The ancient words above the countless doors did not fade.
Those who have passed five levels may attempt the sixth.
For a time, no one moved.
After the fifth level, the plaza no longer had the restless heat from before. The cultivators who had passed the first four levels still carried pride in their eyes, but pride had become much quieter after seeing the word Death appear above a trial door. The fifth level had already separated ordinary elites from those who truly had the right to stand at the front. The sixth level was different again.
It was not a wall anymore.
It was a question.
Who among Spirit Foundation cultivators had the courage to touch the shadow of Core Formation battle strength?
Some cultivators looked at the doors, then slowly lowered their gazes. No one laughed at them. Those who had survived until this point were not weak, and most of them were not stupid either. A man who knew when to stop could still leave with treasures, pills, talismans, spirit materials, and trial rewards. A man who mistook greed for destiny might not leave at all.
Soon, the edges of Myriad Halls Plaza changed.
Those who no longer planned to challenge immediately began laying out cloths, opening storage pouches, and taking out the rewards and treasures they had obtained. There were dark beast cores from the outer ruins, sealed pill bottles from the first few trial levels, defensive talismans, weapon-tempering liquids, broken fragments of old weapons, and jade boxes that no one opened fully in public. No one displayed their Level 5 reward. Even the boldest cultivators understood that some things were better hidden beneath sleeves.
A temporary market formed without anyone announcing it.
The strong watched the doors. The cautious traded.
This was also cultivation.
A disciple from a medium sect held up a small jade bottle and said, "Clean recovery pills from the second level. I only trade for defensive treasures or spirit stones."
Another cultivator shook his head. "Recovery pills are useful, but not enough for my talisman."
"Then keep your talisman and bleed with dignity."
The nearby cultivators almost smiled, but the ancient doors were too close for loud amusement.
Fang Lin stood beside the Green Bamboo Alliance group and watched the plaza settle into a different kind of battlefield. No blades were drawn, but eyes moved constantly. A bottle placed too openly invited greed. A reward hidden too carefully invited guesses. A sect disciple who stepped too close to a rogue cultivator made others wonder whether trade, recruitment, or robbery would follow.
No one sat down to study their newly obtained techniques. The reason was simple. No one knew when the main trial would change again, and no intelligent cultivator wanted to expose the aura, circulation route, or elemental nature of a fresh reward in front of every rival in the plaza.
Fang Lin's expression remained calm. Moonless Shadow Step rested inside his storage treasure, untouched. Its name alone was enough to interest him.
A movement technique studied carelessly in public was no different from handing enemies a corner of his sleeve and asking them to pull.
At that moment, a man in ash-white robes stepped away from the trading crowd.
He carried no sect emblem. His robe was plain, his bronze belt old, and the long spear in his hand looked almost dull until one noticed that dust did not cling to it. Even when he walked across the stone plaza, his steps left no sound.
Several cultivators turned.
"Which sect is he from?" someone asked.
The ash-robed man stopped before one of the dark doors and glanced back. His face was young, but his eyes carried the stillness of someone who had trained alone for many years.
"Yan Zhaoling," he said. "My master is Old Man Tianxu of Falling Star Plateau. I do not belong to a sect."
The questioner frowned. "A rogue cultivator?"
Yan Zhaoling's gaze remained steady. "A cultivator. A disciple. Is that not enough?"
The words were not loud, yet they made the people nearby quiet down.
A few major sect disciples looked at him more seriously. Falling Star Plateau was not a sect, but some old monsters on the Demon Immortal Continent did not need banners to make people afraid. They lived in mountains, forbidden valleys, cold lakes, and ruined plateaus. They accepted few disciples, sometimes only one in a lifetime, but those disciples often walked out with methods that ordinary sect disciples had never seen.
Yan Zhaoling pressed his palm to the door and entered.
The plaza waited.
His trial lasted longer than most Level 5 attempts. When the door finally opened, Yan Zhaoling returned with his chest robe split open and blood running down the fingers of his spear hand. His breathing was heavy, but his spear remained upright.
The plaque above him showed Pass.
A small stir moved through the plaza. Yan Zhaoling did not explain what reward he had received. He only lowered his spear, turned, and walked back to a quiet corner where no one had dared occupy the space.
Another figure stepped forward soon after.
This time it was a woman in pale blue robes. A white sash tied her waist, and a silver mirror hairpin held her hair in place. Her aura was cold, but not sharp like ordinary frost. It was still, reflective, and quiet enough that nearby voices seemed to soften around her.
A Moon Reflection Valley disciple narrowed his eyes. "Junior Sister, are you from our valley?"
The woman looked at him briefly. "No."
"Then where did you learn that mirror aura?"
"My master taught me."
"Your master is?"
"Mistress Han Yue of Cold Mirror Lake."
The Moon Reflection disciple's expression changed slightly. Some people recognized the name. More people did not, but they understood the reaction.
The woman looked toward the doors. "I am Qin Xiaohan. I came here to test myself, not to borrow anyone's lineage."
She entered without another word.
When she returned after a while, the mirror hairpin in her hair had cracked. A wound pierced through her left shoulder, and cold mist leaked from it before being pressed down by her own Spirit Qi. Her face was pale, but her eyes were clear.
Pass.
This time, even Chi Yao's expression shifted with interest.
Gu Man rubbed his chin. "The hidden ones are crawling out."
Qin Xiaohan heard him and said calmly, "Those who hide are not always crawling. Some are simply tired of shouting."
Gu Man stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "Good. I like that answer."
A third reclusive disciple moved next, though his pace was slower.
He wore a dark scholar robe with ink-black sleeves and a narrow lantern pendant hanging at his chest. The lantern was no larger than a thumb, but a pale yellow-white glow flickered inside it. His face carried a polite smile, the kind that made it difficult to know whether he was confident or merely too tired to panic.
A Demon Suppression Temple disciple looked at the lantern and said, "You cultivate temple light?"
The scholar smiled. "My master would probably throw me off a cliff if he heard that."
The temple disciple's face darkened. "Then who is your master?"
"The Old Lantern Keeper of Hollow Lamp Valley," the scholar said. "My name is Mo Qingchuan. I do not belong to your temple, and I do not suppress demons for reputation."
A few people looked toward Kong Mingyuan.
Kong Mingyuan's expression did not change, but the fingers resting inside his sleeve curled slightly.
Mo Qingchuan entered the door.
He returned much faster than Yan Zhaoling and Qin Xiaohan.
The door threw him out with a heavy sound. He landed on one knee, coughed blood across the stone, and the small lantern pendant at his chest cracked from top to bottom. The plaque above the door displayed Fail.
No one mocked him.
He had survived Level 6.
That alone was enough to make many cultivators who had passed Level 4 and Level 5 to look at him with new respect.
Mo Qingchuan wiped the blood from his lips and gave the door a tired smile. "I admitted defeat at the right time. My master always said keeping one's head attached is also a skill."
This time, several cultivators laughed.
Fang Lin's eyes rested on Mo Qingchuan for a breath longer. The man had failed, but there was no shame in his failure. A fool died trying to protect a face. A survivor carried information away.
That was the difference between arrogance and judgment.
As the plaza absorbed the appearance of these reclusive disciples, another kind of movement began near Fang Lin.
Two cultivators approached from the Heavenly Sword Lake side. Neither was Jian Wuchen. One wore the robe of River Sword Sect, while the other carried the posture of a follower who had grown used to standing beneath a larger shadow. Their faces were polite, but their eyes had already measured Fang Lin's torn sleeve, the blood on his forearm, and the storage treasure at his waist.
The River Sword disciple cupped his hands. "Fellow Daoist Shen, congratulations on passing the fifth level."
Fang Lin looked at him. "Thank you."
The disciple smiled. "The fifth level reward must be extraordinary. Many people are curious."
"Curiosity is free," Fang Lin said. "Rewards are not."
The disciple's smile stiffened slightly.
The second cultivator spoke in a softer voice. "Fellow Daoist Shen should not misunderstand. A rogue cultivator holding a powerful reward in this kind of place may attract trouble. If the reward does not suit you, perhaps handing it to a major sect genius in exchange for protection would be wiser."
Feng Jiu'er's gaze turned cold.
Su Wanqing's brows also drew together, though she did not speak.
Fang Lin looked at the two men for a moment, then glanced toward the dark doors. "If your major sect geniuses want fifth level rewards, the doors are there."
The River Sword disciple's eyes sharpened. "Fellow Daoist Shen speaks boldly."
"I am being practical," Fang Lin replied. "The mansion gives rewards to those who pass. If someone outside the door wants one, he should enter and earn it."
A few cultivators nearby looked away, pretending not to listen. Their ears, however, remained very honest.
The second cultivator lowered his voice. "Some rewards bring disaster when held by the wrong person."
Fang Lin nodded slightly. "Then you should be careful with yours."
The man's face changed.
Before he could answer, Kong Mingyuan's voice drifted over from the Demon Suppression Temple side. "Treasures often create karmic burden. Sometimes offering them to a righteous power protects the owner from future calamity."
His tone was calm and compassionate. On the surface, it sounded like advice. Beneath it, the meaning was clear enough.
Fang Lin looked at him and smiled faintly. "Senior Brother Kong's heart must be very light."
Kong Mingyuan's eyes narrowed. "What does Fellow Daoist Shen mean?"
"If burdens can be handed to others so easily, righteous powers must have carried away many of them."
The plaza quieted a little.
The words were not loud. They were not even openly insulting. That made them harder to answer.
Ye Qinglan stepped forward at the right moment, her green-white robes moving softly. "Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect does not ask allies to hand over trial rewards. What a person gains inside the chamber belongs to that person unless a fair trade is willingly made."
Her voice was gentle, but the backing behind it was not.
Feng Jiu'er also spoke, and her tone was colder. "If anyone wants Shen Mo's reward, say it properly. Do not wrap greed in concern and call it protection."
The River Sword disciple's expression became ugly, but he did not dare continue openly. Jian Wuchen had not spoken. Kong Mingyuan had not moved. Without their direct support, a lackey could only test the water. He could not jump in and drown himself.
Fang Lin did not press further.
He remembered faces well enough.
The two cultivators withdrew, and the plaza returned to its watchful rhythm. But the atmosphere around Fang Lin had changed again. Some looked at him with interest, some with greed, and some with caution. A rogue cultivator who could pass Level 5 was useful. A rogue cultivator who refused to lower his head was troublesome. A rogue cultivator who could speak back to Demon Suppression Temple and River Sword Sect without panic was something else.
Feng Jiu'er turned toward the doors.
Fang Lin noticed before she spoke. "You are going?"
"Yes."
Su Wanqing looked at her sharply. "Jiu'er, Level 6 is not Level 5."
"I know." Feng Jiu'er adjusted the torn part of her sleeve, and a thread of crimson fire sealed the cloth enough to keep it from hanging loose. "That is why I should go before too many people convince themselves only major sect disciples can pass."
Fang Lin studied her expression. Her aura remained restrained, but there was a quiet pride in her eyes. Not arrogance. Not recklessness. Something steadier.
Green Bamboo Sect might be a medium sect, but Feng Jiu'er had never carried herself like someone born to stand behind others forever.
"Come back alive," Fang Lin said.
Feng Jiu'er glanced at him. "Only alive?"
"You already complained when I calculated injuries."
"I did not complain. I judged your habit."
"Then come back with enough injuries to satisfy your judgment, but not enough to worry your people."
This time, Feng Jiu'er's lips curved for a brief moment. "Your concern is still badly worded."
"It reached you. That is enough."
She looked away first and walked toward the door.
The plaza watched her.
Some people recognized her as the Green Bamboo Sect Alliance leader. Some knew she had passed Level 5. Others only knew that she came from a medium sect under Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect's influence. When she touched the door and vanished, the reactions were mixed. Some were curious. Some doubtful. Some quietly dismissive.
Then the waiting began.
Her trial lasted a long time.
Long enough for a few trades to finish. Long enough for Mo Qingchuan to swallow a pill and sit down with one hand over his cracked lantern pendant. Long enough for Yan Zhaoling to stop the bleeding in his spear hand. Long enough for Qin Xiaohan's shoulder wound to freeze shut beneath her robe.
Fang Lin did not move.
He did not spread his divine sense toward the chamber. He did not stare at the plaque like a worried fool either. He simply stood there, calm on the surface, while his fingers rested lightly near Night Burial Sword.
Su Wanqing noticed the movement. She said nothing.
At last, the door opened.
Feng Jiu'er stepped out.
The plaque above her lit with a single word.
Pass.
The Green Bamboo Alliance disciples who had entered the main trial drew in sharp breaths. Ye Qinglan's eyes brightened, and even several Thousand Leaf disciples looked at Feng Jiu'er as if seeing her again.
Feng Jiu'er's condition was not light.
Her right sleeve had been torn from shoulder to elbow. A long cut crossed her upper arm, and although fire Qi had sealed the bleeding, the skin around it was darkened by some strange impact. A bruise spread beneath her collarbone. Her robe hem was burned black in several places, and one thin line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
Yet her spine remained straight.
She had hidden much, but not everything could be hidden after Level 6.
"Green Bamboo Sect..." someone murmured from the trading crowd. "Since when did they have someone like that?"
Another cultivator answered in a low voice, "Maybe Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect has been hiding more than people thought."
A third person shook his head. "Or maybe she was never ordinary."
Feng Jiu'er ignored them and returned to the group.
Fang Lin's gaze moved over her injuries once, then stopped at her face. "You're injured badly."
She looked at him, breathing slightly heavier than usual. "The trial opponent disagreed with your calculation."
"That sounds like its fault."
"It was."
Su Wanqing almost sighed. "Both of you should stop speaking as if wounds are bargaining prices."
Feng Jiu'er glanced at her, then at Fang Lin. For a moment, the faintest warmth passed through her tired eyes before she suppressed it again.
The lackeys who had tried to pressure Fang Lin earlier no longer spoke.
A medium sect disciple from Green Bamboo had just passed Level 6. No matter how much they wished to dismiss her, the plaque above the door had already judged. In Myriad Halls Plaza, sect background could create pressure, but trial results created their own kind of authority.
Fang Lin looked toward the countless doors again.
Level 6 had injured Feng Jiu'er even while she hid her true strength. It had made a reclusive soul-guard disciple admit defeat. It had forced Yan Zhaoling and Qin Xiaohan to return wounded despite their hidden inheritances.
This was no longer a trial for ordinary Spirit Foundation cultivators.
The plaza knew it.
The major sect disciples knew it.
And Fang Lin knew it too.
He did not step forward yet. His injuries from the fifth level still needed to remain believable, and Moonless Shadow Step remained untouched in his storage treasure. More importantly, the sixth level had begun revealing the people who would matter in the coming struggle.
The trial doors stood silently beneath the ancient light.
Fang Lin watched them with calm eyes.
Sooner or later, he would enter.
But before that, he wanted to see who else still dared to walk through the gate.
-