High above the Thousand Lotus Sect's main courtyard, a pavilion stood silently atop a mist-veiled mountain peak. It was open on all sides, surrounded by blooming white lotuses and the quiet whisper of wind chimes swaying gently in the breeze.
Two elderly men sat cross-legged at a stone table, their sleeves fluttering like ancient scrolls. Between them, a worn chessboard lay with a battle half-finished—one side dominated by black, the other stubbornly defending in white.
Elder Mo, clad in simple gray robes, gently stroked his long white beard, eyes narrowed in contemplation. He was the sect's oldest and wisest adviser, known throughout the empire for his insight and frighteningly good memory.
Opposite him sat Elder Yuan, the Financial Minister of the Thousand Lotus Sect. Rotund and cheerful, his robes had a faint oil stain from the plate of flaky biscuits he was munching on between moves.
"This world," Elder Mo murmured, placing a black stone with a deliberate clack, "has become a strange place. Right and wrong blend too easily. The line between virtue and vice no longer exists—it dances."
Elder Yuan sighed dramatically, brushing biscuit crumbs from his belly. "Dances? Ha! It pole-dances now. Cultivators seek strength but forget character. Wealth, fame, glory… they chase shadows and call it sunlight."
He popped a biscuit into his mouth, speaking around the crumbs. "When I was a young disciple, respect came before reputation. Now they just yell 'trash!' and throw punches."
A rumbling groan echoed from the mountain below, interrupting their musings.
"Hmm?" Elder Mo leaned slightly over the railing, his eyes sharp despite his age.
A flash of silver water erupted from the lake nestled under the cliff—a sacred lake carved beneath the great stone wall etched with the insignia of the former Sect Leader.
From its center, a soaked cultivator was launched skyward like a fish out of water. With a pained yelp, he crashed to the muddy ground, landing hard on his backside.
Elder Yuan choked slightly on his biscuit.
Below, several companions rushed forward, helping the disgruntled cultivator to his feet.
"That trial is cursed!" the young man spat, dripping from head to toe. "I took one step, just one step, and the ground flipped upside down! Do you hear me?! Gravity became my enemy!"
He pointed toward the lake in rage. "Then came the illusions. The screaming flowers. The whispering shadows! Who builds such a hellscape?!"
"Are your ribs okay, senior brother?" a girl asked, supporting his weight.
"No!" he snapped. "My pride is broken! And my back!"
Just then, another group strolled over with smug grins.
"Oh?" one of them snickered. "That's all it took to throw you out? You must be lacking cultivation. No offense, of course."
"None taken," the wet man replied with a calm smile. "But I'll be laughing when you crawl out foaming at the mouth."
With that, he limped away, still muttering about hallucinating lizards and upside-down stairs.
The smug group scoffed, tossing their hair.
"Such drama," one snorted. "How bad can it be?"
Without hesitation, they marched toward the lake, their robes billowing with confidence.
Elder Mo turned back to his board. "Another batch."
Elder Yuan hummed, reaching for another biscuit. "They always think raw cultivation solves everything. If our old Sect Leader was here, she'd have smacked their egos straight into their dantians."
Elder Mo chuckled, his voice laced with nostalgia. "Ah yes, she was a force. No one could best her—even in barehanded brawls. I remember the time she challenged an entire sect over a teacup."
"She won that argument with a single punch," Yuan nodded. "Respect. Absolute respect."
BWAHHH!
A massive splash exploded behind them, followed by a chorus of yelps and groans.
The smug group had returned.
Violently.
One by one, they were launched out of the lake like skipping stones, colliding with the dirt in an unceremonious pile. Robes torn, hair frazzled, expressions dazed.
One was foaming at the mouth, eyes swirling as he gasped, "The flowers talked… they judged me…"
Another curled into a ball, whispering, "So much pain… the stairs never ended…"
Elder Yuan blinked. "Well, that was faster than expected."
"I told you," Elder Mo said, placing another stone on the board. "The trial isn't for the arrogant."
Elder Yuan sighed and waved toward the stairs. A passing maid stopped with a bow.
"Yes, Elder?"
"Send some disciples down to fetch those poor fools. Patch them up, give them some porridge, and politely tell them never to return."
"Yes, Elder Yuan." She bowed and hurried off.
The mountain grew quiet again, save for the rustling wind and distant groans of the trial's victims.
"Still," Elder Yuan muttered, "can't help but laugh. That trial was made by the former leader herself. When we tried it, we were also tossed out like laundry."
Elder Mo actually snorted, a rare break in his usual serenity. "Yes! You screamed for your mother for three days."
"You bit a rock and called it a 'spiritual beast!'"
They burst into laughter, their mirth echoing across the peaceful peaks like windchimes in spring.
Then—
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Sandals slapped against stone as a young disciple sprinted toward the pavilion, panting hard.
"E-Elders!" the boy gasped, nearly tripping on the last step.
Elder Yuan blinked, reaching for another biscuit.
"Hmm? Did another genius wet himself?"
"No, Elders—it's… it's an envoy! From outside!"
The wind stilled.
Both Elders paused, glancing at each other.
The chess game forgotten.
Elder Mo's smile faded into a sharp line.
"…An envoy?" he echoed.
The boy nodded quickly. "They're waiting at the sect gate. They say it's urgent."
A gust of wind swept through the pavilion.
Silence.
Then Elder Mo slowly stood, brushing his sleeves.
"I suppose this peace was borrowed time," he murmured.
Elder Yuan set his biscuit down and grunted as he rose to his feet. "Let's see what kind of trouble fate dragged up the mountain this time."
The game was left unfinished as the two elders stepped out of the pavilion, the sky darkening ever so slightly with gathering clouds.