffed the air. "Someone triggered an old array."
Their gazes fell on Shen Yuan.
He wiped blood from his lip lazily. "It cracked on its own."
The first disciple sneered. "You think we're stupid?"
Shen Yuan met his eyes.
"No," he said hoarsely. "I think you don't care."
A pause.
Then laughter.
"Fair," the second disciple said. "Come on. If he dies, discipline asks questions."
They walked away.
Shen Yuan lay there until the pain dulled.
Inside him, the shard was quiet.
Not pleased.
Not displeased.
Recording.
That night, his cultivation realm did not advance.
But something fundamental shifted.
He had found a broken path—one the academy did not monitor, one that punished greed and rewarded restraint.
A path unsuitable for geniuses.
Perfect for survivors.
Far above, in a silent hall, Elder Han paused mid-inscription.
"An anomaly in the outer grounds," he murmured.
Then he wrote nothing.