It took almost another two weeks for a proper storm to form in the north. He Yu mostly stayed home and cultivated. He spent a fair amount of spirit stones and contribution points on elixirs and medicines during that time, cultivating as much of his aspects as he could manage.

Sha Xiang, thankfully, left him alone for the duration. He couldn’t have said why. If he were to guess, it probably had something to do with his absence immediately following her attack on his friends. Upon his return from the hills to the east of the sect, he’d learned that she’d been denouncing him as a coward in his absence, much like Zhang Lifen had predicted.

By claiming that he was afraid of her, Sha Xiang had inadvertently created a bit of a problem for herself. If she attacked after denouncing him so, it would make her look bad. Even though He Yu was certain Mo Zhiqiang and Da Ning had told her he’d approached them, it was up to him to make a move now—and he wasn’t going to until he was ready.

During his meditations, He Yu poured over the insights of the past two years. How his experiences had shaped him, and how everything tied into his Way. The Cloud Emperor’s Peerless Judgment, turned critically upon himself, was of tremendous help here. Back when he’d first begun cultivating the technique, the manual had described it as “revealing the truth of things.” For He Yu, it had certainly done that.

Although he’d misinterpreted many of those early insights as being from the technique rather than his own beliefs, he’d learned much from it. The Peerless Judgment turned inward had reified his own idea of what a hero was. He’d always had a vague idea of what heroes were. They did spectacular things. They fought battles. They defeated villains. Those sorts of notions weren’t enough for the basis of a cultivator’s Way.

The Peerless Judgment had helped him make the vague notions he’d once held into specific principles. The cruelty and malice that Sha Xiang held made her a villain. Those were thus things that he, wanting to become a hero, needed to reject. Similarly, he rejected the wanton destruction that King Hao had inflicted upon the people of the sect’s northern territory. Mortals were to be protected in their weakness, not exploited.

However, King Hao taught him another, perhaps more important, lesson about the application of justice. He Yu recalled the young bandit looking up at him as he passed a sentence of death. The life of another was a heavy price—but how many innocents had that young bandit killed? How many had King Hao killed? If he was to become a hero and thus an instrument of justice, what must he do in the face of suffering and injustice?

He Yu still hadn’t arrived at an answer that fully satisfied him. Clearly, destroying King Hao’s bandit clan had been the correct thing to do. Already they had killed countless mortals, and if left on their own would have killed countless more. But what about cases that weren’t so clear-cut? Part of his path would be to develop the judgment he needed in order to decide those questions for himself.

The most significant advancement of his Way had come during the tournament when he faced down Tan Xiaoling. Although it wasn’t the first time he’d stood against a foe stronger than himself, it was the only time he’d done it with a shard of metal from his broken weapon. Despite what he’d thought immediately after the tournament, that wasn’t what had caused him to form his Wayborn Seed while he was still in the Third Realm.

Instead, it was a culmination of similar moments that stretched all the way back to another tournament. When he stepped onto the stage in Shulin, despite knowing that he wouldn’t be able to win the tournament, he’d truly set his feet upon his Way. Then, on the tournament stage in the Shrouded Peaks Sect, facing down an opponent he knew with all his being that he couldn’t beat—and with a way out, the knowledge he could surrender without losing face hanging over him—he stood his ground. Although he’d told Tan Xiaoling then that a hero never gave up, the truth for him at that moment had been something far more profound. He Yu wasn’t someone who gave up. That was, he’d determined in the year since, the foundational principle of his own Way.

Just as he defined his own Way, over the past two years He Yu had similarly defined his own spirit.

When he first came to the Shrouded Peaks Sect, he had no techniques. Only a rudimentary cultivation technique that didn’t even have its own aspect. It was a wonder that he’d managed to gather enough qi to even awaken. Looking back on those first days, it was little wonder that he’d broken through to middle Qi Gathering so quickly. Shulin was practically a desert with the amount of qi in the area, while the Shrouded Peaks were like a land bursting with natural abundance.

The first step he’d taken upon refining his spirit had been cultivating the Five Crescent Winds. That—along with his principal art, the Cloud Emperor’s Heavenly Palace—had come at the suggestion of his martial grandfather, Elder Cai Weizhe. The Five Crescent Winds were chosen because they carried a wind aspect, one that was compatible with his natural affinities.

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At first he’d cultivated mostly wind-aspected qi, but as time wore on, he added heaven and water. First through the Cloud Emperor’s Peerless Judgment, then through the Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering, and finally the Sky Dragon’s flight. Since arriving at the late Body Refining stage, much of his efforts had been focused on bringing those three aspects into balance with one another—and on refining his presence.

In those early days of training his presence with Old Guo, it had just been wind tugging at his robes. Then came the charge in the air around him and the crackle of lightning as the heaven aspect increased. As water finally joined the other two, the clouds had formed, dark and heavy and fat with rain. With each step of further refinement, his presence further resembled a storm. Now, He Yu sat in his cultivation chamber with heaven, wind, and water surging through his meridians. He awaited a storm unlike any he’d ever experienced before.

On his return from his time in the eastern hills of the sect territory with Zhang Lifen, a certainty had taken root within his spirit. As he continued to cultivate, that certainty had only grown. Looking back, it was easy to see that Zhang Lifen had taken him out for training with this exact purpose in mind.

Although she’d claimed that she would be of little help to him when forging his Golden Core, he’d since come to realize that there was little reason to trust her words. This made it difficult to trust her intent. Although she’d never been completely honest with him, her guidance was one of the main reasons that he stood half a step into the Fourth Realm at twenty years old.

The air in the sect was still as He Yu exited his cultivation chamber. The normally gray skies of the Shrouded Peaks were dark and purple; heavy with unfallen rain and charged with the fury of heaven. Zhang Lifen had told him that primordial arts such as his demanded a high price of their practitioners. He was beginning to understand truly what she’d meant. As he walked through the sect grounds, the air seemed uncommonly heavy, as if the world itself was weighing him down.

He Yu stepped onto the flagstones of one of the inner sect’s many plazas, ringed by manicured trees and flowering bushes. Across the plaza lay the trail that would lead him further up the slopes and into the storm. Zhang Lifen stood before the formation gate that marked the start of the trail, waiting.

Despite the stillness of the air, the hem of her gown drifted as though underwater, tugged by the unseen currents of her spirit. She was less restrained than usual, her presence acting almost as a buffer against the weight of the gathering storm.

Zhang Lifen inclined her head as he approached. “You’re certain,” she said.

“I am,” he said.

“I trust you know what the price of failure is.”

Although he wasn’t completely sure, he nodded anyway. “I do,” he said. He had a pretty good idea, after all.

“Just so,” she said. She turned, and then over her shoulder, added, “I will await your return, He Yu.”

And with that she was gone, leaving him alone in the plaza with only the black and heavy clouds above and the uncanny stillness in the surrounding air.

He Yu set his feet upon the path and climbed. Before long, the sect proper fell away behind him. The wind picked up, and the rain began. As he climbed, the air grew heavier. The rain increased in tempo, slowly at first, but faster and faster the higher he climbed. First, the wind was little more than a breeze, tugging at his robes. Then it lashed at him, gusting and threatening to knock him off balance.

The rain fell in sheets and stung at his skin. The trail turned to mud, and the stones of the mountain grew slippery. Each step he took grew more treacherous than the last. He had his techniques, but he dared not use them. Something about that felt wrong. Something felt as though he was supposed to make this climb in humility, scrabbling across rain-slick stones and stumbling in the mud.

When he was about halfway to the peak, the first spirit appeared. It was similar to Yongnian in a way, formed of clouds and lightning. Vaguely human-shaped and roughly the size of a large child. The spirit was of the low Second Realm, and it stayed well out of reach. It was clear the spirit meant him no harm—clear that it was attracted by the powerful confluence of qi.

The higher he climbed, the more spirits joined the first. The storm increased its intensity as well, and by the time he reached the summit, there were dozens of them. They danced through the rain, sparking and crackling like motes of heaven brought to earth. Unhindered by the elements, they bobbed and swirled, drawing ever closer but never hostile. They were, he guessed, here to witness rather than impede.

At the summit, the mountain he’d climbed was unnaturally flat. A broad area free of vegetation or other debris. Something about it gave him a similar impression to the temple where he’d met Yongnian. But rather than an enclosed space hidden deep within a mountain, this one was open to the sky. Open. Exposed.

Upon taking his first step onto the summit itself, heaven opened. A great streak of lightning split the sky, charged the air, and scattered the gathered spirits. Deafening thunder, felt as much as heard, rolled across the Shrouded Peaks. All thoughts of the sect faded. All thoughts of his own safety followed. A second bolt of lightning struck the ground mere feet in front of him. A second peal of thunder shook the foundations of the world.

He Yu looked to the sky and gazed upon the storm. The wind had risen to a gale. It howled around him, driving the frigid stinging rain in sheets. It lashed at his skin and soaked through his robes. The skies opened, and lightning streaked across the clouds. Thunder cracked with each flash of heaven’s fury, and he felt the tremors in his bones.

For the briefest moment, He Yu hesitated. Any uncertainty he’d held about what this meant was now gone. He could turn back. He could reject this step. The inner sect would still accept him. Most cultivators never formed their Golden Core. Peak Body Refining was an achievement worth of envy.

He could turn back.

Instead, He Yu raised his hand to the sky and heaven opened.

His tribulation began.