The first challenge came without announcement.
It happened during morning training, when the air was still cool and the stone beneath their feet retained the night's chill. Outer disciples were scattered across the field, each assigned to a wooden post, repeating the same sequence of movements until their arms trembled and breath grew uneven.
Chen Yu was midway through a strike when a shadow fell across his space.
"Move."
The voice was calm, almost lazy.
Chen Yu paused and turned.
The disciple standing before him was taller, with sharp eyes and a faint, knowing smile. His robe was cleaner than most, the sleeves unfrayed. A narrow wooden token hung from his waist, carved with a number.
Chen Yu did not recognize the man, but he recognized the posture—someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"This position is already assigned," Chen Yu said.
The disciple glanced toward the edge of the field, where the inscribed boards stood. "Not according to contribution."
Several nearby disciples slowed their movements, listening without turning their heads.
Chen Yu followed the man's gaze. He understood immediately.
Numbers again.
"I was told to train here," Chen Yu replied.
"And now you're told otherwise." The disciple's smile widened slightly. "That's how it works."
A few breaths passed.
Chen Yu stepped aside.
Not because he was afraid—but because he was learning.
As he moved to a less favorable post, Jian appeared at his side, jaw tight. "That was Wu Shan," he muttered. "Ranked in the top thirty."
Chen Yu glanced back. Wu Shan had already begun training, movements crisp and unhurried.
"Does rank decide everything?" Chen Yu asked.
Jian snorted. "Not everything. Just enough."
Later that day, the numbers on the boards changed.
Not by much.
But enough to matter.
Whispers followed the adjustments.
"Wu Shan climbed again."
"He completed three tasks yesterday."
"Of course he did. Elder Han favors him."
"Then what's the point of training?"
The question went unanswered.
That afternoon, a notice was posted near the outer hall.
No ceremony. No elder present.
Just a wooden placard hammered into place.
Outer Disciples:
Rankings will be evaluated weekly.
Challenges are permitted.
Victors gain contribution.
Defeated lose it.
The crowd that gathered was quiet at first.
Then voices rose.
"Challenges?"
"So we can take points from each other?"
"What if someone refuses?"
A senior disciple, one Chen Yu had seen near the boards before, spoke without raising his voice. "Refusal counts as defeat."
The message settled heavily.
Jian swallowed. "So that's it."
Chen Yu read the notice again.
Challenges.
A system designed to sort them.
That night, tensions surfaced openly for the first time.
Two disciples clashed near the outer quarters, fists and bodies colliding in a clumsy, desperate exchange. There were no techniques, no elegance—only raw effort and fear of loss.
The fight ended quickly.
The victor stood shaking, blood at the corner of his mouth. The defeated lay still for several breaths before pushing himself up, eyes hollow.
The next morning, the boards reflected the outcome.
No one commented.
Chen Yu felt the shift then—not in strength, but in atmosphere.
Before, they had all been newcomers.
Now, they were competitors.
The challenges multiplied.
Some were formal. Others were sudden and brutal.
A disciple was challenged while returning from a task, exhausted and unprepared. Another was baited into fighting by insults he could not swallow.
Contribution flowed upward.
So did resentment.
Jian was challenged on the third day.
The challenger was lean, quick, and ranked higher. The outcome was decided within moments. Jian hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
Later, he laughed bitterly as he sat beside Chen Yu, nursing his bruises. "Guess I learned where I stand."
"You stood your ground," Chen Yu said.
Jian shook his head. "That doesn't count here."
That evening, as Chen Yu passed the boards, a familiar name caught his eye.
Wu Shan.
Rank twenty-seven.
Higher than before.
Below it, a new mark indicated recent victories.
Chen Yu lingered longer than usual.
"Thinking of challenging?"
The voice came from behind.
Chen Yu turned to see Luo Fan leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. Up close, the stocky disciple's presence was heavier than it appeared from afar—grounded, confident.
"No," Chen Yu replied.
Luo Fan studied him. "Smart."
"Why?" Chen Yu asked.
"Because you don't know where you stand yet," Luo Fan said. "People like Wu Shan? They want easy points. New names attract attention."
Chen Yu met his gaze. "And you?"
Luo Fan smiled faintly. "I prefer watching first."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"Contribution decides access," Luo Fan continued casually. "Food. Space. Opportunity. But ranking…" He shrugged. "Ranking decides dignity."
He pushed off the pillar and walked away.
Chen Yu remained.
That night, he examined his own body with renewed focus.
His breathing had steadied since entering the sect. His strikes carried more weight. His recovery was faster than before. Whatever had changed within him was still changing—slowly, quietly.
But he had no measure.
No number that reflected what he felt.
The next morning, his name changed position on the board.
Only slightly.
But it moved upward.
Jian noticed immediately. "You gained points?"
Chen Yu nodded. "Task assignment yesterday."
Jian stared. "You didn't even look tired."
Chen Yu said nothing.
Across the yard, Wu Shan glanced in their direction, eyes narrowing for just a moment before turning away.
That single look confirmed something Chen Yu had already begun to understand.
Staying invisible would not last forever.
Sooner or later, the numbers would force him into the open.
And when that happened, retreat would no longer be an option.