Chapter 34

  As the heavens still crackled with fading arcs of divine fury and tremors echoed through the bones of the world, a heavy silence clung to the sky—tense, scorched, and trembling, as if reality itself had yet to exhale.

  Inside his mind, Xiaoyan heard a soft laugh.

  It was Lunaria.

  Not a mocking laugh—no, it was something between awe and amusement. The kind of sound one makes when reminded, once again, that the universe still had the power to surprise even immortals.

  “You’re laughing?” Xiaoyan asked, his eyes still locked on the divine aftermath. “That was a god throwing judgment. And you’re laughing?”

  He hadn’t blinked. He didn’t dare. Yet he felt her presence—a quiet guest seated within the temple of his mind.

  Lunaria’s voice carried warmth and mystery, like moonlight on midnight snow.

  “In my long life, I’ve seen perhaps a million breakthroughs,” she said casually. “I’ve even caused a few. But something like this? This is rare, child. Rare on a galactic scale.”

  Xiaoyan’s brow twitched. “Then what the hell did we just see?”

  “A judgment,” Lunaria said. “From heaven itself. But heaven doesn’t judge often. It takes... conditions.”

  “What kind of conditions?”

  She stretched the thought like silk before speaking again.

  “To be granted a tribulation where Heaven sends its soldiers—it's giants—a cultivator must fulfill certain criteria. As per this world’s rules. First, they must possess multiple Grade 9 Elemental Synchronizations. Not one. Multiple. That alone is legend.”

  Xiaoyan felt a chill.

  “But that’s not all,” Lunaria continued. “They must comprehend several lesser Daos of those elements—each one a law of reality. Then a mid-tier Dao, usually something broader—foundational. And finally... a Personal Dao.”

  “A Personal Dao?” Xiaoyan echoed.

  “Yes. Something only they could comprehend. A path no one else has walked or even imagined. A Dao that sings with their soul’s tone.”

  Xiaoyan narrowed his eyes. “So what are you trying to say?”

  Lunaria’s voice grew quiet—almost reverent.

  “All I’m saying,” she said with a faint smirk, “is that your Sect Leader Han Wuqing is a man of many secrets.”

  Lunaria’s laughter slowly faded into a hum of reverence. “You don’t understand, Xiaoyan,” she said, voice tinged with awe. “This tribulation—it’s not just a test. It’s a declaration.”

  “A declaration?” Xiaoyan asked, his eyes still locked on the divine spectacle above.

  She nodded. “Yes. A declaration from the heavens themselves that this person—your Sect Leader Han Wuqing—holds the potential to reach the realm I now stand in. This isn’t a Nascent Soul tribulation anymore.”

  Her gaze turned solemn, almost reverent. “This… is the kind of trial that the lowest potential Soul Transformation cultivators face when they attempt to step into the Saint Realm. The heavens are treating him as someone who might one day touch divinity.”

  The wrathful blue sun trembled—then cracked.

  Fractures of divine light split its surface like shattered glass, until it burst into countless fragments, each one a miniature sun. The chaos raging across the heavens froze as if the world itself paused to witness what came next.

  And from within that suspended silence… a soul emerged.

  Brilliant. Clear. Visible to all.

  It was Sect Leader Han Wuqing’s soul—undeniably him, and undeniably alive.

  Cheers did not erupt. Not yet. But gasps and cries of joy slipped from stunned throats as the Peak Masters and Elder Guo felt their hearts surge with hope. Relief crashed down like a tidal wave.

  “He’s alive…”

  Then, the miracle continued.

  The tiny suns spiraled inward, drawn to Han Wuqing like stars caught in orbit. Each one fused into his soul, refining and solidifying it until it no longer shimmered like mist but gleamed like crystal.

  Bone reknits itself in radiant silence.

  Organs bloomed like flowers.

  Veins laced themselves through flesh, muscle wrapping them in strength.

  And skin—flawless and new—sealed him whole once more.

  Han Wuqing opened his eyes.

  Alive. Restored. Reborn.

  He turned, gaze lifting to the skies—where the Lightning Giant still loomed.

  The celestial colossus stared down at him in silence… then tilted its head, the faintest curve of amusement tugging at its crackling features. A smirk—if such a being could smirk.

  Then, without a word, it turned and stepped back into the storm.

  The pitch-black clouds folded in on themselves, the darkness retreating.

  Light returned to the world.

  And with it… silence.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Not of fear.

  But of reverence.

  High above the ground, Sect Leader Han Wuqing crossed his legs and sat in midair. His eyes closed, body radiating calm—but the world around him still pulsed with residual divinity.

  It wasn’t over.

  From the scorched battlefield below, Peak Master Ai stepped forward, her voice resonating with gravity.

  “The Mirror Trial has begun.”

  A visible tension passed through the assembled cultivators. The awe of survival shifted instantly into dread. Even the most seasoned Peak Masters and Elder Guo grew visibly grim.

  Adam furrowed his brows and leaned toward his master.

  “Mirror trial? What’s that?”

  Elder Guo exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries behind his voice.

  “It is a trial known only to those attempting to ascend from Soul Transformation. Rare, and feared. According to the ancient records, this is no mere test of strength or cultivation.”

  He gestured toward the meditating Sect Leader.

  “A cultivator’s soul is laid bare—confronted by their truest self. Every buried regret, every suppressed desire, every contradiction they’ve ignored or denied… all of it takes form. It is not an enemy to defeat. It is the version of themselves they never allowed to exist.”

  Adam’s eyes widened. “And… what happens then?”

  Elder Guo’s voice lowered.

  “Four paths. Four destinies. Each one transforms a man… or destroys him.”

  He held up a finger.

  “One: the Path of Suppression.”

  “The cultivator slaughters their other self—rejects all doubts, all emotions. But in doing so, they become twisted. Obsessive. A hollow shell obsessed only with power. They ascend… but as monsters.”

  Another finger.

  “Two: the Path of Understanding.”

  “They accept the truth. All of it. Even the parts they hate. Through that, they achieve clarity, harmony. This is the path of the Enlightened One—the ideal cultivator.”

  A third.

  “Three: the Path of Symbiosis.”

  “They cannot reject, nor fully accept. So they make a pact. Two souls in one body, coexisting. One life shared between two minds. On Earth, you might call it multiple personality disorder. Here, it is unstable… but not always fatal.”

  And the last.

  “Four: the Path of Failure.”

  “They break.”

  He looked directly at Adam.

  “They become madmen—lost to themselves forever.”

  Silence fell again, but it wasn’t peaceful.

  All eyes turned skyward.

  To Sect Leader Han Wuqing, sitting still as stone, his soul caught in battle not of fists or spells—but of identity.

  The seven figures arrived like thunderclouds rolling in slow motion—four women and three men, each carrying the aura of the Soul Transformation Realm. Their footsteps didn’t stir dust or shake the ground, but the weight of their presence pressed down on the soul like a vice.

  Two among them radiated a twisted calmness, as if their cultivation itself was held together by sheer force of will—Suppression Path cultivators. The rest carried a strange duality, subtle fluctuations betraying the presence of multiple souls coexisting in one body—Symbiosis Path cultivators.

  But one stood apart. A woman draped in celestial white, her aura clear and unfettered like flowing spring water. Her gaze was firm but distant, as if she walked slightly outside the world.

  The Enlightened One.

  The Second Sister of the Ebonreich Queen.

  Aria’s Aunt.

  As they descended, the Peak Masters and Elder Guo offered respectful bows.

  “Honored seniors,” Peak Master Ai spoke, “we welcome your vigilance.”

  Adam watched in silence, then leaned closer to Elder Guo.

  “They’re here to stop the Sect Leader if something goes wrong, aren’t they?”

  Elder Guo nodded without hesitation.

  “If the Sect Leader falls to madness, or if his soul collapses and turns demonic, these seven are the balance Heaven sends in its absence.”

  Adam frowned. “But… wouldn’t they take advantage of the situation?”

  Guo looked at him sharply and replied,

  “They are bound by soul oath. Every one of them has sworn before the Heavens that if they interfere for selfish gain during a mirror trial, their souls will be shattered into the eternal void.”

  Before Adam could speak further—two more presences appeared.

  The world seemed to bend. The clouds recoiled. Even the grass bowed without wind.

  Two figures. A man and a woman.

  Their eyes burned with clarity—but not the clarity of insight, the clarity of insanity. They walked with no pattern. They smiled with no warmth. Their laughter was light but hollow, and every word seemed like the edge of a broken mirror scraping along the mind.

  The other Soul Transformation cultivators immediately grew tense. Subtle shifts in stance. A shimmer of defensive techniques beneath their sleeves.

  The Path of Failure had arrived.

  The woman twirled, bare feet leaving bloody petals behind her. She was floating upside down, as if the world had politely inverted itself just for her. The man giggled to himself while tilting his head to listen to something no one else could hear

  Then the man spoke, a crooked grin curling up his face.

  “Don’t mind us,” he said. “We’re just here to watch. A new soul… so loud it made the Heavens scream. He might join us… might not. But oh, how fun it is to see the dice roll.”

  Even the Enlightened One narrowed her eyes.

  Elder Guo murmured to Adam, his voice low and grim.

  “Even the failures are drawn to brilliance. When a cultivator walks the path of the soul… everyone watches. The wise, the mad, the monsters—and sometimes… even the Heavens themselves.”

  “Now… it’s all up to Han Wuqing. No one else can follow him there.”

  The upside-down woman suddenly jerked, her arm snapping back as if burned. The giggling man clutched his face, his laughter twisting into wet, gurgling hiccups. Blood seeped between his fingers.

  The Enlightened One’s gaze sharpened. "They tried to interfere. And were repelled."

  The woman hissed, her inverted lips peeling into a snarl. "He’s stronger than he looks."

  The man giggled through crimson teeth. "Or weaker. Or funnier"

  Adam tensed. "What just—?"

  Elder Guo silenced him with a look. "The Mirror Trial is sacred. Even madness cannot violate its laws without consequence.”

  —

  The soulscape was quiet.

  Not peaceful.

  Not serene.

  Just—quiet. The kind that came after screaming.

  Han Wuqing stood alone in a world of glass—when the first crack echoed.

  Not in the mirrors.

  In the air itself .

  The giggling man’s face pressed against the soulscape’s horizon, his features stretched like taffy, laughter oozing through fissures. "So close to the edge… just one little push—"

  The upside-down woman’s fingers slithered in from the opposite side, nails scraping glass. "Freedom is a noose, Han Wuqing. Let us untie you."

  Han recoiled, but his Mirror Self didn’t flinch.

  "Ignore them," it said, voice calm as frozen steel. "Vultures can’t feast on a soul that won’t rot."

  The woman’s hand lunged—

  —and shattered, petals exploding outward in a spray of blackened light.

  The Mirror Self hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. But the moment her fingers crossed into the soulscape, they froze , then splintered like ice. The giggling man’s laughter cut off with a wet gasp as his stretched face crumpled inward, his jaw collapsing like a deflated bellows.

  "This is our domain," the Mirror Self said, and for the first time, its voice carried the weight of Han Wuqing’s true will. "You are nothing here. Less than nothing."

  —

  Outside, the giggling man’s knees buckled, his laughter devolving into wet coughs. The upside-down woman’s arm hung limp, fingers blackened as if burned by divine fire. The Enlightened One’s lips curved—the faintest approval.

  —

  Each step rang hollow across the reflective surface, echoing endlessly in every direction. The sky above was a void; not black, not grey, but blank, as if even color had abandoned this place.

  And all around him, reflections .

  Mirrors suspended midair, some cracked, some whole. In them he saw himself. Every version. As a child. As a killer. As a monk. As a coward. As a hero. As a dead man.

  He was all of them.

  And none of them.

  After the vultures vanished, the soulscape settled, the cracks sealing like scars only the Mirror remained– and the truth

  It stood before him, silver eyes unblinking. Glass cracked beneath its feet as it stepped closer.

  "You have always walked the Path of Suppression. Not for yourself, but for your family. For your sins. For Zayk's name in your blood."

  The voice was calm. Inevitable.

  "But you are no longer walking. The path ends here, and splits. To continue, you must answer one truth."

  It stopped, close enough for Han to see his own reflection in its pupils—

  a thousand fractured versions of himself.

  "What is it that ‘you’ truly desire?"

  Han Wuqing flinched.

  The question struck harder than any blade.

  He tried to speak. Tried to summon resolve. But the silence in him was louder than words. His knees trembled. Not from fear. From something deeper. Older.

  The Mirror Self watched.

  "I want..."

  He didn't know.

  He hadn't known for a long time.

  "I want to free my family from the curse."

  But the moment he said it, the words felt hollow. No—not wrong. Just... not enough.

  He saw their faces.

  His family. The 15 souls.

  Each cursed to die horribly. Each forced to reincarnate within the bloodline. Never growing. Never moving on. Just trapped. Screaming. Over and over.

  And him—Han Wuqing.

  The last one born.

  He had never started a family of his own. Not because he feared love. But because every birth meant one of them would be pulled back from rest. Again.

  A new baby. Same soul. Same pain.

  “I didn’t even want a family,” he whispered. “Not because I didn’t care—but because... every new heartbeat was a prison bell.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “I just... didn’t want to trap them again.”

  But even if they all tried to die—tried to ensure no new birth would continue the cycle—it didn’t matter.

  The curse was deeper than blood.

  They would simply be reborn elsewhere.

  To another family. Another fate. Still shackled to their karma.

  A cycle that refused to end.

  “Even death doesn’t set us free,” Han Wuqing muttered, voice ragged. “Even if we all vanished... we’d just be dragged into another cradle.”

  The Mirror Self remained silent. Judging. Waiting.

  Then—

  A breeze.

  Warm. Gentle. Out of place.

  And a memory stirred.

  ---

  A hill. A sword. Bloodied knuckles. A golden sunset.

  Siegfried.

  Laughing.

  “You don’t get points for dying in someone else’s story, little brother.”

  Han, younger, sat on the ground panting, bruised and bleeding. His sword lay beside him. He looked up, angry and confused.

  Siegfried grinned, ruffling his hair.

  “You can carry the whole family’s karma. You can walk the road I walked. But what’s the point, Wuqing... if you never choose your road?”

  “Be selfish,” he said. “That’s how you save others. Start with saving yourself.”

  ---

  The breeze faded.

  Back in the soulscape, Han stood taller.

  He looked at the Mirror Self.

  And laughed.

  Quiet. Bitter. Grateful.

  “Even when you're not here... you're still teaching me, brother.”

  He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, smearing light like shattered glass across his cheeks. Then he closed his eyes.

  “I want freedom. Not just for them. For me.”

  “I want to understand myself. Not deny it. Not suppress it. Not fight like a martyr in someone else's war.”

  His voice grew stronger.

  “I want to live my life—my way.”

  Han Wuqing smiled. The Mirror Self mirrored him—then cracked like a dam, shattering into light.

  The entire soulscape cracked, glass turning to light. The chains of ancestral karma groaned—not broken, but acknowledged. Understood.

  And from within Han’s chest, a quiet glow.

  A warmth that pulsed with recognition.

  The Path of Understanding had opened.

  And he—for the first time—walked his road.