The crimson-etched name, *Ting Zhiruo*, smoldered on the emerald parchment unfurled above the stones. Murmurs stirred among the gathering townsfolk as iron-shod rumors of the floating peak's cruelty circulated through the crowd. Lu Fengxiao stood behind the crowd as the mark branded against his ribs flared scarlet through his hemp tunic. Fire prickled through his veins, the forbidden wrath of his old life pushing against the heavenly seal until charred ash seemed to coat his tongue. “Master, what does that place mean?” Zhiruo asked softly, leaning on her stout ash-pole cane while staring up at the gleaming characters. Before Lu could answer, the beam overhead thickened to solid jade light, dropping an elder in silver-hemmed storm-gray silks straight toward the square. The man's wispy beard trailed behind him, his gray gaze skimming the crowd like boots stepping over weeds. Two sect juniors in matching sky-blue tunics dropped behind him, sneering at the grease-stained townsfolk. The elder's boots clicked on the stones as his stare fixed on the girl. “Ting Zhiruo,” his voice boomed, rattling the market stalls. “The mandate takes you. Your house's past insolence meets its tally today. The Cloud-Piercing Pavilion requires tribute before entry: the Azure-Heart Jade held by your late grandfather.” Zhiruo’s head snapped up. “The Azure-Heart Jade… but it was lost generations ago! My family has nothing left!” Her voice, though trembling, held a spark of defiance. “I have no jade, only this.” She rested her knuckles against her timber-cutting hatchet, its handle smooth from relentless swinging. The elder sneered down at her limp. “Pathetic. Your entry becomes an execution drill, then. Perhaps your sound leg requires the same fracture.” Red crept across Lu's vision as the brand tore into his breastbone with white-hot teeth, punishing the fury roaring in his throat. One punch would pulverize the man into grease, but the heavenly counter would instantly incinerate his own soul into nothingness. A streak of orange fur bolted from Lu's collar. Xue-Zhi bounded onto an awning, tail bristling. “Old buzzard!” the rodent chattered at top volume. “Your beard looks like dried river-moss and your nose resembles a moldy turnip! Back off!” The elder blinked at the insolent beast. Above him, Xue-Zhi kicked furiously at a mud-daubed nest hanging under the roof beam, dropping an angry golden swarm of iron-horn hornets. The clay-thick mass struck the nearest junior square between his shoulders, exploding into a cloud of stinging golden insects that drove the boy shrieking across the flagstones. The second youth stumbled backward in a panic, jarring the elder's shoulder and breaking his stance. “Vermin!” the elder snarled. His palm blurred with silver force, driving low toward Zhiruo’s injured knee to crush it to paste. But Zhiruo moved. Not with conscious intent, but with the ingrained, almost instinctual footwork she had developed from days of cleaving logs. Her body shifted, a subtle pivot of her hips, a slight step back, a fluid turn that mimicked the exact motion needed to re-center her balance after a powerful axe swing. It was the ‘Arcing Pine Dodge’ she had unwittingly mastered in Lu’s backyard. The blow clipped her sleeve as the timber hatchet swung upward in her recovery arc. The well-oiled ash haft clipped the elder's forearm with a loud, ringing crack. Elder Mo froze in shock. The gleaming jade saber materialized in his grip snapped cleanly across its spine, both green halves clattering down onto the granite. Not a scratch marred the plain wood haft in Zhiruo's hands. Silence dropped across the square beneath the drone of hornets. Elder Mo stared at his broken jade blade, then at the crude tool, his cheeks mottling purple with fury. “Insolent whelp!” he snarled, thrusting a palm flat against Zhiruo's throat before Lu could move. Black light hissed as it sank into her collarbone, forcing a tight gasp from her lips. “A tracking seal!” Elder Mo spat, his eyes burning with malice. “Consider it your mandatory entry fee, you filthy cripple. If you attempt to flee the Ascending Zenith Crucible, this mark will paralyze your lungs. Your breath will fail, and you will choke on the Azure Canopy’s air. Enjoy your tournament, Zhiruo. It will be your last.” The elder snatched his screaming attendant and vaulted back up into the clouds on a gust of wind, leaving Zhiruo trembling on the stones with her fingers pressed to the smoking black mark on her throat.

Wrath of the Cloud-Piercer