They ran until the corridor stopped pretending it was a corridor.
The passage widened abruptly into a long stone throat lined with shallow grooves, like someone had once carved channels for water… or blood. The golden refining lines were gone here. In their place were darker formation cuts, deep and blunt, etched so aggressively they looked like wounds.
Shen Lu's breath came tight but controlled. His core was still hollow, but the frost marrow bead kept his foundation from fraying completely. Qin Yao's broken token scratched his wrist inside his sleeve with each movement, a quiet pain that kept him awake.
Helian Feng slowed first.
Not because he was tired.
Because the air changed.
A pressure settled over them like a hand.
The fox-spirit stopped and flattened itself against the floor, ears pinned, tail trembling. The beast tamer's face went pale. "Something's… wrong."
The severe talisman disciple lifted a charm.
It didn't flare.
It didn't even wilt like before.
It simply turned gray, as if drained of meaning.
The disciple's voice shook. "My charms aren't responding."
Helian Feng's eyes narrowed. "Suppression."
Shen Lu swallowed.
A suppression field in a secret realm meant one thing: the realm had decided to level the playing field by taking away what made you dangerous.
The corridor ahead was empty.
Too empty.
No debris. No corpses. No obvious traps.
Just those deep grooves cut into stone and a faint sheen on the floor like dampness that didn't come from water.
Helian Feng lifted a hand, signaling them to stop completely.
He stepped forward alone, eyes scanning the grooves.
Shen Lu forced himself to look too.
The grooves weren't random.
They formed characters.
Not decorative scripts.
Functional ones, carved into the floor in a repeating sequence.
A toll formation.
Except this one didn't ask for qi like the slab had.
This one asked for movement.
Shen Lu's throat tightened.
"Don't step—" he started.
Helian Feng's gaze snapped back to him, sharp enough to make Shen Lu clamp down on the rest of the warning.
Shen Lu forced his voice neutral. "The floor is written."
Helian Feng's eyes narrowed. "I can see that."
Shen Lu swallowed. "Written floors usually… collect payment."
Helian Feng stared at the grooves again, then looked at the team.
"We cross," Helian Feng said.
One sword lineage disciple frowned. "Senior Brother—if it suppresses charms and qi, how do we—"
Helian Feng's voice was cold. "By not panicking."
They stepped forward together, carefully.
The moment Shen Lu's foot touched the first carved line, he felt it.
A faint sting.
Not physical.
Spiritual.
Like a needle pricking the edge of his meridians.
The toll formation wasn't draining qi in a dramatic pull.
It was shaving it off in thin slivers with each step.
A tax you didn't notice until you were broke.
Shen Lu's stomach twisted.
He glanced at Helian Feng.
Helian Feng's face didn't change, but Shen Lu saw his jaw tighten once, subtle, controlled. He felt it too.
The outer disciple's breathing turned ragged after only a few steps. He stumbled, clutching his chest, face whitening as if his qi had been scraped raw.
"Don't stop," Helian Feng said, voice sharp. "Stopping costs more."
Shen Lu's throat tightened.
Of course it did. The grooves were designed like that: hesitate, lose more. Panic, lose more. The corridor punished fear.
They moved faster.
The toll stung worse.
Shen Lu's core, already shallow, wobbled with each shaved sliver. The frost marrow bead steadied his foundation, but the toll formation didn't care about foundation. It cared about making you light enough to be blown away.
Halfway across, the corridor trembled.
A soft vibration ran through the stone, growing stronger with each heartbeat.
The severe talisman disciple's face tightened. "Something is activating."
The beast tamer's fox-spirit let out a shrill cry and pressed itself flat.
Shen Lu's skin prickled.
The grooves under their feet began to glow faintly—dark red, not gold.
Bloodlight.
The toll formation had a second function.
Not just payment.
Selection.
Shen Lu's stomach dropped.
The corridor was going to take more than qi.
It was going to take a person.
The outer disciple stumbled again, gasping, hand clawing at his throat as if he couldn't breathe.
Helian Feng grabbed his collar and shoved him forward. "Move."
The boy nearly fell on his face but kept running, terror in his eyes.
The bloodlight intensified.
The grooves pulsed like veins.
And then the stone ahead of them split open with a low grinding sound.
Not an exit.
A mouth.
A rectangular pit opening directly in the corridor floor, perfectly aligned with the grooves, as if the formation had finally decided who would pay the last toll.
Shen Lu's breath caught.
The pit was deep.
Too deep.
No bottom visible.
Just swirling red mist like blood turned into fog.
Helian Feng's eyes narrowed. "Jump."
They jumped.
One by one, the sword lineage disciples leapt over the pit. The talisman disciples followed, lighter than expected. The beast tamer grabbed his fox-spirit and vaulted, landing hard but upright.
Shen Lu's turn came.
His legs felt heavy. His core felt shaved thin. The toll formation had turned his muscles into something weaker, like he'd been forced back into a body that hadn't cultivated enough.
Helian Feng's gaze snapped to him. "Now."
Shen Lu ran.
He pushed off.
For half a heartbeat, he cleared it.
Then his foot clipped the edge.
His body lurched sideways, balance breaking.
Shen Lu's stomach dropped with him.
He reached out instinctively.
Helian Feng's hand shot forward like lightning.
Fingers closed around Shen Lu's wrist.
A grip like iron.
For a breath, Shen Lu hung over the pit, the red mist below reaching up like breath.
Shen Lu's arm screamed.
Helian Feng's jaw clenched hard enough to show strain. The suppression field made it worse—Helian Feng couldn't simply pour qi into Shen Lu and yank him up easily. He had to do it with muscle and will.
The bloodlight pulsed.
The pit widened slightly, as if excited.
Shen Lu's fingers slipped a fraction.
And Helian Feng's grip tightened—
Then Helian Feng's gaze flicked down past Shen Lu's shoulder.
His eyes narrowed.
"Behind you," Helian Feng said, voice suddenly low.
Shen Lu didn't have time to turn his head.
But he felt it.
A cold breath on his neck.
Something moving in the red mist behind him, rising silently out of the grooves like a hand made of stone and hunger, reaching not for Helian Feng…
Reaching for Shen Lu.