The presence of the robed figures did not fade quickly.
Even after they disappeared beyond the inner gate, the town carried a subtle aftertaste of their passage. Conversations resumed, but more quietly. Movements became deliberate. The ordinary rhythm Chen Yu had grown used to over the past days bent slightly, as if adjusting around an unseen weight.
He felt it too.
Not fear.
Expectation.
That evening, the inn was fuller than usual.
Travellers from nearby villages had arrived, drawn by the same reason the robed figures had—though they would never admit it so plainly. Chen Yu sat near the edge of the room, nursing a bowl of thin broth while listening.
Words came easier now.
Not fluently, but enough to catch intent.
"…Outer instructors…"
"…tests, not fights…"
"…no age limit, but fate matters…"
The phrases drifted past him like fragments of a half-remembered song.
Shen Lu sat beside him, unusually quiet.
Chen Yu glanced at him. "They… always come?"
Shen Lu shook his head. "No. Once… maybe twice a year." He hesitated. "Sometimes less."
Chen Yu lowered his gaze to the bowl. "Then why now?"
Shen Lu did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was subdued. "Ruins breathe. Town listens."
That again.
Chen Yu nodded slowly, accepting it without pressing further.
The next morning, notices appeared.
They were simple wooden boards placed near the inner gate and the market square. No grand proclamations. No promises of glory. Just short lines carved cleanly, without ornament.
Shen Lu read one aloud for Chen Yu, tapping each line as he spoke.
"Entry assessment… three days… no weapons… no killing…"
He paused, then added quietly, "Failure… sent back. Whole."
Chen Yu absorbed this.
No mention of power.
No talk of transcendence.
Only endurance, restraint, and return.
That felt honest.
The assessment was not held in the town.
That alone discouraged many.
The location lay beyond the inner gate, along a stone road that climbed steadily toward the hills east of the ruins. Not forbidden territory—but close enough to remind everyone where boundaries truly lay.
On the first day, Chen Yu did not go.
Instead, he worked.
He helped repair a collapsed fence near the grain store. Assisted an old man in carrying water jars. Spent the afternoon copying characters under the elder's watchful eye.
Shen Lu observed him more than once, brows drawn together.
"You not curious?" Shen Lu asked finally.
Chen Yu considered the question.
"I am," he said honestly. "But curiosity that moves too fast breaks."
Shen Lu stared at him, then laughed softly. "You speak like old man already."
"Old men live longer," Chen Yu replied.
That earned him a sharper laugh.
On the second day, Chen Yu walked the road alone.
He did not cross the inner gate. He simply followed the stone path until the town was no longer visible, until the air thinned and the sounds of daily life fell away.
The land here was scarred subtly—old impact marks in stone, shallow trenches long since softened by wind and rain. Nothing dramatic.
Everything intentional.
Chen Yu crouched and pressed his palm to the ground.
No visions came.
No pressure gathered.
But he felt it—layers of use, of footsteps taken and erased, of decisions made and abandoned. This was not a road for triumph.
It was a road for sorting.
He stood and turned back.
Not yet.
On the third day, Shen Lu found him before dawn.
"You go today," Shen Lu said, not asking.
Chen Yu met his gaze. "Yes."
They walked together to the inner gate. Fewer people stood there now—some who had come earlier had already returned, expressions closed, futures quietly redirected.
A few did not return at all.
That absence carried its own weight.
At the gate, a woman in muted robes recorded names with a slender brush. She did not look up when Chen Yu stepped forward.
Shen Lu hesitated behind him.
Chen Yu turned. "Thank you," he said carefully.
Shen Lu waved it off, but his eyes were serious. "Do not chase. Let them see you."
Chen Yu nodded.
Then he stepped through.
The assessment ground lay within a natural basin surrounded by low stone ridges. No banners. No grand architecture. Just open space, marked by worn pillars that suggested long use.
Dozens had gathered—young and old, men and women, all standing apart, none speaking.
At the basin's centre stood three robed figures.
One of them—the same presence Chen Yu had sensed days before—raised a hand.
Silence deepened.
"Stand," the figure said calmly.
No introduction followed.
They waited.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
The sun climbed, heat pressing down. Some shifted. Others sat. A few left quietly, unable or unwilling to endure uncertainty.
Chen Yu remained standing.
He adjusted his breathing. Released tension. Let time pass through him instead of against him.
When his legs trembled, he allowed it.
When thirst rose, he acknowledged it.
He did not suppress.
He did not resist.
He endured.
When the figure spoke again, it was to gesture toward the basin's far edge.
"Walk," the figure said.
Nothing else.
The ground ahead was uneven, scattered with stones and shallow depressions. No obvious traps. No visible tests.
People moved cautiously.
One man rushed ahead, eager, confident.
He stumbled within ten steps, not from imbalance, but from misjudgment—his foot caught where the ground subtly shifted. He fell hard and did not rise again until attendants carried him away.
Chen Yu stepped forward only when space allowed.
He watched how others walked.
He adjusted his pace.
He noticed the way the ground yielded differently depending on pressure.
When he reached the far edge, he felt no triumph.
Only quiet confirmation.
At the basin's boundary, the robed figure studied him briefly.
No praise.
No recognition.
Just a single question, asked softly.
"Why are you here?"
Chen Yu did not answer immediately.
He thought of the ruins. The road. The town that breathed. The sealed fragments within him.
"I don't know," he said finally. "But I know I should not turn back yet."
The figure regarded him for a long moment.
Then nodded once.
"Wait."
Chen Yu stepped aside.
As dusk settled over the basin, fewer than half remained.
Chen Yu stood among them, silent, steady.
He had not joined anything.
Nothing had been promised.
Yet the path before him had narrowed.
And for the first time since leaving Earth—
He did not feel lost within it.
End of Chapter 10