# English Translation
The day was barely breaking over Shuiyuan when the Academy of Characters was preparing for its annual ritual. The air was charged with an electric tension, mixing the acrid smell of incense with the fresh scent of morning dew. In the open-air amphitheater, rows of stone seats stood, occupying the space like silent witnesses to an implacable fate.
Li Wei wandered in the background, his heart heavy and his mind filled with apprehension. In the crowd of students and peers, he knew he was considered the underdog, the one whose talent was as discreet as his hopes for greatness. Today, he had to face the test everyone was waiting for, the public examination that was meant to reveal, according to ritual, the purity of the soul and the ability to channel the Divine Characters.
Short phrases punctuated his thoughts:
"I have always failed."
"They judge me."
"Today, I must prove my worth."
The majestic silhouettes of ancient inscriptions engraved on the facade of the amphitheater proclaimed the thousand-year history of a sacred art. At the precise moment when the bronze gong sounded, a deep voice, emanating from the Master of Ceremony, rose:
"Let the ritual of the Character Trial begin. May destiny reveal itself through the mastery of the brush."
The system itself seemed to awaken, a furtive notification slipping into Li Wei's mind:
He felt a shiver run down his spine, recalling the echo of the voice in the void he had experienced.
The spectators crowded, their gazes flickering between anticipation and disdain. Among them, familiar faces stood out: students in richly embroidered costumes, some proudly displaying their rank insignias – the Silver Rank and the Gold Rank – symbols of proven and recognized potential.
Li Wei found himself on a stone platform, under a beam of morning light. He held firmly his ancestral brush, the silent companion of his dreams and doubts. He took a deep breath. His gaze fell on the parchment before him, on which were traced lines of sacred characters meant to vibrate in unison with his inner energy.
His thoughts mingled with blurry images, and he remembered Old Chen's teachings:
"The brush is not just a tool. It is the extension of your soul."
Today, he hoped that his art could finally transcend the limits that had always relegated him to the rank of useless dreamer.
The ritual began with a basic demonstration of mastery of the Divine Characters. Each candidate had to trace one or more symbols on a large sheet of parchment, while an invisible system monitored the harmony between their spirit and the magical ink. Li Wei's gestures were hesitant, almost clumsy, painfully contrasting with the assured dexterity of his peers.
"Look at him, this calligrapher!" exclaimed a student dressed in a garment embroidered with flamboyant insignias. Muffled laughter began to circulate in the amphitheater, like sinister echoes under the ancient vault.
With trembling fingers, Li Wei brushed the surface of the paper. He tried to reproduce the character "Balance," whose meaning had always seemed elusive to him. In a flash, his strokes became distorted: the brush slipped, the ink spread in irregular flows, and the symbol, instead of evoking serenity, evoked the dissonance of unleashed inner chaos.
The crowd burst into shrill laughter. The noises followed one another: the dry crack of a whip of sarcasm, the metallic crash of social judgment. Whispers transformed into a din of insults and pity. Bitterness mingled with mockery. Li Wei felt the heat of shame overwhelm him, the burning tears blending with the clumsy effort to contain his despair.
Every sensation was heightened:
The oppressive heat of a merciless sun.
The acrid smell of sweat emanations mixed with fetid incense.
The sharp sounds of laughter, cutting through the silence like shards of glass.
The bitter taste of defeat, a bitterness that gnawed at his soul.
Once the failed symbol was exposed, the system then emitted a new notification in Li Wei's mind:
This notification vibrated within him, suggesting that despite the humiliation, a still hidden force was making its way through his failures.
In the middle of the assembly, as mockery grew crueler, the door of the amphitheater suddenly opened with a crash. Luna, the prodigy student – often considered the standard of success – made her entrance, accompanied by her white wolf, symbol of her perfection and high status.
"Li Wei..." she whispered in a tone tinged with condescension, her eyes sparkling with feigned but cruel disdain.
"You dare step on stage with impossible dreams?" added a student in a whisper, drawing a few complicit laughs from the audience.
But just as despair was taking over, a strange phenomenon occurred. The ink on the parchment seemed to flicker, and an irregular glow ran through the failed lines. It wasn't proof of technical success, but rather the furtive glimmer of a latent power, as if failure had paradoxically been the trigger for something greater.
The invisible beast gnawing at Li Wei's heart seemed to want to break free. In this suspended minute, his eyes closed abruptly, and an inner whisper intensified: "Listen to the void..."
An inner voice, both soft and powerful, resonated within him, contrasting with the surrounding din. This whisper seemed to order his soul not to break, to embrace this pain to transform failure into an unsuspected strength. For a brief moment, time seemed to stop, isolating Li Wei in a bubble of introspection where ridicule and pain took the form of a mysterious prelude to his future.
Li Wei's brush still trembled in his hand, but a new energy now radiated around him. The flickering light of his failure was tinged with an unexpected golden aura, reminiscent of the shimmer of higher ranks – a discreet clue that even in defeat, he carried within him the potential for formidable power. The whispers of the void became more insistent, seeming to promise him a future ascension.
The eyes of some elders, whose gaze was usually impassive, fixed on him with surprise. A murmur ran through the assembly: "Look... there's something different today."
The system reacted once again in Li Wei's mind with an enigmatic notification:
These words, simple and powerful, inscribed themselves in his mind as a promise that his mistakes of yesterday could well be the foundations of his triumphs of tomorrow.
The Master of Ceremony stepped forward on the platform, his thunderous voice attempting to regain control of the situation.
"Let no one forget that every failure contains a seed of greatness."
But his words were swept away by the persistent mockery of another student:
"A seed, perhaps, but you, Li Wei, are just a barren field."
This last remark resonated like a hammer blow against Li Wei's bruised heart. Yet, at this precise moment, as contemptuous gazes multiplied, he felt something inexplicable awaken within him: a quiet and determined force that whispered to him that he was not destined to remain the shadow of himself.
"I... I may not be like you," he replied in a trembling but sincere voice, "but one day, you will see that even error can lead to perfection."
A tense pause followed this whisper, as the hall sank into a heavy silence. The crowd hesitated, laughter gradually dissipating, replaced by curiosity mixed with concern.
After this moment of confrontation, Li Wei left the platform under a rain of ambivalent gazes. His heart was pounding, and tears of humiliation mingled with drops of sweat on his forehead. In the corridors of the academy, echoes of the scene spread like a rumor. Some condemned him, others saw a portent.
Alone, in a dark corner of the vestibule, Li Wei leaned against a cold wall and let out a sigh. The rustle of his breath seemed to echo the quivering of shadows dancing on the ancient stones. He closed his eyes and saw himself, not as the humiliating failure that everyone saw, but as a being capable of feeling a still unexplored power.
He then remembered the words of the system
And in the silence of this solitude, the inner voices of the void resumed their song. "Let yourself be guided, Li Wei, embrace the pain and transform it."
Minutes stretched into an introspective eternity. Each sensation became more vivid:
The burning heat of shame that made him vibrate in his bones,
The salty taste of his fresh tears,
The persistent whisper of the wind in the corridors of the academy, as if it carried within it the secrets of an unfathomable future.
Gradually, he straightened up, aware that he could no longer flee his destiny. He promised himself, in a surge of new determination, to return to the platform – but not to prove to the crowd that he could succeed, simply to assert himself and begin to understand the nature of his hidden power. The gaze of a stranger, perhaps a secret mentor, had even rested upon him with a glimmer of hope and astonishment.