Chapter 4
The Hall of Reflection stood at the highest terrace of Holy Bell City.
Its gates were carved from jade, its walls lined with endless mirrors of polished obsidian. Monks said that within this hall, the Buddha's gaze pierced all falsehoods. To enter was to stand naked before truth itself.
Lianhua and Nyxen stood at the threshold.
A senior monk—bald, robes spotless, eyes cold with superiority—gestured to the doors.
"The Heart Mirror will reveal the stains upon your soul. If you emerge whole, your path is righteous. If you shatter, it means your heart is too impure."
He looked at Nyxen a beat longer than necessary, as if already judging him unworthy.
Nyxen lowered his head beneath his hat, hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips. If only you knew how right you are.
Lianhua, tall and serene, stepped forward. "We will enter."
The doors opened without a sound.
The First Reflection
The hall was vast, silent. Black mirrors lined the walls like infinite windows.
Nyxen felt the pressure immediately—a weight pressing on his chest, a faint ringing in his skull. The mirrors were not stone, not glass. They pulsed with qi, alive, waiting.
As he and Lianhua moved deeper, the reflections shifted.
In the mirror beside him, Nyxen saw himself—not as the monk he disguised, but as the crimson-eyed figure he truly was, wrapped in shadow and flame. His reflection sneered.
"So this is the path you choose? Hiding behind robes, pretending at purity? You've always been a coward, Nyxen. Always reaching for heaven with hands drenched in blood."
Nyxen clenched his fists. The words struck too close.
But beside him, Lianhua stood calmly before her own mirror.
Her reflection showed her as a child—barefoot, hungry, clutching a prayer bead with trembling hands. The vision smiled at her with gentleness. "You have not wavered, child. Your heart is still as pure as the first lotus bloom."
Nyxen's chest tightened. Her reflection offered blessing; his offered only chains.
The Second Reflection
The mirrors rippled again.
This time, Nyxen's reflection multiplied. Dozens of versions of himself spread across the walls—each committing the sins he thought buried.
One murdered for survival.
One betrayed comrades.
One bowed to a master he despised.
One burned with hunger for power, stepping over corpses without remorse.
The cacophony of his own sins pressed in, suffocating.
"Look at you," one sneered. "Transmigrant or not, your soul stinks of corruption. Do you really believe you can stand beside saints? You will never ascend their way. You will never be pure."
Nyxen staggered, the pressure tearing into his skull.
But when he looked at Lianhua—
She was surrounded by light.
Her mirrors showed her meditating in storms, walking barefoot across fire, bowing before temples while refusing temptation. Her purity did not break—it grew stronger.
The senior monks watching outside whispered among themselves. "The girl… she is near Stage Three already. Her heart is untouchable."
Nyxen's teeth ground together. He couldn't stop staring at her—the way her reflection smiled, the way she seemed untouched by the shadows gnawing at him.
Untouchable. Pure. Everything I am not.
The Third Reflection
The mirrors began to shatter, one by one. Each shard turned into a storm of voices, whispering in his ears.
"Give in. Fuse with us. Be the beast you were born to be."
"You want strength? Abandon this path. Purity is not for you."
"Without love, without beauty, you will never ascend."
That last whisper cut through him. It wasn't his reflection's sneer—it was something older, quieter, more dangerous.
Without love… you will never ascend.
Nyxen froze. The mirrors dimmed, but the words burned in his soul.
Smell of Beauty. He remembered the forbidden scrolls he had glimpsed in Arc 1, whispering of an alternate Dao—one not of purity, but of emotion. A path built not on denying humanity, but embracing it.
Was that the only way left for him?
The trial ended.
The obsidian mirrors melted into mist. Lianhua stood glowing, her aura steady as moonlight. She had passed flawlessly.
Nyxen staggered out of the mist, sweat streaking his brow, his qi unstable. He had not been rejected, but he had not been acknowledged either. He was caught in between.
The senior monk frowned. "His heart is tainted. He cannot walk the Pure Path."
Nyxen said nothing. He lowered his hat, hiding his crimson flicker of eyes.
Lianhua stepped to his side. Her gaze lingered on him with something unreadable—not pity, not judgment. Something softer.
"Purity is not the only way," she whispered, almost to herself.
Nyxen's lips curved faintly. He didn't answer—but inside, he knew.
The monk's path would never accept him.
He needed something else. Something dangerous. Something forbidden.
He needed… the Smell of Beauty.