The last fragment of the Mirror Sanctum turned to dust between Chu Hongying's fingertips.
There was no sensation of falling, no light, no sound.
Only a silent, detached void—her soul quietly drawn from its shell, drifting soundlessly upon a shoreless sea.
When her senses coalesced once more, she found herself floating.
There was no water beneath her feet, no sky above—only an endless flow of light.
That light was woven from shattered memories and unfulfilled emotions—
a youth's final cry on the battlefield, a woman's soundless weeping in the deep of night, an unspoken "forgive me"...
They drifted around her like whispers woven from stardust, each brush against her skin carrying the warmth of a memory, slipping past the edges of her consciousness like dream-light.
She tried to call out, but no sound emerged.
She turned to find Shen Yuzhu, seeing him nearby, yet his form was like mist, edges blurred, as if he might dissolve at any moment into this torrent of consciousness.
She reached for him, but her fingertips passed through his sleeve, stirring only a faint ripple of gold.
"...Don't move."
His voice came not through her ears, but directly into her mind.
"This is the Sea of Consciousness. Form is but a projection of thought. The more you struggle, the faster you'll fade."
Chu Hongying forced herself to stillness. She watched as Shen Yuzhu closed his eyes, a silvery-blue luminescence swirling around him—a calm lake surface reflecting the flowing bands of emotion around them into clear hues—
joy a flowing gold, fear a stagnant grey, regret a somber navy, while a hidden, fervent longing burned a brilliant scarlet, like the crimson of her war-spear's tassel.
Lu Wanning's voice joined in, calm yet tinged with a physiological tremor:
"These currents... they're echoing our thoughts. It's not an attack—more like... measuring our balance."
"Testing for what?" Gu Changfeng's growl held the impatience honed on battlefields. His form was more solid than the others, yet seemed heavier, as if dragged down by invisible chains.
Shen Yuzhu opened his eyes, the heterochromatic pupils that had just forged the "Heart Mirror" now deep as star-filled galaxies:
"Testing whether we can anchor our 'truth' within this chaos."
Before the words faded, the light beneath Gu Changfeng's feet collapsed, forming a vortex that yanked him down.
He stood on scorched earth.
The acrid smell of gunpowder was no different from countless battle-dawns in his memory. But here, there were no enemies—only countless silent figures clad in the armor of the Gu family's personal guards, or plain white mourning robes. They were the souls erased by the "shadow missions" his family had executed for the empire generation after generation.
Scenes played out cruelly before him:
He saw his father in his youth, face hard as iron, driving a dagger into an old scholar's heart in a study. The scholar clutched an ancient text on the "truth of the world's laws," his eyes holding not fear, but deep sorrow.
He saw his once-hearty elder brother, astride a warhorse, coldly giving the order. Flames swallowed a peaceful northern village, all because the empire suspected it harbored an heir who knew its secrets. Children's cries were drowned by the crackle of burning.
The souls did not roar or accuse. They simply surrounded him in silence, countless eyes fixed upon him, their collective will forming an icy interrogation nailed directly into his soul:
"The glory and peace you enjoy are washed with our blood. Every inch of silk you wear is stained with our grievance. Gu Changfeng, will you continue this 'loyalty'?"
Embrace this innate blood-debt, carry it forward? Or sever this cursed lineage, become rootless and free, yet utterly unmoored?
Gu Changfeng's temples bulged, teeth gritted, agony threatening to tear him apart. He ripped the blade from his waist, steel flashing—not toward any soul, but slashing viciously across his own left palm!
Blood welled instantly, dripping to the ground, but upon touching the scorched earth, it seared dark, intricate marks.
"What I inherit is not sin, but the duty to amend it!"
As the oath left his lips, flame erupted at his feet in a roaring surge! It was not fire of destruction, but a purifying force of resolve, forging his battlefield courage and impulse into a will to protect. Gold and crimson light shot skyward, momentarily scattering the spectral souls and stabilizing his nearly dissolved form.
Almost as Gu Changfeng was pulled under, Lu Wanning felt emptiness beneath her, sinking downward.
Unlike his scorched earth, she plunged into the coldest, deepest silence of the Sea of Consciousness.
Here, no memory fragments floated—only an immense, complex, slowly pulsing network of light-veins. They crisscrossed, endless, their intricate structure astonishingly similar to the human meridian charts she had studied for years, yet magnified a millionfold—the Law Veins that sustained the world's operation.
With her newly awakened "Lock of Reason" and a healer's instinct, she instantly "read" the "medical record" these veins presented:
The region representing the imperial capital showed rigid, ashen veins, like necrotic tissue—the wound left by "Rational Overwrite" suppressing all emotion.
The veins corresponding to the Northern Frontier were scorched, twisted, inflamed, and festering—a terrible sight resulting from years of war and abnormal energy turbulence.
The healer's instinct overrode all else. Almost without thought, a silver needle appeared between her fingers, aimed precisely at a tiny but critical energy blockage, seeking to guide and repair.
But the moment the needle's tip touched the light-vein—
"Agh—!"
It was not the pain of flesh, but the world's own agony—the suppressed suffering of countless lives, the wail of twisted laws! Her rational fortress—that icy shell that had protected her for years—cracked instantly under this pure pain, on the verge of total collapse.
Just as her consciousness was about to be overwhelmed, a clear, steady voice reached her through some nascent resonance:
"Don't treat the 'disease.' First, understand the 'pain.'"
It was Shen Yuzhu.
Lu Wanning jolted awake, withdrawing the needle with her last strength. She ceased resisting, instead opening her mind, letting her awareness sink into that vast pain, to feel, to accept, to empathize.
In that moment, she understood: true healing was never about brutally cutting away "flaws" or "lesions," but about coexisting with trauma and understanding the root and meaning of its existence.
At the same moment of Lu Wanning's realization, the Bloodlock on Chu Hongying's arm flared hot, emitting a blazing crimson light. The Heart Mirror radiance around Shen Yuzhu responded in kind, the silvery-blue flow brightening as never before. The two powers resonated intensely, causing their consciousnesses to briefly, completely overlap and merge within the chaotic torrent.
For the first time, Chu Hongying clearly "saw" the raging torrent beneath Shen Yuzhu's layer of rationality:
He remembered the length and angle of the arrow scar beside her third thoracic vertebra, the origin of the faint scar on her left brow.
He agonized over every moment he failed to calculate a path that guaranteed her survival, those "errors" etched into his heart.
And deepest, sealed under layers of intellect, was a near-despairing fear of losing her—a fear vast enough to shake the tower of reason he had spent half his life building.
Shen Yuzhu, in turn, "saw" the far heavier weight sealed within Chu Hongying's Bloodlock:
Not just the roar and faces of a hundred thousand war-dead, but the trust—the unreserved entrustment—of every common soldier in their final moment, their longing for home, their hope for the future, placed in her, their general.
These were not cold numbers, but scalding, weighty lives.
No words, no explanations—only the quiet certainty of understanding.
In the depths of consciousness, beyond reason and instinct, they simultaneously knew the answer:
"You are my lifeblood... and I... am your humanity."
As the four stabilized within their respective trials, the entire Sea of Consciousness stilled.
At its center, light gathered, coalescing into an ancient phantom of pure radiance, indistinct in form—an echo left by the creator of the primal Mirror Sea laws.
That will, gentle yet irrevocable, washed over them like a tide, resonating directly within their souls:
"The trial is not torment—it is selection. The world loses balance, grows restless, from the tilt of human nature. New wills are needed to become 'Anchors' of order, holding fast to truth amidst the flood."
The light turned to the four, posing the final, most fundamental question:
"Tell me—through mist and shattering, what is the 'unshakable thing' within your souls?"
Without hesitation, they answered almost as one:
"I trust in the spear in my hand, and the people at my back." Chu Hongying's voice rang like steel.
"I trust in the truth I comprehend, even filled with contradiction." Shen Yuzhu's words were calm as water.
"I trust that 'understanding' itself is the beginning of healing." Lu Wanning's tone regained its clarity.
"I trust the path beneath my feet, even soaked in blood and sin." Gu Changfeng's vow fell with decisive weight.
Four declarations became four distinct yet harmonious pillars of light, shooting upward, intertwining and spinning at the sea's center, finally forging into a luminous chain—not of iron or stone, but woven from oaths, memories, and choices. The prototype of the "Oathlock of the Heart" manifested in the world.
The very moment the lock formed, emitting its first soundless hum, each of the four felt a precious, tender part of their soul quietly peel away, taken as the initial price for this soul-deep contract:
The Bloodlock on Chu Hongying's arm burned fiercely; a memory of her mother softly humming a Northern lullaby under lamplight grew blurry, leaving only the melody's hollow shell, stripped of its unique warmth and essence.
Shen Yuzhu felt a sliver of subtle emotion slip from his mind's grasp; he still knew the concept of "warmth," but could no longer perceive the fine sensations brought by the "breath of mortal life," as if the world were veiled by the thinnest gauze—visible, yet untouchable.
Lu Wanning's silver needle let out a nearly inaudible keen, instantly coating itself in an indelible jet black, symbolizing her proud, pure reason being scorched and branded for the first time by the reality of "cost."
The mark freshly forged from blood and fire on Gu Changfeng's hand dulled, transforming into an eternal, faded scar—the invisible protection and bond of his family bloodline severed completely.
The ancient phantom issued its final decree, voice fading into distance:
"The Oathlock is sealed, the cost initiated. Now, you will truly learn... the weight of conviction, and the memory it demands."
The entire Sea of Consciousness began to recede violently, light-tides reversed and churned, forming a massive vortex that ruthlessly sucked in and dragged the four consciousnesses toward the next abyss of trial.
At the last moment before the sea's entrance sealed completely, an almost transparent, faint figure flickered past like a reflection in water.
It was Zhao Yuan—a remnant shadow nearly erased by time.
His form was thinner than ever, as if the next moment would see him forgotten by existence itself. In his hand, he held a mirror-heart fragment, utterly burned out, lustreless, and riddled with cracks. With the last shred of his being, his lips moved, forcing a broken yet crystal-clear thought into the minds of Shen Yuzhu and Chu Hongying:
"Beware... the Emperor... is no longer 'living'...
His rationality—itself is... the greatest emotional flaw..."
The words unfinished, his form dissipated like smoke in a breeze, the shattered mirror-heart vanishing with him into nothingness, leaving not even a shadow.
Only a sigh—faint, heavy, and final—fell like a feather upon Chu Hongying's heart:
"Tell this world... that I once... truly existed."