The ancient characters above the countless doors remained bright for a long moment.
Those who have passed four levels may attempt the fifth.
No one stepped forward immediately.
The first four levels had already made the plaza understand something. This trial did not lack rewards, but it also did not lack graves. The mansion did not care whether the person entering was a sect genius, a rogue cultivator, or the beloved disciple of some reclusive elder. Once the door closed, only strength, judgment, and timing mattered.
A young man from a medium sect finally walked out. His robe was torn at the shoulder from the fourth level, and his face still carried a little of the excitement from his earlier rewards. One of his companions reached out to stop him, but he shook the hand away.
"If I retreat here, I will regret it more than losing," he said.
His voice sounded brave, but his fingers were tight around his sword hilt.
He pressed his palm against a door and vanished.
The plaza waited.
This time, the result did not appear quickly. The cultivators near his sect stared at the plaque above the door without blinking. After nearly an incense stick's worth of time, the dark jade door shook once, and the young man was thrown back onto the stone ground.
The plaque above him displayed one word.
Fail.
He rolled across the ground and coughed blood. His right shoulder had collapsed inward, and three long wounds had opened across his chest. The deepest one nearly reached the bone. His companions hurried over, and one of them fed him a pill with trembling hands.
"He admitted defeat too late," Su Wanqing said quietly.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze stayed on the wounded man. "But he still admitted it before death arrived."
Those words were simple, yet they made several nearby cultivators stop moving toward the doors.
A smaller clan disciple did not listen. Perhaps he thought the medium sect cultivator had only been unlucky. Perhaps he thought the fifth level reward was worth a crippled arm. He entered with a defensive talisman already held between two fingers.
He did not return.
The plaque above his door changed after less than half the time.
Death.
His clan members froze in place. No body came out. No storage pouch fell to the ground. No weapon returned. The trial chamber swallowed everything, and the plaza gave them only a word.
This time, the silence became colder.
Gu Man's smile faded a little. "That was too fast."
Chi Yao looked at the dark door with narrowed eyes. "He probably met something that broke through his defense before he could speak."
Luo Qianji shook his head slowly. "Or he thought he still had time. The trial punishes that kind of thought."
No one mocked the dead man. In Myriad Halls Plaza, mockery could wait until one knew whether one would survive the same door.
Jian Wuchen moved next.
The Heavenly Sword Lake disciple walked forward with his usual cold pride. His white-blue robes were neat, and the silver lake emblem at his chest reflected the ancient light. He placed his palm against a door without speaking. The door swallowed him, and the sword aura he left behind faded like ripples on still water.
When he returned, the plaque above the door showed Pass.
A thin cut had opened across the sleeve near his left shoulder. There was no blood, but the cloth had been sliced cleanly. Whatever reward he received did not appear in public. He came out empty-handed, or at least he allowed others to see him that way.
The Heavenly Sword Lake disciples straightened at once. Xu Hanjiang stood behind them with a respectful expression, but his eyes briefly moved toward Fang Lin before lowering again.
Chi Yao entered after Jian Wuchen.
Her red-gold palace robes fluttered as she touched the door, and a faint warmth remained even after she disappeared. Her trial lasted longer. When she returned, there was a scorched mark near her collar, and a thin line of blood had dried at the corner of her lips. Her eyes, however, were bright.
Pass.
Gu Man looked at her and grinned. "You look happier after being beaten."
Chi Yao wiped away the blood with her thumb and smiled. "That is because I won. You may try to understand the feeling later."
A few disciples nearby nearly laughed, but most of them swallowed the sound. The fifth level had killed someone moments earlier. Laughter needed courage too.
Gu Man entered with a loud breath and came back with blood on his forearm and one cracked plate on his shoulder armor. His plaque also showed Pass. He looked at the crack in his armor, then laughed once, lower than usual.
"That one knew how to hit."
After him, the famous names began to move.
Xuan Beihai returned with a dent in his black-green armor-robes, his expression as heavy and patient as before. Yue Qingning came back with silver mist curling around one sleeve and a paler face than usual. Ning Shuang returned so quietly that many only noticed her after the plaque changed, and a thin cut on her cheek vanished beneath her sleeve. Luo Qianji, Su Lianxue, Kong Mingyuan, Mo Yuanli, Ji Xuechan, Lei Yunhe, and Chu Wumian all passed one after another.
None of them displayed their rewards.
That made the reward feel even heavier.
If someone received an ordinary pill, they might mention it. If someone received a useful talisman, they might show enough of it to gain face. But now, every person who passed the fifth level returned with sealed lips. Some hid their hands in their sleeves. Some adjusted their robes as if nothing had happened. Some immediately walked back to their own group and sat down to regulate their breath.
The plaza understood without needing anyone to say it.
The fifth level reward was not something people wanted others to know.
Ye Qinglan entered after watching enough results. When she returned, her green-white sleeve had been torn near the wrist, and a wound there had already been sealed by pale green light. Her expression remained calm, but the Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect disciples around her became more serious when they saw the blood.
"Do not rush," Ye Qinglan told them. "If you are not certain you can survive a mistake, rest first."
No one argued with her.
Feng Jiu'er looked at Fang Lin. "I will go."
Fang Lin studied her for a moment. Her expression was steady, and her fire aura was restrained so cleanly that most people would only see the confidence of a Peak Spirit Foundation cultivator. Yet after traveling with her through danger, Fang Lin knew she was still hiding a blade beneath the flame.
"Come back safely," he said.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes moved slightly. "Only safely?"
"If you come back too cleanly, people will stare. If you come back too wounded, your people will worry. Somewhere in the middle is best."
She looked at him for half a breath, and the corner of her lips rose faintly. "You even calculate how a person should be injured."
"I call it being considerate."
"Very Convenient!"
Before the exchange could draw too much attention, Feng Jiu'er placed her palm against a door and entered.
Su Wanqing watched the plaque quietly. Ye Qinglan also turned her gaze toward it. Fang Lin did not spread his divine sense toward the door. The trial chamber's authority was not something he could pierce without risk, and trying would only be foolish. He only stood there and waited.
After a long while, the plaque lit up.
Pass.
Feng Jiu'er returned with a cut across her upper arm. The wound had already stopped bleeding, and a faint thread of crimson fire sealed the torn flesh before disappearing beneath her sleeve. Her robe was damaged near the hem, and her breathing was slightly heavier than before, but her eyes were clear.
Su Wanqing let out a slow breath.
Fang Lin's gaze paused on Feng Jiu'er's arm. The injury was real, but not dangerous. More importantly, it did not match the depth of strength he had sensed from her before. She had passed while keeping her true foundation hidden.
Feng Jiu'er noticed his gaze and said, "Your turn."
Fang Lin nodded. "Right. I have seen enough."
"Do not treat it like the first four levels."
"I never treat reward halls kindly."
"That does not sound like caution."
"It is caution. I simply prefer to be honest about the reward."
Su Wanqing gave him a look, but this time she did not speak. Feng Jiu'er's eyes held a faint helplessness, though it vanished quickly.
Fang Lin walked toward one of the dark doors.
By now, several gazes followed him. Some belonged to people who had heard of the Weapon Resting Hall. Some belonged to those who remembered Broken Ravine. Some belonged to people who only knew that the mysterious rogue cultivator called Silent Mountain Sword had passed four levels without panic.
Fang Lin ignored them.
His palm touched the door.
The world folded inward.
When his sight returned, he stood on a battlefield of black-red stone. The ground was covered in spear marks, some shallow, some deep enough to split the stone. The air carried the smell of old blood and iron. Above him, the pale trial light had turned dark red.
Across the battlefield stood a tall man.
His skin was bronze, but dark red veins moved beneath it like living lines. His hair hung loose over his shoulders, and two short black horn ridges pressed against his forehead. In his right hand was a long black spear with a crescent-shaped blade. Dried crimson stained the edge, though Fang Lin knew it was not real blood from outside. It was the trial's killing intent given form.
The demon-blood spear user opened his eyes.
"So another one comes," he said. His voice was low and rough, but clear. "The last man trusted a talisman. He died before it finished burning."
Fang Lin held Night Burial Sword in his hand. "Then your trial has already taught one lesson."
The spear user smiled, showing sharp teeth. "And what did you learn?"
"That defensive talismans are wasted on slow hands."
The smile disappeared.
The spear arrived almost at the same instant.
Fang Lin shifted sideways, and the spear blade passed beside his neck close enough to stir his hair. Before the thrust finished, the spear shaft bent in the spear user's grip and swept toward Fang Lin's ribs. Night Burial Sword met it at an angle. The impact pushed Fang Lin half a step back, and he allowed the movement to continue instead of forcing it still.
The demon-blood spear user's strength was greater than the fourth level opponent's. More importantly, his control was better. His attacks did not simply chase the body. They chased the next choice.
A thrust aimed at the throat forced the sword up. A sweep toward the knee forced movement. A short grip on the spear butt changed long range into close range. Every exchange tried to make Fang Lin reveal something.
Fang Lin did not reveal it.
He did not use Frost. He did not use obvious Death force. He did not draw on the Dark Bud. Even his speed stayed within the range of what Shen Mo could reasonably show. Night Burial Sword moved cleanly in his hand, and his body force remained heavy but not abnormal.
The spear user laughed after twelve exchanges. "You are stronger than the others, but still hiding. Are all human cultivators this afraid?"
Fang Lin retreated another step. The spear blade cut across his forearm, opening a shallow wound.
"People who shout everything they have usually die poor," he said.
The spear user's eyes flashed with anger. Blood-red aura surged around the spear, and the pressure of the chamber deepened. The next thrust came faster, sharper, and more vicious than before. It aimed for Fang Lin's chest, but the killing intent bent toward his left shoulder at the final moment.
Fang Lin's eyes remained calm.
He had already watched the rhythm. The demon-blood spear user's right shoulder sank before a true killing thrust. His left foot pressed harder before a feint. When anger entered his blood aura, his first attack became stronger, but his second change slowed by a fraction.
That fraction was enough.
Fang Lin stepped forward instead of retreating.
Night Burial Sword slid along the spear blade, not blocking its force but guiding it away. His left palm struck the spear shaft from below, and a controlled weight passed through his arm. It looked like ordinary body strength, yet it was enough to make the spear dip for a single breath.
The demon-blood spear user's expression changed.
Fang Lin was already inside his guard.
Night Burial Sword cut across the wrist first. The spear loosened. The demon-blood spear user roared and grabbed toward Fang Lin's face with his left hand, fingers curved like iron hooks. Fang Lin lowered his body, let the claw tear through empty air, and struck the man's chest with his shoulder.
Bone cracked.
The black sword turned upward.
The blade pierced beneath the ribs and came out through the back. Blood-red light shook around the demon-blood spear user's body, then broke apart like smoke under rain. He stared at Fang Lin with rage still in his eyes, but his strength had already left him.
Fang Lin leaned closer and said calmly, "Your spear was better when you were not angry."
The demon-blood spear user collapsed.
The battlefield became silent.
Fang Lin let the wound on his forearm bleed for several breaths before sealing it with a thin layer of Spirit Qi. The cut near his ribs from the earlier exchange also stung beneath his robe. Nether Life Spirit Qi could close both injuries quickly, but he suppressed the recovery. Returning too cleanly from the fifth level would be more troublesome than returning injured.
The red light above the battlefield condensed into a black jade slip.
It fell quietly into Fang Lin's hand.
Four words entered his mind.
Moonless Shadow Step.
Fang Lin's eyes changed slightly.
It was a movement skill technique. Not a crude burst of speed. Its opening lines spoke of silent steps, broken angles, shadowed blind spots, and using an opponent's delayed perception as a path. It suited his Darkness foundation, his Shadow Breath, and his current need to move faster without exposing his true cards.
This was worthy of a fifth level milestone reward.
He stored the jade slip immediately.
When the chamber released him, Myriad Halls Plaza returned around him.
The plaque above the door lit up.
Pass.
This time, the eyes that turned toward him were different.
Passing the first four levels proved strength. Passing the fifth placed him among the people who mattered in this plaza. Shen Mo, the Silent Mountain Sword, had crossed the first true wall.
Fang Lin walked back with blood on his forearm and a torn line near his ribs. His breathing was a little heavier than before, just enough to look believable. Feng Jiu'er's gaze landed on the blood first, and her expression cooled by a small degree.
"You are injured," she said.
"A little," Fang Lin replied. "The spear user inside had a temper."
"And you angered him?"
"He asked a question. I answered honestly."
Su Wanqing looked at him for a moment. "That explains more than I expected."
Feng Jiu'er did not smile, but her eyes softened after seeing that his steps were steady. "Rest before you think about the next level."
Fang Lin glanced toward the doors. "That depends on what the next level thinks about me."
Before Feng Jiu'er could answer, the ancient light above the countless doors changed again.
Those who have passed five levels may attempt the sixth.
The words were simple.
Yet when they appeared, even the major sect disciples did not move at once.
The fifth level had been a wall.
The sixth felt like a gate built for those who could already touch a higher realm.
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