Yao Shen’s expression was tranquil as he applied the finishing touches to his sketch, neatly rolling the papyrus scroll before pocketing it. He gently waved his right hand, causing the Fire Qi that Zhengwei was channeling to instantly flicker out. A wave of immutable force separated the two disciples by a few meters, and then Yao Shen withdrew his divine sense.

The two disciples immediately felt control over their body return to them. Longtian Cui sheathed his sword before clasping his hands behind his back, his bearing the very epitome of composure as he met his defeated foe’s gaze.

As Zhengwei felt Yao Shen’s restrictions upon his movement loosen, he realized that his hold over his scimitar was lightly trembling, from the sheer disbelief he felt at his loss. Even now, he could perfectly recall the burst of exhilaration that flowed through his veins as he pushed the young master of the Cui Family with a scimitar technique that he, a mere qi-formation disciple had created. Yet, the reversal came so suddenly, with such swiftness that Zhengwei could barely come to terms with the situation. In mere moments, his chance at obtaining an immensely valuable artifact had been lost, the opportunity seized by one who had no need of it.

Zhengwei could not accept it.

Longtian Cui concealing his abilities was within his prerogative, a stratagem that Zhengwei himself had utilized on multiple occasions. That was not what bothered him. So far, Zhengwei had been operating under the belief that he had accurately assessed his adversary’s capabilities; for he had not won duel after duel without knowing how to choose his battles carefully. However, only now did he realize the sheer extent of his error.

Zhengwei’s gaze flickered to the throng of spectators that had quietened down their cheers, observing the sympathetic glances a few offered him; as if he had somehow been wronged.

‘The fools,’ Zhengwei thought, sheathing his scimitar with a flick of his wrist. Not once had Longtian Cui’s placid expression changed, not even a glint of emotion visible in his damnable amber eyes as the Grand Patriarch had announced the name of the victor. That was not the gaze of a cultivator who relied on something as fickle as luck to win his battles. What even was luck, but the envy of the spectators and the rationalization of the defeated?

No, from the moment Zhengwei had stepped on the Sparring Stage, this was the outcome Longwei Cui had envisioned. Longtian Cui’s feigned weakness followed by that ruthless counter was all a smokescreen to conceal his real objective— it galled him to admit it, but Zhengwei had never expected his adversary to defeat him by utilizing the very rules of the Sparring Stage itself. Perhaps that was exactly why he had chosen to do so.

How frustrating.

He truly could not bring himself to accept it. The feeling of his actions being manipulated by his adversary left a bitter taste in his mouth, the humiliation of not realizing his foe’s layered ploy until the very end gnawing at his pride.

His right fist was clenched tight, causing Zhengwei to realize that more than anything, he was angry.

Yao Shen observed the young Zhengwei’s tumultuous emotions via his human sight as he began his slow descent. In truth, both Yao Shen and Flame Patriarch had long since analysed the outcome of this duel, though there had been one surprise along the way. While Zhengwei’s scimitar technique was deceptively powerful and its novelty could catch an opponent of lesser skill by surprise, passion could only go so far. His sword blows were too telegraphed under Longtian Cui’s observant gaze and his tells fairly easy to identify. As long as one could bear the initial onslaught, Zhengwei’s overly complicated sword art would turn out to be his own undoing.

Ultimately, though, Zhengwei’s defeat stemmed from a lack of crucial intelligence. He made the same mistake Yao Shen once had, a mistake that many disciples of mortal upbringing ended up making— he saw the young master of the Cui Family as a peer. Longtian Cui had controlled the rhythm of the battle, displayed exceptional combat awareness and had subdued his adversary without revealing any more of his abilities than necessary. That was not the standard exacted from a Qi-Refinement level disciple.

Longtian Cui was not Zhengwei’s rival. The scions of Legacy Families were trained in the martial way from the moment they could walk, fed valuable elixirs and pills that could bolster their potential, if only marginally, and receive the tutelage from their Family Elders, who would contendedly answer any question their scion might pose.

Yao Shen had often wondered where he would be if his master had not acknowledged his determination and taken him as his only disciple. He would no doubt have found his own way to rebel against his fate, like young Zhengwei who had created his own Scimitar technique out of a desire to be acknowledged. But would he have reached the same accomplishments he had today? Would he still be Yao Shen, Grand Patriarch of the Modern Sect?

Yao Shen was never a prodigy, but his determination alone could be considered a talent in and of itself. However, how many outer sect disciples had there been, as or even more talented than him across the generations? How many of them had the privilege of a Nascent Soul Grandmaster accepting them as his disciple?

Zhengwei’s fight had moved Yao Shen, for he could imagine himself in the former’s shoes. As much as Yao Shen would like to claim that his accomplishments were entirely his own, the debt he owed to his master was far too heavy for that. His grit, determination and willpower allowed him to forge a path where others saw none, but had destiny played its tune a little differently, he might have found himself in Zhengwei’s position. Though he had not interacted with the disciple directly, his human sight had allowed him to see the burgeoning cloud of angst and resentment he carried along with him, like a disease that polluted everything around him before he ever got a chance to enjoy it.

Why did a talented disciple of the Sacred Flame Palace feel that way?

What worth did talent even have, without the infrastructure to support it?

In that moment Yao Shen’s thought crystallized, his objective behind observing the duel between two disciples, one a legacy family disciple and the other an ordinary mortal who had ascended to something greater, met.

Outer Disciples.

Inner Disciples.

Core Disciples.

These distinctions had originally been created to foster competition between disciples, to incentivise them to continually hone their skills and improve their cultivation or face the consequences. For there was no greater nightmare for a cultivator than to be left behind by his peers. Forgotten. Disregarded.

They also served a more pragmatic purpose, for no sect or clan, no matter how powerful, could claim to have infinite resources. On the continent of Ionea, strength had always been the yardstick to measure worth, and the segregation of disciples by their performance had not only ensured that the majority of the resources went to the most talented amongst them, the true future of the sect; it also pushed disciples who desired the lucrative resources beyond their limits, creating anomalies like Yao Shen who defied both expectation and reason.

However… this archaic system had outlived its usefulness. The Azlak Plains were in decline, and yet, even though Yao Shen was subconsciously aware of the faults with this tiered system, the thought of overhauling it had never crossed his mind. Not until now. Not until he saw a young, talented outer disciple fail to reach his potential, because the outer sect was not worthy of the same quality of instruction as the inner sect.

If Yao Shen had learned anything in his decades of experience as Patriarch, it was that change always came with resistance. There were many uncertainities, and whilst it was easy to point out the faults of existing systems, replacing them seldom turned out as rudimentary or simple. Any good leader would hesitate when confronted with a choice that had the potential to change existing socital structures, and regardless of whether the outcome was beneficial or disasterous, history would remember him for it.

Nevertheless, it was time.