Chapter 34: Chapter 34: Opening
At the very back of the gathered crowd, veiled by the shadows of the floating Profound Arks and the dust of the landing craters, Yun Li watched the display of dominance with a curling lip of pure disdain.
To him, the scene at the center of the clearing was a farce—a grotesque theater of entitlement.
These people, these "geniuses" and "royals," all relied on the silver spoons they were born with and the centuries of history backing their names.
They acted as though the world were their personal footstool simply because they had been breathing spirit-qi longer than most.
If I, Yun Li, had cultivated for as long as these fossils, I would have already stepped into the Saint Realm, he thought, his jaw tightening.
He looked at his own hands, feeling the turbulent, potent power of the Falling Immortal Sutra thrumming beneath his skin.
In just a single year, he had catapulted from the absolute dregs of the Qi Gathering stage to the very pinnacle of the Foundation Establishment realm.
To his knowledge, such a feat was unprecedented.
So in his mind, he wasn't just talented; he was the center of the universe, a transmigrator destined to rewrite the laws of this reality.
"Oh my, you seem to have no good feelings about them, Mr. Yun Li."
The voice was like a soothing breeze on a sweltering day, smooth and melodic.
Yun Li turned, his defensive posture melting instantly into a bright, polished smile.
Luo Mingye was walking toward him with the grace of a celestial nymph, her long, emerald hair fluttered in the mountain wind, and her green eyes held a gentle, knowing light.
Yun Li had to admit, even the most legendary beauties of his past life—the idols, the models, the actresses who graced the screens of Blue Star—were like common weeds compared to the radiant flower standing before him.
The moment he had first laid eyes on her, his breath had hitched, and he had decided then and there: this woman was a prize fit only for a King, and he was the only one worthy of the title.
Even if it meant offending the Crown Prince of Blue Wind, he would claim her.
"Miss Luo," Yun Li said, his tone softening into a charming register.
"You are certainly talented, Mr. Yun Li," Mingye said, coming to a halt beside him and turning her gaze toward the golden throne. "But I must advise you... do not let your pride lead you to offend that young master sitting over there. Some fires cannot be extinguished."
Yun Li's smile faltered slightly, replaced by a flash of irritation he worked hard to hide. "Does Miss Luo know him? He seems... quite fond of himself."
In truth, Yun Li had never taken anyone in this world seriously, after all was the "Chosen One", so why should he feel a shred of inferiority toward these "natives"?
With his Falling Immortal Sutra as his golden finger, he believed it was only a matter of time before he suppressed everyone under the heavens.
"He is the Heir to the Shen Immortal Clan," Mingye said, her voice dropping into a tone of genuine reverence. "Hailed as the most talented youth in the entire Empire. Yun Li, you must understand... if you truly offend him, forget about the Yun Clan, even if the Imperial Family themselves were to intervene, they would not be able to shield you from the Shen Clan's reach."
Mingye knew the weight of the name Shen Haoran intimately...well, not that intimate, but that's besides the point.
You see, although her grandfather wasn't known for his peerless, he was at least celebrated as the greatest Zither Cultivator in the Empire, a genuine Earthly Saint whose music could even unite heaven and earth.
When Shen Haoran had celebrated his sixteenth birthday, the invitation list had been a roll-call of the god, and her grandfather had been personally invited to play the music, and she had accompanied him to the Imperial Capital.
She still remembered the brief moment of meeting him—the cold, divine aura he radiated, and the honor of shaking his hand he praised her grandfather for his skills.
In fact, back then, she wanted to be a Sword Cultivator, and she was even known as a tomboy with swords for brains, but when that young man praised her grandfather's skills, she had decided to practice the zither.
She didn't know if he would remember a face from years ago, especially since she look different as back then she had shorter hair and wore male clothes, but she certainly remembered him.
Yun Li stared at Luo Mingye, his stomach churning with an unfamiliar, bitter bile.
He saw the way her eyes sparkled as she looked toward the throne, a look of euphoric, idol-worshipping joy. It was the look a fan gave to a legend.
He felt his head turning a little grin as the woman he had marked as his own was looking at another man with the very admiration he craved for himself.
And at that moment, a cold, sharp hatred for Shen Haoran began to take root in his heart.
"What about it?" Yun Li whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed envy. "If I had his background—the resources of an Immortal Clan, the best pills, the finest teachers—I would be even better than he is."
Mingye heard him, but she didn't offer a rebuttal. She simply turned her eyes back to the throne, a faint, disappointed sigh escaping her lips.
To her, feeling envy or dissatisfaction toward those far superior was a common human failing.
But to vocalize it so petulantly was an admission of defeat.
By claiming he only lacked the background, Yun Li was subconsciously admitting that he felt inferior to the man in the golden throne.
She had thought Yun Li was interesting, perhaps even special with his strange, novel ideas and his rapid growth.
But as she watched him seethe in the shadow of a true dragon, she realized he was just a big fish in a small pond—angry at the sky for being out of reach.
Just then, the heavy silence of the mountain pass was suddenly shattered by a violent tremor of spiritual energy.
An old man, his aura vibrating with the unmistakable, profound depth of the Nirvana Rebirth Realm, materialized from the crowd.
He did not land with a flourish; instead, he immediately dropped to his knees before the golden throne, his forehead nearly touching the rubble.
"Young Master Shen!" the old man cried, his voice thick with desperation. "Our Crown Prince has eyes but could not see Mount Tai. He is a fool who knows nothing of the immensity of the heavens and the earth. I beg you, please... spare his life!"
Haoran stared down at the elder, his expression as unmoving as a statue's as the golden Qi around his foot flickered before he slowly retracted his leg from Jin Pei's head.
"Spare him?" Haoran's voice was a low, like a chilling melody. "You need not worry. I was not planning on killing him. Crushing a gnat is hardly worth the effort of cleaning my boots."
Jin Pei finally felt the crushing gravitational pressure lift as he immediately gasped for air, his lungs burning and his face smeared with dirt and shame, yet he remained pinned to the ground by his own fear.
In that moment, he made a silent, soul-deep vow: he would memorize the face of every high-tier entity in the Empire.
He would never again "court death" by mistaking a dragon for a lizard.
"Thank you, Young Master! Your mercy is as vast as the sea!" The elder didn't wait for a second thought.
He scooped up the battered Jin Pei and, bowing repeatedly as he backed away, vanished into the ranks of the Sun Bird Kingdom's ark.
With that incident settled, the clearing fell into a tomb-like stillness.
No one dared to speak, and no one even dared to breathe loudly as all eyes were glued to the massive stone gates.
Suddenly, a pulse of silver light burst from the runes—a shockwave so powerful it sent a ripple through the local space-time fabric.
The gates groaned, the ancient moss cracking as they began to pivot inward as the air was instantly flooded with a scent like cold ozone and ancient incense.
It was a sign that, finally, the inheritance was open.
They held their breath, staring at the place that hold the chance for them to become supreme, but the silence was broken by a chorus of greedy, hysterical laughter.
"Hahahaha! The Supreme Inheritance is mine!"
"Move aside! I am the Clan Master of the Peng Clan, none shall block my path!"
"Who cares about your clan!? Is it any better than me!?"
Dozens of hidden experts—Spirit Ascension masters and even a few Nirvana Rebirth rogue cultivators who had been lurking in the shadows—erupted from their hiding spots.
They shot toward the silver light like starving vultures.
However, as the first expert struck the threshold, he didn't pass through, but slammed into an invisible, silver barrier with a sickening thud.
One by one, the older experts were repelled, thrown back by a force that felt like a mountain's rebuke.
"What is happening?!"
"No! My Supreme Inheritance! Heavens, why do you torment me so?!"
Everyone stared in shock at what had just happened.
But at that moment, several giant, glowing characters of silver light manifested in the air above the portal:
[NONE ABOVE THE AGE OF FIFTY MAY PASS.]
A roar of indignation rose from the elders.
"Why is this?! A legacy should belong to the strong, not children!"
"My lifespan is at its end! I need this breakthrough! The heavens are unfair!"
Watching the chaotic commotion, Haoran felt a wave of boredom as he stood up from his golden throne, and with a casual wave of his hand, the magnificent chair vanished back into his spatial ring.
He looked at the screaming, desperate old men with nothing but pity.
"Let's go," Haoran said to Xueli.
"Hm," Xueli nodded obediently, her heart hammering as she stepped into line beside him.
She felt the weight of hundreds of envious, hateful eyes on her back, but the presence of the man beside her felt like an impenetrable fortress.
They walked toward the gate, but their path was suddenly blocked by a desperate Nirvana Rebirth rogue cultivator, his skin wrinkled like parchment and his eyes bloodshot with the madness of a dying man, stood before the portal.
He flared his aura, the space around him warping with the heat of his dying spirit.
"I don't care what your background is!" the old man shrieked, his voice cracking. "But if you don't swear on your soul that you will give me a share of the inheritance, I will stop anyone from entering! I have nothing left to lose!"
Haoran and Xueli didn't even slow down, they continued walking as if the path were empty.
"Didn't you hear me?! I said—AAAAHHH!"
The old man's threat was cut short by a sound like a wet cloth being wrung out.
Beneath his feet, his own shadow suddenly detached from the ground. It rose like a living, liquid void, acting as a miniature black hole.
The rogue cultivator was sucked inward, his bones snapping and his muscles being ground into a horrific mush of flesh and blood.
His blood-curdling scream echoed through the mountain pass before he was completely consumed, leaving not even a drop of gore behind.
The other elders, who had been preparing to join the blockade, froze in their tracks, and their greed was instantly doused by a bucket of ice-cold terror.
They could only stand in paralyzed silence, watching as the golden-haired youth and the girl in the blue dress stepped through the silver veil and vanished into the tomb of the Bright Silver Emperor.
Chapter 35: Chapter 35: Trial of Will
Outside the gates.
"Let's go as well," one of the youths in the crowd suggested, his voice tight with a mixture of greed and hesitation.
However, despite the allure of the silver gates, no one dared to make a move.
The atmosphere outside the portal had become toxic, thick with the murderous intent of the desperate old men, who had seen their path to immortality barred by the age restriction, and were now like cornered beasts.
They were the "rotting wood" of the cultivation world—possessing high cultivation but no future—and they looked ready to slaughter every youth present simply out of a petty desire to see no one else succeed where they had failed.
Just then, a cold, mocking laugh rang out.
"Hmph! You people who don't even have the courage to move forward, how dare you call yourselves cultivators? I am ashamed to be at the same level as you all!"
It was Ao Long, the Crown Prince of the Blue Wind Kingdom.
He stepped forward with his chin held high, the scabbard of his ornate spirit-sword clicking against his thigh.
His blue robes fluttered in the gale of spiritual energy, and his aura flared with the intensity of a 1st Stage Golden Core expert.
At thirty years old, he was hailed as a legendary talent in the outskirts of the Central Region, and he had no intention of letting a few "corpses" block his destiny.
Just then, one of the rogue cultivators, a man with yellowed teeth and a face like a dried plum, snorted. "Heh. Don't get cocky, you brat. You think a title makes you invincible?"
"That's right!" another piped up, his eyes bloodshot with madness. "We have nothing left to lose anyway. If we die, it's alright—we were dying anyway! But you... you still have a long life ahead of you. If you agree to share some treasures with us, to help us extend our lifespans, then we can let you pass. If not... then no one goes in!"
Despite seeing the horrific death of the rogue cultivator who had been ground into mush by Haoran's shadow earlier, these people were still willing to take the risk.
They were like gamblers at the end of their rope, betting their lives on the chance that they could extort these people.
After all, just like they said, they have nothing more to lose.
"Old Hei!" Ao Long roared, his patience snapping.
Suddenly, a powerful, suffocating aura of a peak Nirvana Rebirth Realm expert exploded behind him as an old man with a long, flowing beard and eyes like thunderclouds materialized, his presence instantly pushing back the weaker rogues.
It was Old Hei, the Royal Eunoch who serves Ao Long's father, a peak Nirvana Rebirth realm expert!
"All you old fellows protecting these juniors! Listen well!" Old Hei's voice boomed like a physical blow. "Let us work together and stop these shameless fellows! Once our juniors are safely inside, whoever is capable can have the inheritance! But we must not allow these low-lives to make a move on our children!"
At his call, the shadows of the various Profound Arks rippled.
Several powerful figures—experts whose cultivation ranged from the Spirit Ascension to the Nirvana Rebirth Realm—descended from the sky.
"Very well, let us work together!"
"Juniors! Let us old people pave the way for you! All you need to do is move forward! Leave these rats to us!"
The unity of the established powers fueled the rage of the rogue cultivators.
"You damn bastards! Why won't you let us have any share?!"
"We aren't asking for much! Just something to extend our lives! Is a thousand years of peace too much to ask?!"
"Fine! If you want a war, then have one! Who's afraid of who?!"
And just like that, a chaotic war erupted outside the gates.
The mountain range shook as powerful battle techniques and ancient artifacts clashed, the sky turning into a kaleidoscope of destructive energies as the "old guard" began to slaughter each other while the youths sprinted for the silver light.
*
*
*
Inside the Inheritance Realm.
Haoran and Xueli stood in a vast, open field that stretched toward a horizon of rolling hills.
The sky here was a constant, shimmering violet, and the air was so saturated with spiritual energy that it felt like breathing silk.
Xueli's eyes widened to the size of saucers, her breath catching in her throat, "Haoran, am I seeing things? Look! That's a Phoenix Tail Sun Flower! And over there, by the stream... that's a Clear Spring Lily! And that one's a Golden Striped Ginseng!"
She ran a few steps forward, her voice rising in pitch with every discovery.
"There are hundreds of them! Thousands! This is literally an alchemist's paradise! One of those Sun Flowers would cause a war in the Cao Yin Kingdom!"
Haoran stood still, his gaze sweeping across the field with a detached, clinical air.
He didn't speak, his brows furrowed as he felt Qinq'er's presence disappear; it seems even she couldn't enter the inheritance realm.
He looked around. He recognized every herb present, having studied all the Major Professions—including the intricate arts of Alchemy—he knew the properties, growth cycles, and values of everything in this "paradise."
But for him, the sight was underwhelming.
While these herbs were Rank 4 or Rank 5—precious treasures in the Eastern Region or the outskirts of the Central Region—they were as common as grass in the heart of the Imperial Capital.
In his mother's private garden, such plants weren't even used as decorative filler.
"Let's go," Haoran said, his voice flat.
Xueli paused, her hand hovering over a particularly vibrant Clear Spring Lily as she looked at him in confusion. "Oh? Aren't you going to pick them up? Even if you don't need them, they're worth a fortune!"
As she said that, she made no further move to even take a single herb and just hurried back to his side, following his lead.
"No need," Haoran replied, not even glancing back at the field of gold. "My space ring already contains more high-grade herbs than this entire garden. Harvesting these would be a waste of my time and space."
Xueli shrugged, "Well, alright. If you say so."
Since Haoran wasn't interested, she wouldn't insist.
Together, they continued walking through the lush, silent fields, heading toward the white jade palace that shimmered in the distance, unaware that the first wave of "geniuses" from the outside world had just entered the realm behind them.
And as they ventured deeper into the heart of the inheritance space, leaving the sun-drenched herbal fields behind.
The vibrant colors of the meadows soon gave way to a dense, prehistoric forest where the trees were so gargantuan their crowns were lost in a thick, silver-grey miasma.
This mist was no ordinary fog; it felt heavy, sticking to the skin like cold sweat and dampening the spiritual senses until the world felt only a few meters wide.
"Oh, this one's different." Xueli muttered, "...It feels uncomfortable here."
Suddenly, a deep, ancient vouce reverberated directly within their souls, bypassing their ears entirely.
"WELCOME! YOUNG ONES!"
"TO OBTAIN MY INHERITANCE, YOU MUST FIRST PASS ALL MY TRIALS!"
"FIRST TRIAL! TRIAL OF WILL! THE HEART IS THE GREATEST FRONTIER. NO MATTER WHAT YOU SEE OR HEAR, MOVE FORWARD BRAVELY. TO HESITATE IS TO FALL!"
Haoran's lips curled into a predatory smirk, his golden eyes flashing with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "A trial of the spirit? It seems this Bright Silver Emperor had a flare for the dramatic. Let's go, Xueli."
"Honestly, it feels really creepy here." She muttered, but followed anyway.
They stepped into the curtain of mist together, but within three paces, the temperature plummeted.
Haoran reached out to steady Xueli, only to find his hand grasping empty air.
He frowned, it seemed this trial was a solitary path.
Haoran shook his head, his expression unbothered.
"You'd better not disappoint me, Xueli," he murmured, before turning his gaze forward.
As he walked, the silence of the forest was replaced by a low, discordant murmuring.
The voices were ghostly, overlapping in a chaotic jumble of unrecognizable dialects as they whispered of failure, of hidden sins, and of the inevitable rot of the soul.
The sound was intended to invoke a primal, skin-crawling discomfort, but Haoran's face remained a mask of aristocratic boredom.
To a man who viewed himself as the center of the universe, the whispers of ghosts were merely background noise.
"Hmph. If this trial is only this much, then how disappointing."
Suddenly, the mist ahead churned violently as a terrifying pressure slammed into the clearing.
A giant beast, a monstrosity of obsidian scales and jagged ivory horns, emerged from the gloom.
It stood fifty meters tall, and when it let out a roar, the vibration was so intense it caused Haoran's soul to shudder within his chest.
In the face of such a behemoth, even a Nirvana Rebirth expert would likely have abandoned their dignity and fled in terror, but Haoran simply came to a halt, his hands tucked into his sleeves.
He didn't even draw his Qi even as the beast lunged, its massive, razor-sharp claws descending like falling guillotines.
They tore through the air with a shriek, slamming directly into Haoran's body, piercing through his chest and shoulders with horrific force.
Haoran felt the "pain," felt the cold steel of the claws through his vitals, yet his expression didn't shift by even a hair's breadth.
He stared into the beast's glowing red eyes with a chilling clarity.
"Is this all?" he asked, his voice steady and sharp. "How boring."
As the words left his lips, the beast flickered like a dying candle and dissipated into a cloud of harmless mist.
The gaping wounds in his chest vanished, and his robes returned to their pristine, unbloodied state.
It was a perfect illusion, designed to break the mind through the body's reflexive terror.
Haoran casually patted the dust from his shoulder and continued his trek.
However, the trial was far from over.
As he walked, a sudden, violent flood of memories surged into his consciousness.
These were not memories of his past, but visions of a possible future—a "him" that had continued the path of absolute supremacy.
He saw himself standing atop a mountain of corpses, the sole victor of the universe, only to be betrayed by his own Dao at the final moment.
He saw his own power turning into a poison that consumed him while he tried to climb the ultimate peak.
Haoran's brow furrowed, but didn't let those so-called memories affect him and continued walking.
"Hey," an old, weary voice rasped from the shadows of a rotting plum tree. "That's hell you're walking to."
Haoran turned his head, his golden eyes widening by a fraction.
There, sitting under the tree was a man who shared his features, but aged by centuries of sorrow.
This "older Haoran" wore ragged, filth-stained clothes; his hair was matted, his physique was skeletal, and his skin was covered in the weeping sores of spiritual backlash.
And just like that, new memories hit him like a physical blow: he saw this version of himself enduring eons of isolation, watching everyone he ever cared for die while he chased a cold, empty throne.
He saw himself go insane in the silence of the void, unable to handle the weight of the path he had chosen, until finally, he had turned his own blade upon himself to end the nightmare.
"The path you walk... your Dao... it is wrong," the older, broken version of himself whispered, his eyes full of a haunting, hollow regret. "It leads only to the void. To endless, silent suffering."
Haoran stared at the pathetic figure for a long moment. Then, he turned his back on the ghost and continued walking toward the heart of the forest.
"Hey! Didn't you hear me?" his older self repeated, his voice rising in a desperate, ragged plea. "That is hell you are walking to! Turn back while you still have a soul!"
Haoran paused, a cold, arrogant smirk spreading across his face as he looked over his shoulder, "Who gives you the right to tell me what to do?"
The older him flinched, before saying, "I am your future—"
"You are a failure." Haoran cut him off, "You could not live with your own choices and decided to come back, hoping that by warning me, you can gain peace. How pathetic."
The older him remained silent.
"Listen well," Haoran continued, "I have chosen this path, and I will bear the consequences of my own action. I will have no regrets, for this is my dao."
"I walk the path of supremacy...regrets? Loneliness? None of that matter for I will rule above them all."
The "older self" under the tree froze, before a slow, knowing smile spread across the ragged man's face, and he began to dissolve into silver light.
The oppressive mist shattered like glass, and the forest vanished in an instant.
Haoran found himself standing in a wide, mossy stone room.
The air here was cool and still, and the only sound was the faint hum of an ancient formation beneath his feet.
He had passed the Trial of Will, not by being unshakable will, but by being too arrogant for the universe to handle.
Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Belief
The chaos outside the gates was a cacophony of shattering earth and clashing Qi, a desperate struggle of the old against the new.
But for the youths who managed to slip through the silver veil, the world transitioned into a sudden, eerie serenity.
The first to stumble into the inheritance realm was Jin Pei, his golden armor scuffed but his eyes burning with a manic need to reclaim the dignity he had lost under Shen Haoran's boot.
He was closely followed by Ao Long, then Luo Mingye and Yun Li, alongside a stream of other geniuses from various kingdoms on the Central Region's outskirts.
They emerged into the vast field of spiritual flora, the air heavy with the sweet, medicinal scent of thousands of years of growth.
"Oh, a spirit herb garden," Luo Mingye remarked, her voice carrying a hint of a faint, knowing smile as she surveyed the unharvested field, noting the lack of disturbed earth. "It seems like Young Master Shen didn't even bother taking anything from here. Everyone, why don't you take your pick? After all, although these aren't rare, they aren't exactly common either."
To the scions of the Central Region's outskirts, herbs of this level—Rank 4 and 5—were like chicken ribs: too low-grade to significantly boost their high-level foundations, but too valuable to simply ignore.
At her words, the fragile peace shattered.
The "geniuses" from the lesser kingdoms immediately lunged forward, their refined manners discarded in a flurry of greed.
"Hey! That Golden Striped Ginseng is mine! I saw it first!"
"You took my Thunder Grass! Back off or I'll sever your hand!"
"Don't push! There are thousands of stalks here! Go over to the other side of the ridge!"
Yun Li watched the frantic scramble, his fingers twitching as the pragmatist in him—the man who had lived a life of scarcity on Blue Star—ached to join the fray and hoard every leaf for his own cultivation.
But with Luo Mingye standing gracefully beside him, he couldn't bring himself to show his greedy, ugly side, so he forced a mask of indifferent calm onto his face, though his heart burned with every herb he saw snatched by someone else.
"My, my, they sure are lively."
The voice was like a chime of silver bells, cutting through the shouting of the herb-hunters as a new figure emerged from the silver light of the portal. Yun Li's eyes widened in confusion as he looked the newcomer over.
The individual possessed an incredibly beautiful face, one that could put most fairies to shame, and short, auburn hair that framed delicate features.
Yet, the newcomer wore traditional male clothing, was as flat as a chopping board, and possessed a visible Adam's apple.
Even so, the voice was soft, feminine, and carried a hauntingly beautiful quality.
"Ah, so it's you..." Ao Long growled, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "The Heaven's Chosen of the Flower Mountain Sect, Xia Mengyao."
In the Central Region, the title of "Heaven's Chosen" was not handed out lightly, they are given to the most talented youth of any power, decided through no holds barred combat with every other Core Disciples of that power.
Whoever emerged victorious, will be granted that title.
And Xia Mengyao suppressed the geniuses of his sect and claimed that title for himself.
Not to mention the Flower Mountain Sect was the undisputed leader of the Second-Rate Powers, guarded by a genuine Earthly Saint elder whose combat prowess was legendary—a stark contrast to Mingye's grandfather, whose Saint-level status was more scholarly than martial.
That elder was rumored to be on the cusp of the Heavenly Saint realm, and should he succeed, the sect would ascend to the First-Rate ranks overnight.
Xia Mengyao was the pinnacle of that sect's legacy, and at only twenty-five years old, he was already a genuine 1st Stage Golden Core expert, possessing a talent that truly bordered on the standards of the Imperial Capital—unlike Ao Long and Jin Pei, who had required another five years to reach the same heights.
"Mengyao!" Luo Mingye's face lit up with a brilliant smile as she actually hopped toward the newcomer, her earlier poise replaced by the excitement of an old friend. "It's been a while!"
Xia Mengyao offered a gentle, elegant chuckle. "The last time we met... was it during your eighteenth birthday? Are you still using the zither I gifted you?"
"Yes!" Luo Mingye nodded repeatedly, her eyes shining. "I have already reached Rank 3 in Zither Arts!"
"Well, considering you only started four years ago, that is far too impressive," Xia Mengyao noted, his gaze soft.
"Tsk, enough of this. I'm going ahead. I didn't come here to watch a reunion," Jin Pei clicked his tongue, his face sour as he turned and marched deeper into the realm, his golden armor clanking.
"Hmph." Ao Long snorted at Xia Mengyao, his jealousy flaring at the intimacy between the two, before casting a final, warning glare at Yun Li and following after Jin Pei.
"Um, Miss Luo, who is this?" Yun Li asked, stepping forward with a practiced, friendly smile, though he felt a pang of insecurity in the presence of someone so ethereal.
"Oh, this is my friend, Xia Mengyao," Mingye introduced, her voice stumbling for a fraction of a second. "Sh... uh, he is the Heaven's Chosen of the Flower Mountain Sect, and is considered the number one genius outside of the Imperial Capital."
"I see. Nice to meet you." Yun Li extended his hand for a handshake, hoping to establish some level of rapport with such a powerful figure.
"Greetings," Li Mengyao said plainly. His beautiful eyes swept over Yun Li for a brief, disinterested second before he looked away, making no move to take the extended hand.
Yun Li's hand hung in the air, the silence stretching into an agonizing moment of embarrassment.
He slowly lowered his hand, his face still smiling, but deep in the recesses of his soul, a black seed of hatred took root.
'Another one,' he thought. 'Another native looking down on a transmigrator. I'll make you pay for this slight, Heaven's Chosen.'
"Sorry about him, Mr. Yun Li," Mingye said, noticing the tension and offering an embarrassed smile. "Please don't take it to heart. He just doesn't like to be touched by others."
"No, no, it's okay. I understand. Everyone has their quirks," Yun Li said, his voice smooth and forgiving.
"Good. Now, let's go," Mingye said, turning toward the forest where the silver mist was beginning to gather. "Let's ignore these people scavenging for trash and go ahead. The real treasure lies further in."
Mengyao nodded and followed her with effortless grace.
Yun Li hesitated for a heartbeat, looking back at the "trash" herbs being fought over, before he turned and followed the two figures.
*
*
*
The stone walls of the chamber were slick with a prehistoric moss that glowed with a faint, bioluminescent pulse, casting a sickly green light over Shen Haoran's sharp features.
He leaned back against the ancient masonry, the rough texture of the wall contrasting with the exquisite silk of his robes.
His arms were crossed, his posture radiating a terrifyingly cold patience as he stood in the absolute stillness of the room for a duration equivalent to five incense sticks.
In the world of high-level cultivation, where a split second could determine the fate of a kingdom, five incense sticks felt like an eternity.
Just then, Haoran's eyes, which had been closed in a state of meditative detachment, suddenly snapped open.
He turned his gaze toward the wall of gray, churning mist from which he had emerged.
The forest was silent, giving up no clues of the struggle within.
"Five incense sticks," he murmured, his voice echoing with a clinical, detached edge. "Did she fail? After I provided her with the Nine-Colored Dagger and the encouragement of my own presence, did she still succumb to the phantoms of her own mind? How disappointing."
He let out a short, sharp exhale through his nose—a sound of disappointment.
He had given Ning Xueli the chance of a thousand lifetimes, but if her soul was fundamentally brittle, no amount of Central Region resources could forge her into a weapon.
Haoran pushed off the wall, his movements fluid and decisive as he adjusted his sleeves, his eyes fixed on the silver-veined hallway that led deeper into the heart of the Emperor's tomb.
Even if Xueli were gone, it changed nothing for him.
He would simply claim the Bright Silver Emperor's legacy for himself.
After all, a Supreme's inheritance might be "trash" in the eyes of his clan, but power was still power; he could refine the essence, study the unique laws of this region, or simply store it in his clan's archives as a curiosity.
He took a single step toward the inner sanctum, his heart unburdened by the loss of a companion he had only recently acquired.
But as his heel touched the stone, a frantic, ragged sound broke through the silence.
"Haoran! Wait!"
The voice was thin, cracking with exhaustion and desperation, causing Haoran to paused, turning his head just enough to see a figure stumbling out of the shifting mist.
It was Xueli, looking like she had walked through a war zone, her cerulean dress was torn at the hem, her hair was a tangled mess of dark silk, and her face was flushed a deep, unhealthy crimson.
Her breathing was a series of shallow, painful hitches, but as her eyes found him, a flash of raw relief illuminated her face.
She staggered forward, her legs trembling so violently they threatened to give way with every step, but she didn't stop until she reached him, practically collapsing against his chest.
Her hands gripped the lapels of his robes so intense her knuckles turned white, her forehead resting against the cool silk of his collar.
"You... you were about to leave me behind, weren't you!?" she gasped, her voice muffled by his chest.
She could feel the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart—a stark contrast to the chaotic drumming in her own.
Haoran stared down at the top of her head, his expression remaining an unreadable mask of calmness.
"No, I wasn't," he lied, his tone smooth and effortless. "I just wanted to move a few paces ahead to observe the surrounding formations."
Xueli let out a weak, bitter giggle, her grip tightening for a fraction of a second.
"Liar," she muttered, though there was no real heat in the accusation—only the exhaustion of someone who had just looked into the abyss and refused to blink.
She pulled back just enough to look up into his golden eyes, the fear was still there, lurking in the corners of her pupils, but beneath it sat a new, hardened foundation.
"Haoran, I know I'm weak compared to you, and I know I probably don't have the right to say this yet... but please, believe in me. I fought through every regret, every nightmare that forest threw at me, just to see your back again. I will never disappoint you, not now, not ever."
The air in the mossy chamber seemed to still as Haoran looked at her—not as a subordinate or a toy to for him to relieve his stress, but as a piece of iron that had finally begun to feel the heat of the forge.
The fact that she had navigated the Trial of Will despite her mediocre background suggested that her "will" was more resilient than he had initially calculated.
He remained silent for a long moment, before finally, he gave a slow, measured nod.
"Very well," Haoran said, his voice regaining a hint of warmth. "I shall take note of that resolve. That much, I can promise to believe in."
Xueli's face transformed.
The exhaustion seemed to lift as a bright, radiant smile broke across her face—a smile of pure, unfettered joy that made her look more beautiful than any flower had a right to be.
She straightened her dress as best she could, her confidence returning.
She knew the trials ahead would only get harder, but as long as she was walking in his shadow, she felt she could challenge the heavens themselves.