The Supply Hall was a squat stone building near the base of the outer court, with wide doors propped open and shelves lining every wall. A bored-looking disciple sat behind a counter with a ledger in front of him and a brush in his hand.

  “Names and tokens,” he said without looking up.

  Yan Qiu and Sun Hao handed over their wooden tokens. The disciple checked them against his ledger, made two marks, and pointed toward the back.

  “Spare robes on the left shelf, practice swords on the racks, pill pouches on the table. Take one of each and grab your contribution tokens from the box at the end. Do not lose them.”

  They walked through the hall and collected their things. The spare robes were the same grey as the ones they were already wearing, folded neatly in stacks sorted by size. The practice swords were real steel, not wooden training blades. Yan Qiu picked one up and tested the weight. It was heavier than he expected, with a plain guard and a leather-wrapped grip. The edge was dulled for training but the blade itself was solid.

  Sun Hao picked up his own and gave it a few swings. “These are real.”

  “The edge is blunted, but yeah.” Yan Qiu turned the blade over in his hand. It felt good. Better than the branch he had trained with back home.

  The pill pouches were small cloth bags containing three white pills each.

  “Qi gathering pills,” the disciple at the counter called out, apparently paying more attention than he seemed. “One per day after cultivation practice. They help your body absorb qi faster. When you run out, you can earn more through contribution points.”

  They grabbed their contribution tokens last, small jade discs with their names carved into one side and the sect’s symbol on the other.

  “How do we earn points?” Sun Hao asked.

  “Task Hall. Down the path, second building on the right. They post new tasks every morning.” The disciple waved them off. “Next.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the outer court. The sect was bigger than Yan Qiu had realized from the path up. The training grounds where Elder Han had taught them that morning were at the center, with dormitory halls and the Supply Hall on the south side and the Task Hall and kitchen to the north. Beyond that, stone paths branched off toward the inner court gate, the medicine hall further up the mountain, and a wooded area to the east that stretched along the mountainside.

  “That is the hunting grounds,” Sun Hao said, reading a marker stone near the tree line. “Open to outer disciples, ranked by danger level.”

  “We should check it out tomorrow.”

  “After training. I am not running laps on an empty stomach again.”

  They circled back to Stone Sparrow Hall as the sun dropped behind the peaks. The air turned cold fast once the light was gone, and by the time they climbed the stairs to the third floor Yan Qiu’s fingers were stiff.

  Peng Hu was sitting on his bed with a wooden bowl in his lap, eating something that smelled like salted meat and rice.

  “You two look lost,” he said through a mouthful.

  “We were walking around the sect,” Yan Qiu said. “Trying to figure out where everything is.”

  “You guys were smart. Most new disciples just sit in their beds and panic for the first three days.” He gestured toward the ground floor with his bowl. “There is food downstairs. We cooked extra since you juniors probably do not have anything yet.”

  “You really did not have to,” Sun Hao said.

  “We know,” Tao Wen said from across the room. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a book open in his lap. “But starving juniors are useless juniors, and useless juniors make the whole floor look bad.”

  Peng Hu laughed. “What he means is we are nice.”

  “I said what I meant.”

  Yan Qiu and Sun Hao went downstairs and found bowls of rice with strips of dried meat and pickled vegetables set out on the kitchen table. It was simple but warm, and Yan Qiu ate two bowls before he realized how hungry he had been.

  When they came back up, a few other disciples from the third floor had returned. Yan Qiu recognized some faces from the training grounds that morning but did not know their names yet.

  Peng Hu introduced them as they came in. “That one is Ma Desheng, from the eastern border. Does not talk much but he works harder than anyone I have seen. And the short one over there is Lu Ping, merchant family kid.”

  “I am not short,” Lu Ping said immediately.

  “You are the shortest one on this floor.”

  “That does not mean I am short. It means everyone else is tall.”

  Sun Hao sat down on his bed and started unlacing his boots. “So how does the contribution system actually work? The disciple at the Supply Hall just told us to go to the Task Hall and that was it.”

  Tao Wen closed his book. “Tasks are ranked from D to A. D-rank is cleaning, carrying supplies, sorting herbs for the medicine hall. C-rank is patrol duty, gathering specific materials, or assisting senior disciples with their work. B-rank means going outside the sect for collection runs or escort work. A-rank is rare and usually involves real danger.”

  “How do you already know all this?” Yan Qiu asked.

  “There was an orientation manual at the Supply Hall.” Tao Wen looked at him. “You did pick one up, right?”

  Yan Qiu and Sun Hao exchanged a look.

  “We will go back tomorrow,” Sun Hao said.

  Peng Hu shook his head and grinned. “You can exchange points for manuals, techniques, pills, equipment, even coins if you need them. The better the task, the more points you get. Most outer disciples stick to D and C-rank for the first few months until they are strong enough for the harder ones.”

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  “What about the hunting grounds?” Yan Qiu asked.

  “That counts as a standing task,” Peng Hu said. “You hunt spirit beasts in the eastern woods and bring back whatever materials you can get. Pelts, bones, cores if you are lucky. The sect buys them at fixed rates. The outer ring is relatively safe, but do not go past the red markers unless you want to come back missing something.”

  “Have you gone past them?” Sun Hao asked.

  Peng Hu grinned. “Once. I do not recommend it.”

  “What stage are you two at?” Yan Qiu asked, looking between Peng Hu and Tao Wen.

  “I am at the fourth stage of Breath Weaving,” Peng Hu said. “Been here about a year and a half.” He nodded toward Tao Wen. “He is at the fifth.”

  Sun Hao blinked. “Fifth stage? That is almost Channel Refining.”

  Tao Wen did not look up from his book. “Almost is not the same as there. The gap between the fifth stage of Breath Weaving and the first stage of Channel Refining is wider than most people think. I have been stuck for four months.”

  “Tao Wen has been here longer than me,” Peng Hu added. “Almost three years. He was one of the top disciples in his batch.”

  Tao Wen turned a page. “That was a long time ago.”

  Yan Qiu filed that away. Tao Wen was further along than he had assumed, quiet and bookish but clearly talented if he was already at the edge of the next major realm. Peng Hu was no slouch either at the fourth stage.

  “Most outer disciples spend two to three years getting through Breath Weaving before they can even think about Channel Refining,” Peng Hu continued. “So do not feel bad if it takes a while.”

  Tao Wen added, “The inner court gate is off limits unless you have business there. The medicine hall on Yaolu Peak is open but you will need permission or contribution points for anything beyond basic healing. And stay away from Guying Peak.”

  “What is on Guying Peak?” Sun Hao asked.

  “Ancestors in seclusion,” Tao Wen said. “The last disciple who wandered up there was expelled the same day.”

  The room went quiet for a moment before Peng Hu stretched and yawned. “It sounds like a lot, but you get used to the routine after a week or two. Just do your tasks, train hard, and try not to make enemies you cannot handle.”

  The third floor settled into quiet as the evening wore on. Some disciples were sitting on their beds practicing breathing exercises while others talked in low voices or had already gone to sleep. Sun Hao was out within minutes, his breathing slow and even.

  Yan Qiu sat on his bed with the practice sword across his knees.

  He had not had a dream in days, and the burning in his chest that had plagued him since the mental trial had faded to almost nothing. The dark thoughts that used to come without warning had gone quiet too. He did not know if that was a good thing or if it just meant something was building underneath.

  He pushed the thought aside and picked up the sword.

  The weight was different from the stick he had trained with back in Blackroot, heavier and better balanced, and he stood up quietly and moved to the open space near the stairs where the ceiling was higher and there was enough room to swing without hitting anyone’s bed.

  He took his stance and began the first form of the Broken Jade Sword Art.

  Step, slash, step, thrust, step, sweep.

  His body remembered the movements even though his mind could not remember where they came from. The dream from months ago had faded into fragments, just a courtyard and an instructor and a lazy boy who did not want to learn, but the footwork had stayed with him. He had practiced it every day in Blackroot with a stripped branch, and now with a real sword in his hands the form felt completely different. The blade moved through the air with a faint trembling, a vibration that ran up through the steel and into his wrist. It was subtle, barely there, but he could feel it.

  He completed the form and stood still for a moment, breathing. It felt good, and the sword felt right in his hands in a way he could not explain.

  He started the form again.

  “You have beautiful sword control.”

  Yan Qiu stopped mid-step and turned. Elder Shen was standing at the top of the stairs with his hands folded behind his back. He was dressed in simple robes, not the formal ones from the trials, and his expression was calm.

  “Elder Shen.” Yan Qiu lowered the sword and bowed.

  “Its fine. No need to do that all the time.” The elder walked closer and watched him for a moment. “Who taught you that?”

  Yan Qiu hesitated. “I taught myself, Elder. I saw the movements somewhere and practiced them on my own.”

  It was not entirely a lie. He had practiced the form himself for two months. But the movements had come from a dream, and he was not about to explain that to anyone.

  Elder Shen studied him quietly. “How long have you been practicing?”

  “A few months before I came to the sect, Elder.”

  “With a real sword?”

  “No. I used a branch.”

  The elder’s eyebrows rose slightly. “A branch. And you are producing that kind of resonance the first time you hold real steel.” He was quiet for a moment. “That is not something you see often.”

  Yan Qiu did not know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet.

  “You have changed a lot since I saw you in Blackroot,” Elder Shen said. His voice was conversational now, not the formal tone he used during the trials. “Back then you were just a small boy with mid-tier roots, and now you are at the second stage of Breath Weaving and you placed third in the trials.” He glanced at the sword in Yan Qiu’s hand. “And you can handle a blade well enough to make it sing on your first try. That is quite a distance to cover.” He paused. “If you had been this far along when you first came to the trials, you would have passed easily. You could have been considered for the inner hall by now, with the progress you have shown.”

  “I did not have anyone to guide me back then, Elder,” Yan Qiu said. “After I failed the first time, I trained for a few months on my own before trying again.”

  “A few months,” Elder Shen said. He did not sound like he fully believed that was the whole story, but he did not push further. He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was gentler. “I remember testing you in Blackroot. You were so small back then. I was not sure you would make it to the trials at all, let alone place in the top three.”

  Yan Qiu did not know what to say to that.

  “But here you are,” Elder Shen said simply.

  They were quiet for a moment. The dormitory was still around them, just the sound of sleeping disciples and wind pressing against the shutters.

  “Elder, why are you here so late?” Yan Qiu asked.

  Elder Shen smiled slightly. “I came to deliver a message, actually. One of the elders was present during your trials and took notice of your performance. Your combat results and your spiritual pressure score in particular caught his attention.” He paused and let that settle. “He is unable to accept any disciples at this time due to certain obligations. But he wanted me to pass along a condition.”

  Yan Qiu waited.

  “If you can complete three A-rank missions from the outer hall within two years, he will take you on as his disciple.”

  Yan Qiu’s hand tightened around the sword grip. Three A-rank missions were the ones Tao Wen had described as rare and dangerous, the kind most outer disciples never even attempted.

  “Which elder?” he asked.

  “I cannot say. He prefers to not tell for now.” Elder Shen watched his face. “You do not have to answer tonight. Two years is a long time, and A-rank missions are not something to take lightly. Many outer disciples never complete even one.”

  Yan Qiu was quiet for a moment. He thought about his parents back in Blackroot who had sold everything they had so he could stand here, and the months he had spent training alone, eating rabbits he caught in the forest and practicing sword forms with a stick until his hands bled. He thought about failing the first trials and walking away from Dusthaven with nothing.

  “I would like to try, Elder,” he said quietly.

  Elder Shen looked at him. “You are sure? You have not even been here a full day.”

  “I know. But I did not come here to stay in one place.” He met the elder’s eyes. “I want to do it.”

  The elder studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Then I hope you will not prove him and yourself wrong, Yan Qiu.” He turned and walked toward the stairs, and at the top step he paused and looked back. “Get some rest. You have training in the morning.”

  Then he went down the stairs and was gone.

  Yan Qiu stood alone in the quiet dormitory with the practice sword still in his hand. Three A-rank missions in two years. That was the condition.

  He put the sword away and lay down on his bed. The ceiling was dark above him and the room was full of the quiet breathing of sleeping disciples, and he stared up at nothing and thought about what he had just agreed to.

  I will do it in one year.

  Sleep came quickly after that, and for the first time in a long while he did not dream of anything at all.