Behind the piles of rubble, the rhythmic jingle of copper bells came to an abrupt halt. Lin Yuan tightened his grip on his longsword, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's. The jade decree at his waist emitted a low, rhythmic hum.
Cang Yaochen lowered his gaze, shielding Jiang Li. The gale whipped against his robes, the corrosive black holes appearing like scars left by his collapsing divine domain.
Jiang Li pressed tightly against his back. The moment she saw the Xuan Ying Decree, her fingertips trembled violently. A blurred, fragmented image flashed through her mind—like falling shards of jade—stabbing at her consciousness before vanishing. She lowered her head, burying her face in the shadows.
[Ding!]
[Warning: The Host's current state will trigger a fatal counterattack from the Sect's formations.]
[Suggestion: Disguise yourself as a "Heavily Wounded Rogue Cultivator."]
Cang Yaochen reversed his divine power, suppressing the surging sacred blood. In an instant, he was no longer a deity, but merely a humble, dying monk.
Though Jiang Li was frail and sickly, her eyes were usually as cold as frost. Yet now, seeing these arrogant disciples, a sharp flash of calculation flickered within them.
"Immortal, save us..." Jiang Li let out a shrill cry. She tumbled from the monk's back, intentionally scraping her palm against a jagged stone. Blood blossomed in the dirt. She crawled toward Lin Yuan, her voice hoarse with terror. "Big brother... he was wounded by demons while saving me... please, save him..."
Her tears fell like rain, her skeletal frame shivering in the wind. The sight instantly ignited the pity of the young disciples. Cang Yaochen looked at her blood-stained hands, his heart heavy with guilt. He remained entirely unaware that behind her desperate cries, her eyes remained as cold and silent as the Dead Sea.
Lin Yuan's suspicion wavered. "Fine. The Sect needs hands. Follow me; we will place you in the Outer Hall for now."
[Ding!]
[Mission Accomplished. Reward: Unlocked "Asura Divinity" Seal: 0.05%.]
As the system's voice faded, a dark and violent throb echoed deep within Cang Yaochen's soul. He looked at Jiang Li; she was still wiping away tears, her tangled hair obscuring her face.
Together, they walked toward the misty Immortal Mountains—everyone harboring their own secrets, everyone falling into the traps set by fate.
The Star-Gazing Terrace was a desolate expanse of stone where cold rock and colder hearts intertwined. A bitter wind carried sleet, scraping harshly against the ground with an ear-piercing friction. At the center of the terrace floated a massive ancient mirror, its surface flickering with a rhythmic purple glow. It was no ordinary object; it was like a vertical pupil, gazing from the depths of the northern abyss. This was the trial that struck terror into all who sought entry: The Mirror of the Void.
"The Mirror of the Void reflects the soul. The realm you encounter is determined by your own fate," Lin Yuan stood to the side, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as it swayed slightly in the gale. His hawk-like gaze scanned the shivering candidates. "Only those who bring back a wisp of Void Qi may enter the Inner Hall; those who fail shall serve as slaves for life, stripped of their worldly illusions."
Among the crowd, Cang Yaochen stood out like a hideous scar. Over his tattered Golden Cicada robes, he wore a coarse grey mantle. The black holes burned into his inner robes by the Calamity Ash were faintly visible, seemingly mocking the fallen Buddha. He checked on the girl in his arms, his breathing shallow and hurried.
[Ding!]
[Warning: High-tier artifact "Mirror of the Void" detected. The Host has been rejected by the laws of this world; a forced entry will shatter the mirror and expose your identity.]
[Suggestion: Forfeit the trial. Accept the status of a servant to hide your aura.]
Cang Yaochen gave a bitter smile, looking at himself in silence. If he stepped into that mirror, the very foundations of this thousand-year-old sect would likely crumble in an instant. He dropped to one knee, his fingers seemingly brushing Jiang Li's tattered hem at random, his movements gentle and swift.
Jiang Li instinctively recoiled, a spark of wariness flashing in her cold, Dead Sea eyes. This touch frightened her.
Without a word, Cang Yaochen rose calmly. As the surrounding disciples mocked him as "trash," he accepted a blunt wooden slip engraved with the word "Sweep" and turned toward the rugged mountain path.
Jiang Li looked down at her knuckles. Sometime during the exchange, a small mark had appeared there—it looked like a drop of a blooming blood-lotus. She tried to rub it off, but the mark remained motionless, as if it had been part of her skin since birth.
"Must be the monk's doing," Jiang Li muttered.
It was Jiang Li's turn. Steeling herself, she walked toward the frost-covered mirror. The moment her fingertips touched the surface, the feigned timidity in her eyes vanished, replaced by a coldness recognizable only by the Void.
The world inside was not heaven, but a graveyard of laws. It was chaos. Jiang Li walked barefoot through the nothingness, the immense pressure of the Void's laws nearly tearing her soul apart. Suddenly, the dark-red mark on her finger throbbed with pain. A thread of cool, rhythmic Buddhist energy surged through her meridians, shielding her heart and dulling the bone-piercing agony.
She sensed it, but her gaze remained indifferent. She viewed it merely as a life-saving charm given to her by Cang Yaochen.
Ahead of her, a withered, fragile seedling swayed in the void. Jiang Li stopped and looked down at it.
"Survival of the fittest. You shouldn't be clinging to life here."
She raised her foot, intending to crush it and move on, but the blood-lotus mark on her finger sent a violent, warning throb.
"How troublesome," she whispered, her voice raspy and low. At the last moment, she turned and bypassed the seedling. She didn't notice that as she walked away, a withered leaf scraped her foot. A drop of blood, laced with golden threads, seeped into the soil. The dead bark shivered, and a vibrant, impossible green sprouted from the withered wood.
Outside, on the platform, the mirror remained as still as stagnant water. Not a single spark of talent or spiritual light flickered.
"Tch. Not even a wisp of Void Qi. Just another beggar brat," a disciple sneered, his lip curling in disdain.
However, at that exact moment, an earth-shattering roar erupted from the Forbidden Peak of the back mountain! The Suanni, the Saint Beast that had guarded the sect for a thousand years, burst through its secluded stone gates, tearing across the sky like purple lightning. To everyone's horror, the ferocious high-tier divine beast did not attack.
Instead, the mountain-sized predator lowered its arrogant head. Like a tamed kitten, it submissively nuzzled Jiang Li's dust-covered skirt, letting out a purr that sounded like rolling thunder.
"The Saint Beast... submitted?" Lin Yuan gasped, his mind going blank. The mirror had reflected nothing, meaning she had no spiritual roots; yet, the submission of the Saint Beast signaled a status that transcended all laws. The Elders looked at each other, unsure of how to judge her. They had no choice but to label her an "heretic" and send her to the Inner Hall for observation.
On the other side of the mountain, Cang Yaochen had already gripped his broom, slowly sweeping away the withered leaves on the rugged path. With every step, the burning pain in his meridians grew more intense—the "Blood Lotus" on Jiang Li's finger was a direct drain on his own life force, the price he paid to shoulder her burden.
Passing through a hidden thicket, he found a dying youth—one who had been discarded after failing the trial. Cang Yaochen pressed his palms together, a thread of jade-warm Buddha light seeping from his fingertips.
"Amitabha."
The cold voice of the system echoed in his mind:
[Ding! Host has consumed the Buddha Source. The Asura Seal is loosening. Current progress: 0.1%...]
He still held onto his mercy, utterly unaware that every "variable" he preserved was merely a spark—a flicker of light—flashing within the cold, precision-calculated dead ends of the system's algorithm.