The days passed with quiet consistency in the Outer Disciple Compound, but beneath the surface of routine lay a current of quiet ambition, rivalry, and veiled power. It was not spoken of openly, yet Lin Xian quickly came to understand that the sect was not merely a place of cultivation—it was a microcosm of a kingdom, with its own hierarchies, unseen laws, and unspoken debts.
Heaven's Gate Sect, for all its dignity and ancient standing, was no different from any imperial court.
...
It began with a dispute over herbs.
Lin Xian had taken another low-tier task—assisting in the herb gardens maintained by Elder Fan, a quiet alchemy instructor known for his rigid discipline. The task itself was unremarkable: pruning, harvesting dew at sunrise, maintaining the spirit arrays that regulated humidity.
But on the third day, a sharp exchange occurred between two senior outer disciples—Zhao Fen, a tall youth from the capital's Zhao Clan, and Lei Min, a wiry woman known for her poison arts.
"You've harvested from Plot Four," Lei Min hissed, eyes glowing faintly with venom qi.
Zhao Fen rolled his eyes. "It was assigned to me by the steward. Complain to him if your herbs are wilting."
"You bribed him," Lei Min snapped.
"And if I did?"
Their auras flared.
Lin Xian, nearby, watched in silence.
The steward, a middle-aged disciple named Wen Qiu, arrived moments later, his expression overly calm.
"A misunderstanding, surely. But as Plot Four has already been harvested, we'll adjust allocations tomorrow."
Zhao Fen smiled faintly.
Lei Min stalked away.
Lin Xian's eyes narrowed.
Not at the argument—but at the way it was resolved. Quickly. Neatly. With no real consequence.
He stayed late that day, watching from the shadows as Zhao Fen handed a pouch to Steward Wen.
He was not surprised.
But he was interested.
...
The politics of the Outer Sect were not just based on strength.
Favor mattered.
Every instructor had their favorites, whether earned or bought. Elders rarely interfered with outer disciple disputes unless blood was spilled. Task boards could be manipulated. Resource allocations could be delayed. Duels could be scheduled unfairly.
The formal rules were pristine.
The informal system was labyrinthine.
Lin Xian mapped it.
Every time he accepted a task, he tracked who else was there.
Every time resources were distributed, he noted who received extra.
He compiled his data into what he called "The Web"—a growing chart of connections, rivalries, and invisible threads that governed the flow of power among the Outer Disciples.
He discovered small syndicates: cliques of disciples who pooled spirit stones to monopolize rare cultivation manuals.
He found a silent feud between two sect instructors—Instructor Luo of the martial arts wing, and Instructor Yao of the alchemy wing—each subtly grooming their preferred students for inner sect promotion.
And, curiously, he noted that one name never appeared in disputes, arguments, or even conversations:
Senior Disciple Yan Tian.
Yan Tian was the most senior of the Outer Disciples.
He had broken through to the peak of Foundation Establishment five years ago, but had not accepted promotion to Inner Disciple.
He lived alone in a stone courtyard at the top of the outer compound.
No one spoke to him.
No one challenged him.
And according to records Lin Xian consulted in the First-Level Library, Yan Tian hadn't left the compound in nearly six months.
Lin Xian found that… odd.
...
One evening, during the Fifth Bell, Lin Xian left the library early and made his way toward the northern wall of the compound. He wasn't following a person—but a pattern.
Twice now, after rare sect meetings, he had seen Instructor Luo pass by the abandoned Cold Iron Bell Tower. And once, during a full moon, a robed disciple had emerged from the shadowed side hall of the tower carrying a sealed scroll tube.
This time, Lin Xian waited within the hollow of a ruined garden near the tower. He masked his presence using a dampening talisman he'd crafted from the east shrine's residual formation scripts. It wasn't invisibility—but it was close.
Footsteps echoed.
Two figures.
Instructor Luo, and a man in dark robes bearing the Inner Sect emblem.
Lin Xian stilled his breath.
"They're not ready yet," Luo murmured. "The competition is too weak. Even Yan Tian is stalling."
"The Elder Council grows impatient," said the inner disciple. "You know the consequences if Heaven's Gate fails to produce a new Heaven-Ranked talent in three years."
"There is one… possibly. Lin Xian. But he's… watching."
The other figure paused. "Keep him distracted. Or kill him if necessary."
Their voices faded as they descended into a hidden stairwell beneath the tower.
Lin Xian's heart did not race.
But his mind was already sprinting ahead.
Later that night, he sat in his room, sorting through the implications.
The sect was under pressure—from the Elder Council? From external alliances?
Yan Tian's refusal to ascend wasn't just laziness. It was a protest. Or perhaps… a threat.
And now Lin Xian had been noticed.
By name.
The next morning, Lin Xian received an official summons.
It was sealed with Elder Ma's insignia.
He opened it slowly.
"You are invited to the Internal Ascension Trials. One week from today."
It was too soon.
Far too soon.
He was not meant to be tested this early.
Which meant one thing: someone was trying to remove him—through prestige, pressure, or assassination cloaked in ritual.
Lin Xian smiled faintly.
If they wanted to see him fall, they should have sent better pawns.
Because the game had already changed.
And he had already started to play.