Mental Strength Test, A Crack in the Ice
Wu Zhangkong led them through the access-controlled door into a building that smelled of ozone and sterile metal. The elevator to the second floor hummed with a subdued energy. The corridor they entered was a study in advanced minimalism, lit by soft, recessed panels, its walls seamless. At its end stood a heavy, rune-engraved door that sighed open at their approach.
The testing room beyond was a cavern of technology and latent power. Roughly fifty square meters, its walls were sheathed in burnished silver metal plates, each intricately etched with glowing purple soul-guiding arrays that pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The light they cast was cool and clinical. Dominating the space were rows of complex instruments—consoles with shimmering screens, chairs sprouting clusters of crystalline wires, and humming central units that emitted a low, psychic thrum. The air itself felt charged, crisp with concentrated spiritual energy.
Yao Xuan's eyes swept the room with analytical curiosity. Tang Wulin stared openly, his forge-trained mind appreciating the precise craftsmanship even as he wondered at their function. Xie Xie's gaze was more familiar, touched with a hint of resigned recognition. Gu Yue's amethyst eyes took in everything with a single, dispassionate glance, as if assessing the crude tools of a lesser civilization.
"Now, we establish a baseline. Mental fortitude." Wu Zhangkong's voice was flat, yet it carried a new, anticipatory edge in the sterile space. "Xie Xie. You are first."
Xie Xie sat in the designated chair, its form conforming slightly to his shape. Wu Zhangkong pressed a sequence on a console. With a soft hiss, a sleek silver helmet descended from an armature above, encapsulating Xie Xie's head. A nearby screen flickered to life, displaying a horizontal white beam that began to extend from left to right, above a numerical scale.
10… 15… 22…
The number climbed steadily, the white light creeping across the screen. It passed 25, slowed, gave a final push, and settled.
29.
"Peak of the early Spirit Origin Realm," Wu Zhangkong stated, noting the result on a data slate. "Adequate. Your goal before the tournament: break thirty. Reach the mid-tier."
Xie Xie exhaled, a mix of relief and fresh pressure. "Understood, Teacher Wu."
"Tang Wulin. Next."
Tang Wulin approached the chair with the solemnity of someone stepping onto a scaffold. Wu Zhangkong's expectation was a low hum in his icy demeanor—the spiritual power of a Blue Silver Grass Soul Master was rarely noteworthy.
The helmet sealed. The beam of light appeared. It started its journey.
10… 20… 30…
Wu Zhangkong's finger, hovering over the data slate, paused. His eyes flicked to the screen.
The beam passed 35 without significant strain.
38.
It solidified at thirty-eight, a solid, unwavering bar of white light.
A beat of silence hung in the room. Wu Zhangkong's head tilted a fraction of a degree, the only sign of his surprise. "Mid Spirit Origin Realm. A… robust result." His gaze sharpened on Tang Wulin as the helmet retracted. "Cultivate it. Your soul power must rise to meet this foundation."
Tang Wulin's face broke into a grin of pure, unadulterated triumph. "Yes, sir!"
"Yao Xuan." Wu Zhangkong's voice changed, losing its flatness for a note of focused expectation. "Your turn."
Yao Xuan nodded, settling into the chair. The metal was cool through his uniform. As the helmet lowered, isolating him in a world of soft darkness and a faint, tingling static, he consciously relaxed his mental shields, allowing the instrument to probe the depths the System and his bloodline had forged.
The moment Wu Zhangkong activated the device, the calm atmosphere shattered.
On the screen, the white beam didn't climb—it erupted.
20—40—60—100!
In less than a second, it blasted past the century mark. The color on the display instantly shifted from steady white to a brilliant, pulsating yellow—the definitive marker of the Spirit Connection Realm.
"Over a hundred!" Xie Xie gasped, lurching forward as if pushed.
"Brother Xuan…" Tang Wulin whispered, his own achievement momentarily forgotten in the face of this vertiginous leap.
A Spirit Connection Realm breakthrough before the age of fifteen was the hallmark of a future elite. Achieving it at nine was the stuff of institutional legends, names etched in the archives of places like Shrek Academy as precursors to greatness. Wu Zhangkong knew this. The icy composure he wore like armor developed a hairline fracture. His eyes, locked on the screen, widened minutely. The data slate in his hand was forgotten.
Gu Yue's lips parted slightly. Her analytical mind, which viewed most human accomplishments with detached curiosity, was genuinely intrigued. 'His soul carries the weight of epochs, and his mind is forged to bear it. Interesting. To keep pace, I cannot afford to hide too much.'
But the display was not done.
110… 130… 150…
The yellow beam advanced with relentless, terrifying speed. When it hit 160, its forward surge finally slowed from a sprint to a determined march.
170… 180… 190…
The numbers ticked up, each digit a hammer blow to conventional understanding. Wu Zhangkong's breath had stilled in his chest. The fervor Xie Xie and Tang Wulin saw as excitement was, in truth, the shudder of a historian witnessing a prophecy unfold.
195.
The beam solidified. The number glared from the screen: 195. Peak of the early Spirit Connection Realm. A mere five points from the next threshold.
The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the low hum of the machines. The purple runes on the walls seemed to pulse in time with the stunned heartbeats of its occupants.
Wu Zhangkong was the first to move. He blinked, a slow, deliberate motion, as if recalibrating his vision. When he spoke, his usually modulated voice was stripped bare, layered with a tremor of pure, unvarnished awe he could not suppress.
"Good." The word was a breath. "Good. Very, very good."
He turned from the screen to look at Yao Xuan, who was calmly removing the helmet as if he'd just completed a routine scan. The teacher's gaze was no longer that of an instructor assessing a student, but of a prospector who has just stumbled upon the heart of a mountain made of solid star-metal.
"Heavens." The exclamation was soft, ragged at the edges. "One hundred and ninety-five… This transcends genius. This is… a seismic event."
"Yao Xuan," Xie Xie finally managed, his voice thin with disbelief. "Your spiritual power… it's really in the Spirit Connection Realm? For real?"
Tang Wulin just stared, his expression a canvas of awe so profound it bordered on veneration. "If I had even a fraction…" he murmured to himself, the thought dying unfinished.
Yao Xuan met their stares, then Wu Zhangkong's seismic gaze. "Yes," he confirmed, his tone calm, almost gentle, as if trying to lower the room's raised temperature. "It is the Spirit Connection Realm."
Wu Zhangkong took a physical step forward. The clinical distance he always maintained collapsed. "Yao Xuan." His voice was tight, straining for the calm professionalism that had fled. "I must ask. When? Approximately when did you break through to this realm? And… what was the sensation?" The questions were professional, but the hunger behind them—the need to understand the contours of this miracle—was palpable.
In that moment, the unflappable Ice Cold Male God, the stern disciple of Shrek, was gone. In his place stood a man profoundly, irrevocably shocked, standing at the edge of a revelation that promised to rewrite every expectation he had ever harbored. The crack in the ice had become a chasm, and through it blazed a light of terrifying, glorious potential.