The Floor did not welcome those who arrived unprepared.
Lin Xue quickly learned this truth as she moved through the lower districts of Cloud City. Inns were plentiful, yet none were merciful. Prices were inflated beyond reason, and the contracts attached to a single night's rest carried clauses that all but guaranteed debt.
Stay one night, owe three.
Miss a payment, lose your belongings.
For many, the Great Tower was not only a path upward—it was an escape from chains forged by desperation.
Lin Xue stopped before one such inn, read the terms carved into a wooden board, and turned away without hesitation.
So even rest must be earned here, she thought.
Perhaps this, too, was part of the challenge.
As she continued walking, her attention shifted. Familiar insignias appeared among the crowd—disciples of the Zhao Sect. Their robes were dusty, their expressions strained, and their steps heavy with exhaustion.
They had arrived late.
Their journey to hunt Zhao Ming had clearly cost more than expected. Lin Xue overheard fragments of conversation: complaints about spirit stone shortages, arguments over who had miscalculated expenses, resentment simmering just beneath forced discipline.
They were trapped by the same problem as her.
No place to rest.
The Floor did not care about sect prestige.
Only payment mattered.
Lin Xue passed them without comment, but she noted their fatigue. Tired opponents made mistakes. Yet desperation also made people reckless.
As she wandered deeper into the district, the atmosphere shifted.
Whispers followed her.
Not her name—but another's.
"The Catarse…"
"Have you seen the newest one?"
"They say he paints without brushes…"
On the walls of buildings, half-hidden behind cloth or deliberately exposed in defiance, paintings had appeared. Faces twisted by emotion, landscapes drenched in longing and fury, strokes so vivid they seemed alive.
Illegal art.
Unregistered.
Yet unmistakably powerful.
Lin Xue paused before one mural: a lone figure standing beneath an open sky, fractured chains falling from his wrists. The emotion embedded in the piece lingered longer than it should have.
Interesting.
But art would not help her climb the Tower.
She turned away.
When the noise of the city grew unbearable, Lin Xue sought silence instead. She circled the Great Tower until she found a quieter side, where massive branches from ancient trees pressed against the stone, forming a natural canopy.
Roots coiled through the ground like veins.
Here, the air was calmer.
This would suffice.
She sat, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes.
Her breathing slowed.
Then, she invoked her technique.
Fire Heart of the Divine Realm.
The signature offensive art of the Lin Sect.
At once, warmth spread through her chest, then outward. Faint embers appeared along her skin—not flames, but manifestations of condensed strength leaking from within her body.
Each ember pulsed with power.
The technique did not burn the user.
It revealed them.
The stronger the cultivator, the brighter and denser the embers.
Lin Xue's embers were large.
Too large for her age.
They glowed steadily, wrapping her silhouette in a restrained, controlled blaze. Her muscles tightened, her senses sharpened, and her blood surged with destructive intent.
This technique was not subtle.
It was domination.
She opened her eyes slowly.
"This will be enough," she said quietly.
She did not intend to outlast her opponents.
She would overwhelm them.
Crush their defenses.
Force them to yield.
And through every clash, she would refine herself further.
The Great Tower awaited.
And Lin Xue was ready to burn her way upward.