The pressure intensified.

  It wasn’t like wind, or gravity, or heat. It was judgment—vast and impersonal—pressing down on existence itself. Mingzhi’s breath came shallow as the cave walls groaned faintly, fine cracks crawling through the stone like frightened veins.

  Outside, thunder rolled again.

  Not distant.

  Above them.

  “Spirit,” Mingzhi said hoarsely, steadying himself against the cave wall. “What is happening?”

  The answer came instantly, stripped of all hesitation.

  “…Tribulation lightning.”

  Mingzhi’s blood ran cold.

  “Tribulation?” he echoed. “As in—that tribulation?”

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied. “The kind that descends when a cultivator advances across a major cultivation boundary.”

  Mingzhi’s eyes widened. “What?! I didn’t advance!”

  Another thunderclap split the sky. The cave shook violently this time, loose stones crashing to the ground.

  “I only integrated a core!” Mingzhi snapped. “The beast core is still a foreign object! I haven’t even stamped it yet!”

  His thoughts raced, bordering on panic.

  “If Heaven thinks I advanced to the beast core’s level…” His voice dropped. “…then I’m dead. Completely dead.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “I’m new to this,” he added quickly. “Explain it. Fast. Is there a way out?”

  The Spirit went silent for half a breath.

  Then—

  “There is no way out.”

  The words hit harder than the thunder.

  “Tribulation lightning,” the Spirit continued, voice grim and precise, “descends when Heaven detects a qualitative leap—either in cultivation, or in creation.”

  Mingzhi clenched his fists.

  “When a pill reaches a high grade,” the Spirit said. “When an artifact forms a true spirit. When a cultivator crosses a great realm.”

  Thunder roared again, closer.

  “Once it begins,” the Spirit said, “it cannot be stopped.”

  Mingzhi’s jaw tightened.

  “The stronger the leap,” the Spirit went on, “the stronger and longer the tribulation. To the one facing it, it can be either a disaster—”

  Another crack of thunder.

  “—or a blessing in disguise,” the Spirit finished quietly. “If they survive.”

  Mingzhi let out a sharp, humorless breath.

  “Survive?” he repeated. “With what? I have no strength. No preparation.”

  His gaze flicked instinctively upward, as if he could see through stone and earth into the roiling heavens.

  “People prepare years for this,” the Spirit said. “They stockpile healing pills. Build defensive arrays. Choose auspicious locations. Some even hire protectors—though using external aid reduces the tribulation’s tempering effect.”

  Mingzhi barked a laugh. “Great. I have none of that.”

  The pressure increased again. His knees buckled slightly before he forced himself upright.

  “And it’s happening now,” he muttered. “Right after I built the bridge.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “Wait,” he said suddenly. “You told me before about pill veins. How Heaven reacts when something forms… unnaturally.”

  The Spirit paused.

  “…Yes.”

  Mingzhi’s breathing steadied—not because he was calm, but because fear had sharpened into clarity.

  “So this isn’t about me advancing,” he said slowly. “It’s about the engine.”

  Silence.

  “The core,” Mingzhi continued. “I used a foreign object to overcome my weakness. Heaven doesn’t tolerate shortcuts.”

  “…It’s possible,” the Spirit admitted.

  Mingzhi closed his eyes briefly.

  “So from Heaven’s perspective,” he murmured, “I didn’t step forward.”

  He opened them again.

  “I cheated.”

  Another thunderclap detonated overhead.

  Dust rained from the ceiling. The air felt heavier, denser, as if the world itself were drawing breath.

  Mingzhi laughed softly, bitter and incredulous.

  “I’m doomed,” he said. “No strength. No preparation. No warning.”

  The Spirit did not contradict him.

  “There is only one thing you can do now,” it said.

  Mingzhi looked up. “Which is?”

  “Go outside.”

  Mingzhi stared. “Outside?”

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied firmly. “Tribulation lightning does not strike through layers of obstruction kindly. Staying underground will only cause collapse—and you’ll be buried alive before the lightning even reaches you.”

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  Thunder answered, as if in agreement.

  “You must face it directly,” the Spirit said. “And concentrate on using as much of the opportunity as possible.”

  Mingzhi’s lips twitched.

  “Opportunity,” he repeated dryly.

  “Tribulation lightning is destruction,” the Spirit said. “But it is also refinement. If you survive—even partially—your foundation, body, and energy pathways will be tempered.”

  Mingzhi took a slow breath.

  He was quiet for a moment.

  Then he straightened.

  “Alright,” Mingzhi said. “Then let’s not waste it.”

  The Spirit’s voice softened—just a fraction.

  “…Mingzhi.”

  He paused.

  “Don’t die.”

  Mingzhi smiled faintly.

  “No promises,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

  Another thunderclap roared—so close it felt like the sky itself was tearing open.

  The pressure peaked.

  Mingzhi turned and ran.

  Out of the cave.

  Into the clearing.

  Above him, the clouds churned violently, spiraling inward, layers upon layers folding into a massive vortex. Blue-white light flashed within, illuminating the forest in stark, flickering shadows.

  The heavens had made their judgment.

  And they were ready to deliver it.

  The moment Mingzhi burst out of the cave—

  He stopped.

  Not by choice.

  The pressure crushed down on him like an invisible mountain, forcing his knees into the earth. The ground beneath his palms cracked as he caught himself, fingers digging into soil that suddenly felt heavier than stone.

  He couldn’t stand.

  He couldn’t even lift his head.

  The sky above the clearing had transformed.

  The clouds no longer drifted—they churned. Massive layers spiraled inward, folding over one another like grinding plates of steel. Blue-white light flickered within, illuminating the forest in harsh, stuttering flashes. Each pulse sent tremors through the land.

  Mingzhi’s breath came in short, shallow gasps.

  So this is it, he thought.

  The pressure intensified.

  Then—

  The first lightning descended.

  It did not fall like ordinary lightning.

  It dropped.

  A pillar of blinding blue-white radiance tore through the sky, carrying with it a sound that wasn’t thunder, but judgment—raw, roaring, absolute. The moment Mingzhi sensed it locking onto him, every instinct screamed.

  He shut his eyes.

  Braced.

  This is where I die.

  The lightning struck.

  Power slammed into him—overwhelming, annihilating, beyond anything his body should have been able to endure. For an instant, his thoughts scattered completely, drowned in light.

  Then—

  Nothing exploded.

  But every hair on his body stood on end, nerves screaming as something vast passed straight through him.

  No pain.

  No death.

  Mingzhi’s breath stuttered.

  …What?

  He opened his eyes.

  The lightning had not struck his body directly.

  It had entered him.

  He felt it—clearly, unmistakably—rushing past his skin, ignoring flesh and bone entirely. The current surged inward, racing through his meridians with terrifying precision, following a single path.

  Straight toward his eye.

  Toward the newly carved bridge.

  Toward the Earth core.

  Mingzhi’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  So that’s it, he realized. Heaven doesn’t care about me.

  It cares about that.

  As soon as the realization settled, his panic eased—just a fraction.

  If it’s not trying to erase me outright…

  Then I have room to act.

  The lightning tore through the bridge like a raging river forced into a narrow channel. The pain was immediate and brutal, but Mingzhi gritted his teeth and focused.

  Residual energy bled outward.

  He seized it.

  Using his body, and the pain followed.

  The leftover lightning surged into his flesh, hammering muscle, bone, and meridians alike. His body screamed as it was forcibly tempered, every cell vibrating under the violent refinement.

  Mingzhi roared silently, forcing himself not to resist.

  Burn it in. Refine it. Don’t waste it.

  The first lightning faded.

  Smoke rose faintly from his skin.

  His vision swam—but he was alive.

  Barely.

  Before he could even draw a full breath, pain spiked sharply.

  Too much.

  Even the residual lightning was overwhelming now. His body trembled violently, meridians pushed to their absolute limit. Cracks spread through his internal pathways, blood leaking from his nose and mouth.

  Panic surged.

  I can’t take more—!

  “Idiot!”

  The Spirit’s voice exploded inside his mind, sharp and furious.

  “Don’t just use your body!”

  Mingzhi gasped.

  “You just absorbed fragments of a peak powerhouse’s soul, spirit, and mind,” the Spirit snapped. “Use them!”

  His thoughts reeled.

  “What—?”

  “First temper your soul,” the Spirit ordered. “Then your spirit. Then your mind. Use the lightning to erase the residual imprints left behind by the devouring!”

  Realization struck like a hammer.

  The foreign presence.

  The lingering weight.

  He had been letting it settle passively.

  Do it now.

  Mingzhi redirected the lightning inward—not toward flesh, but deeper.

  The moment it touched his soul—

  Agony.

  Not physical.

  Existential.

  It felt as though his very sense of self was being scoured, memories vibrating, identity stretched to the brink of collapse. The lightning tore through the newly absorbed soul fragments, burning away traces that were not his.

  Then the spirit.

  His perception exploded outward violently, senses overloading as the lightning refined, sharpened, and compressed his spiritual awareness. The hum in his being intensified, then stabilized.

  Finally—the mind.

  Thoughts fractured.

  Reassembled.

  Clarity followed.

  The pain did not lessen—but it changed.

  The foreign heaviness vanished.

  The fullness remained.

  Assimilation shortened.

  Mingzhi screamed silently, veins bulging as the last of the first lightning faded.

  Before he could recover—

  The second lightning descended.

  It was stronger.

  Denser.

  Heavier.

  The sky cracked open again, the bolt thicker, brighter, its roar shaking the forest to its roots.

  This time, Mingzhi didn’t close his eyes.

  He watched it strike.

  The lightning plunged into him, once more bypassing flesh and racing through the bridge. The moment it passed—

  Crack.

  Mingzhi felt it clearly.

  The bridge shuddered.

  Tiny fractures spread across it like hairline cracks in glass.

  “No—” Mingzhi choked.

  The lightning slammed into the Earth core.

  The core dimmed visibly, its already-cracked surface darkening further as fissures deepened.

  Pain unlike anything before tore through Mingzhi.

  It wasn’t just physical suffering.

  He felt every fracture.

  Every instability.

  Every weakening point in the bridge echoed through his nervous system, each crack ringing like a breaking bone.

  He tempered again.

  Soul.

  Spirit.

  Mind.

  Body.

  All at once.

  Blood poured freely now, soaking into the soil beneath him.

  The second lightning faded.

  Mingzhi slumped forward, gasping, body twitching uncontrollably.

  The bridge looked like a spiderweb.

  The core pulsed weakly.

  “Hold on,” the Spirit said urgently. “There should be one more.”

  Mingzhi laughed weakly.

  “One more,” he repeated hoarsely.

  As if on cue—

  The atmosphere changed.

  The air thickened, sinking lower, heavier than before. The clouds above no longer flashed blue-white.

  They turned deep brown-gold.

  The pressure multiplied.

  This lightning felt different.

  Not wild.

  Not chaotic.

  But absolute.

  Grounded.

  Earth-attributed.

  Mingzhi’s pupils shrank.

  “This one…” he whispered.

  “It’s aligned with the core,” the Spirit said grimly.

  The third lightning descended.

  It did not roar.

  It pressed.

  A colossal column of brown-gold lightning slammed down, carrying the weight of mountains, the inevitability of continents, the crushing finality of earth itself.

  Mingzhi screamed.

  He felt it before it even entered—his bones groaning, organs trembling under invisible mass.

  “I can handle it,” he gasped through clenched teeth. “I can distribute it—”

  But as the lightning surged through the bridge—

  The cracks spread instantly.

  The bridge began to crumble.

  “I can’t—” Mingzhi coughed violently, blood spraying from his lips. “The bridge—!”

  “It won’t hold,” he said, voice breaking. “The core won’t hold!”

  The web of fractures glowed faintly, threatening to shatter completely.

  “You control what you can,” the Spirit said, voice tight but steady. “Leave the rest to fate.”

  Another surge slammed into Mingzhi.

  “If you can hold more,” the Spirit continued, “redirect more as it enters your body. Ease the pressure on the bridge.”

  Mingzhi roared.

  He did exactly that.

  He forced the lightning outward—into his body, into his soul, spirit, mind—anywhere but the bridge.

  His body screamed.

  His consciousness wavered.

  Still, it wasn’t enough.

  As the lightning crawled along the bridge—

  It began to dissolve.

  The structure didn’t shatter violently.

  It eroded.

  Sections crumbled into fine brown dust, disintegrating as the lightning passed through.

  “No—!” Mingzhi cried.

  The lightning reached the Earth core.

  The core cracked.

  Pieces broke away, fragments falling inward, dissolving into nothing as the lightning burned through them.

  Mingzhi felt it like his heart being torn apart.

  “My plan—!” he screamed silently. “My engine—!”

  The lightning raged on.

  More cracks.

  More collapse.

  “My future—!”

  At last—

  The third lightning faded.

  The clouds above dispersed slowly, reluctantly, as if disappointed.

  The pressure lifted.

  Mingzhi collapsed fully onto the ground, unmoving.

  Smoke rose from his body.

  Dust drifted from where the bridge had been.

  The Earth core shattered layer by layer, peeling off like snakeskin.

  The tribulation had ended. Silence feeling heavier than thunder.

  And Heaven—

  Had taken its price.