In a grove veiled with verdant bamboo, ethereal essence misted the air, a land of serenity carved upon stone cliffs where rare alchemical herbs burrowed into crevices. A quiet haven for neophyte disciples it had once been peaceful—until a cluster of new prodigies arrived, their brows furrowed. When compared to their own lush, enchanted lands this seemed dreary; its spirit energy paled in comparison to the sanctified grounds they had called home. Particularly bleak were the barren hills, without noble timber to embellish its visage or auspicious energy suffusing its peaks. Their own private domains far surpassed here; cultivation thrived two times speed there. Here and now they each felt a silent warning stir—if ever cast away from the Genius Group, the outer frugality is but exile.
To their previous comfort, they recognized a bitter truth: they had basked under a privileged umbrella from Heaven’s Restoration Gate.
“Brethren! We have convened to test our mettle; let us not spoil fellowship,” a youthful figure with warmth akin to sunlit springlight stepped forth, causing a hush. They bowed in agreement.
In spotless white robes he was lithe of limb, standing at around ten-five or -six Autumns. Not just talented was his air—it could be called “jade of spirit”, rare in bearing and manner. He then continued, “To advance or lag carries no hierarchy. We are blood-bound disciples, brethren who must walk side-by-side.”
A humility that drew favor naturally from all, for within was a true prodigy—an unspoken leader among equals.
“And yours, Sir-Brother?” a neophyte timidly enquired.
“The young gentleman so dres’d, a dream!” many young maidens gazed enraptured at the young man.
“My name rings with rain-tipped winds—I hail from years past your own in training. Seek help, ask questions if the need takes you,” Rain Feng said softly to an undulating wind tousling his ebon locks, brilliant white teeth and peerless grace shining like distant stars among skyborne tides. The name rippled—“Rain Feng?! Some gasped!
Recent times held tales spun wild for young initiates, knowledge of prior-year elites well-known—Rain Feng was no stranger among names most venerated; his reputation bore weight even against formidable prodigies who’d once reigned supreme. Only few ever out-shone him, and though limited duels, the legends of men toppled by this lightning-wielding force stood untarnished through whispers.
Yet he walked not alone in prodigy-dom alone; sister Rain Lin followed in footsteps blooming like celestial flora—her own brilliance rivaling petals drenched in dawns.
“This Rain Feng commands rain-wracked skies where he is invincible, bending thunderstorm’s fury that rains heavens-wide golden glyphs—he once cleaved a band of aggressors numbering fifteen!” the masses cried aloud such tales.
The diminutive gazed in quiet contemplation, noting the young man’s prowess. Yet a brow furrowed next—”Is this one behind Bully Clear Gales’ cabal?” But further mulling yielded another thought; a figure of prestige, would he truly single out lesser talent just for one cadre’s scheme? Perhaps, it was only the whims of his own men who sought to clear a weakling path for one dearer to them—a darker design birthed entirely by those alone.
“If any dare challenge us,” a youth garbed in common grey called, a mere lad aged twelve or fourteen with average looks emerged, stepping beyond line with declaration.
For a moment’s breath the stillness quivered as radiant light burst outward—glyphs intertwined weaving themselves in to a luminous turtledove soaring through the skies, its cry ringing fierce towards its opponent…
Gasps rose from the observers—one cried: “Could it be a Treasured Skill!” Treasured techniques were uncommon knowledge to initiates, known only to bloodlines of might from powerful great clans or the like.
Without shift from stance came an effortless glide—his palm cutting a single arc. Flame’s radiance scorched the air. In his very path the ether twisted and formed into a blazing wall of pyrotechnic energy. Heat licked the sky itself—a towering inferno sculpted from spirit flame, separating worlds.
The dove gave off one anguished scream before becoming ash, dissolving in sparks as its challenger gave out a stifled yell and retreated—the challenger was crushed instantly before the flames receding away like a dying ember beneath the cold. The observers were awash with dread.
A single maneuver—an artfully simple technique—that brought a promising youth’s defeat in naught but one exchange? The grey youth turned away, silence his final retort—an aura of majesty even so slight in motion it sent hearts racing.
Not long another stepped forward, tall at six-feet towering in stature and muscled bulk, long dark tresses unfurling with an invisible strength that exuded pressure like sound from temple bells ringing—each footfall like gonged thunder that echoed across minds alike.
“I have trained within Heaven’s Restoration Gate these past four years prior—eighteen winters old, thusly my edge unfair—I shall accept your strikes freely. Make of my form your anvil,” rang his resonant baritone with the warmth of bronze struck firm amidst a hush growing in reverence among all ranks.
A single ambitious youth leapt forth from the gathering; with a roar and glyphs weaving themselves into a formidable spear shaped entirely of divine etchings—a weapon pulsating ominous terror. Gasping with unease—the prodigies themselves now flung into shock at an ordinary disciple harboring such potential.
The boy let out another cry—
“Aim and thrust—!” And the blade flew forward swift as lightning’s fork.
Its tip shrieked through vibrations that rang clear, sharp like iron drawn amid battle’s echo, seeking to pierce this colossal genius.
All held breath at the image. Such a terrifying strike—if that point targeted self… could I stand it unscathed? Even a handful among geniuses trembled within at thought…
And yet, the behemoth remained as before—nearing impervious stillness.
His skin shimmered gold with runes that took shape as infinite tiny whirlwinds across every inch of flesh beneath the golden tempests’ motionless spinning.
Then came the piercing lance’s strike—the instant steel met golden cyclone—they began spinning at speeds that blurred all form as a violent snap rang through the air—metal met cyclone, instantly the spearpoint dissolved into luminant drizzles. Collectiveness exhaled.
What mastery allowed this invunerability—the golden vortex technique, so formidable? The challenger knew loss in mere instant.
“A senior brother,” the Small Demon-child gasped behind a veil of others, “—may we learn it too?”
“The Golden Vortex Wave Art—a derivation of a mighty divine eagle’s own barrier glyph,” The tall fellow answered humbly.
“Awesome, can we learn it?”
“The Vault of Scribed Bones carries so many bone-encipherings—if an opportunity presents itself and you find an opening. As fate had chosen me—I unearthed a golden skeletal fragment hidden away behind dust. I learned from there. Alas only one scroll was recovered.”
It did falter behind actual Golden-Peaked Eagle blood protection arts, indeed—but one such skill would hold untold potential if they unearthed the missing scrolls, continuing where it ceased.
“At all cost we must bribe fur-ball into The Scriptery one day!” the diminutive mused with glittering eyes and a grin full of mischief as small fangs gleamed against laughter, mind dancing with schemes.
Dreams were kind and many for The Script Gallery; since Celestial Age its collection of divine codex swelled ever outward beyond reckoning… yet all gathered also understood—the gate to its halls would prove no simple path. The cost in trials, who could say? And so the crowd murmured, their hearts yearning silently to glimpse those sacred shelves sooner in future seasons.
Proceeding, again and again prodigies emerged among ranks while challenge after challenge from the fresh novitiates yielded one predictable outcome: defeat—a truth so universal as to grow wearisome. The silver robe youth named Xiao Tian too stepped forth in battle—only adding proof of elite caliber. One flick of his hand—silver threads fell as rain; all in one technique sent a female competitor spinning skywards, clothes fluttering wildly in retreat.
A gasp echoed. “Exceptional prowess!”
Nods abounded—“How swiftly greatness asserts dominance.”
Hearing it spoken thus Xiao Tian, still calm and genial, gave a polite nod of acknowledgment. Yet one word broke his composure…
“Peerless young talent indeed!” another exclaimed joyfully with high praise.
A muscle trembled—his brow knotted tight; his restraint was thin as he retreated quickly, face tight with suppressed temper.
The small demon-child grinned with malicious joy.
It now settled among them—a quiet understanding born from seeing the gulf that gaped between themselves and genius cadre. The chagrin evident. For although each was selected from noble tribal lines… they seemed but ordinary in front of such brilliance of Heaven’s Restoration’s Geniuses.
One of genius ranks suddenly suggested: “Suppose I, then, choose a slightly less experienced disciple to test against. A gentle match to encourage their skills.”
One youth stepped forth—around twelve Autumns old clad in flowing royal blue robes. He bore powerful frame and keen sharp dark eyes. Despite warm smiles, his voice bore weight of authority.
He waved towards one Genius cadre recruit. Yet, as his hand beckoned forward, one youth—Clear Gales—his body pale despite attempts at composure; limbs bruised—skin darkened purple across ribs—a body riddled with concealed injury. His body faltered at approach…
“You’re fine, come join your Brothers in training… Only thus can improvement happen.”
A firm grip seized his arm like taut shackles. Bones cracked inwardly—Clear Gales gasped in pain—fingers turning white in desperation against the iron clamp.
“Do not fear. You cannot hide under shadows in Genius ranks—we must foster bonds! Share your thoughts! Interact more!” said the other in a kind tone that dripped honey, yet his expression remained unreadable.
But Clear Gales shook with terror—he recognized this hand as what inflicted the injuries earlier—together with two others.
Yet another voice from within Genius group rose—caution laced within a frown—“Enough, give him rest if his body refuses the call.”
Rain Feng nodded solemnly and declared “Enough.”
Victory by beating novices in lesser ranks would dishonor even them.
Yet amidst these words came another tone, “In such case, perhaps some demonstrations may enlighten?”
To that, many new acolytes cheered enthusiastically while smiles lit faces.
“Come forth, brother… Let’s reveal the mysteries of glyphs before everyone. Assist in these exercises, if you will,” said the blue robed one—genuine as spring brook to all, coaxing Clear Gales again forth.
Yet eyes of younger boy clouded black—retreating one step as his heart hammered.
“Fear naught… No danger… Merely exhibition of artistry.”
Too frightened to demur for risk of even worse retribution he steeled himself once more.
Then came motion.
“Attend all—observe now: This the Fish-Dragon Glyph—an elegant dance where full mastery releases power most profound and launches opponents backward.”
With an arc sweeping gracefully like a tail in water, brilliant script leaped forth from his digits—a Fish-Dragon taking form mid air as glyph energies exploded forth striking against Clear Gales with precision…
The younger boy dodged but lacked artistry compared to opponent—another flash—a dragon’s scaled tail thrumming, sending him flying.
Pounding hard he rolled—face meeting cold moss-lain earth. Ribs throbbed while chest pressed down on impact. Every organ burned within him with white hot sear. He could not rise—for eons it seemed before he could move again—desperate and breath ragged—blood rising bitter against throat though none escaped his lips…
Undoubtably—a masterpiece: hidden force layered to strike so that no fault might even be found in his actions…
He struggled still after minutes crawling upright again—jaw tightly clenched in impotent anger. He stood.
“Still with us, brother? Tragedy indeed—a body so frail if you struggle so… To remain within Geniuses you must rise, improve,” The fellow mused in mock sympathy offering hands in camaraderie. His voice honeyed and kind while crowd murmured approving comments.
“Permit me—I shall help soothe circulation, show others newer glyphs after.” And hands reached—yet another burst of unseen force rippled through his veins—renewed internal anguish surged with sudden violent force.
Clear Gale coughed weakly. Still standing—fists clenching tight.
“Demonstration Two—come!” he said. Smile unshaken the young giant dragged forward his victim before releasing another blast—
CRASH!
Bodies and limbs soared again—landing hard in bamboo clusters amidst gasping cries of pain. Clear Gale groans in misery.
“What tragedy… Efforts are so necessary,” sighs his ‘sister’ once again lifting, “Come seek guidance if lost brother…”
In another shadow a smaller form observed, sharp with malice in eyes. Each tender helping hand the older prodigy extended sent new bursts of inner torment rippling. Depravity lay in the pretense kindness.
“Enough…” a senior finally spoke into uneasy still.
“Those wishing enlightenment may approach—we gladly instruct.” one young god spoke out in return. Instantly voices erupted.
A throng swarmed the space; a circle gathered thick around a white clothed master—mostly young women whispering questions with eager smiles. Others formed clusters similarly swarmed. The prodigy army besieged with questions—Xiao Tian among other young legends of note among newcomers stood, answering with gentle patience the floodgates.
“Is it true—Master Stonespire’s heir, and Young Queen of the Human King, too… entered with many famed prodigies?”
“These ones stand apart, hidden within ancient legacies… some bearing lineages from forgotten blood—claimed secretly already by elder monsters…”
The commotion roared as discussions flowed in streams.
Yet amidst this joy… afar arose a sudden tumult, followed by shrieks tearing apart air.
All turned to gaze in question.
Through the thorns of commotion emerged hundreds chasing—chasing furiously—someone hunted…
“What now?”
A tide of bodies flooded forward—yelling cries echoing across valley’s hush broken. The voice called familiar…
“That… is Youngster Yu Hao!”
“Hurry! Seize him—he knows about the ruffian!”
A silhouette raced forward—tousled hair flew with every pained bound as punches launched him upward with an explosion. He barely rolled onto feet to stumble onward fleeing. Yet numbers had gathered, pressing him within walls of flesh.
“Little imp, what treachery have you wrought to draw such wrath?” shouted those in Genius group in shock.
From the depths rose another cry…
“I will tear your limbs and grind them—find where the brat is!” Small One howled leading the mob into full blown frenzy.
A certain figure gasped… recognition dawned… “Youngster Yu Hao?” Some gasp.
Only half-mirth upon tongue—jesting with crowd moments since that—“Indeed—I possess knowledge!”
Yet no sooner had the jest slipped his smirking lips—a sudden burst of pressure against face, then darkness. Teeth exploded outward; his blood painting grasses crimson.
A tiny shape—blurred and swift—launched forth with an accusing holler. Thus followed others—a horde like stampeding stallions—leather fists like storms falling over bone again.
“Curse upon my eight ancestral ghosts… all for a jest!” He fled. Mind spinning—he tried not fathoming this small terror—“Could it be serious! What twisted fate brought me before that devil?” All the while his lips curled with rage.
The elders promised—if any uncover that brat’s whereabouts they would gain promotion into central elite ranks.
Yes, a grand offer—yet verification must surely precede action? He did not know! This was a terrible joke, yet punishment arrived swift. As he fled through the stampede his wounds bled freely—he could only run faster—though the masses surged upon him as though he led charge into enemy gates rather than evaded a brawl!
Chiefly—the ringleader, tiny imp with fists of fury, launched the first devastating blow, inciting hundreds into a stampede mentality.
“Why do cursed lips never cease?” he cried running—“yet that demon-child bears guilt graver still… how dare seize chance so ruthlessly?” The absurdity of these events burned through his mind—a tragedy beyond comprehension.
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