Lanternlight. Cold air. The taste of incense and iron sand.

  Three figures still sat motionless within the rings.

  Chen Gao sat motionless in his node, axe resting against his knee like a sleeping beast. Chen Xueyin's posture was rigid, as if her spine was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. And Chen Ba…

  Chen Ba still hadn't moved.

  The bronze hourglass kept bleeding pale sand, grain by grain, toward 11am. On the platform, Elder Chen Zhaolin didn't blink, "The next hour will decide if they successfully enter the Outer Court.

  Chen Gao's eyelids snapped open right after those words.

  His chest rose and fell hard, as if he'd been running.

  His hands were trembling.

  Not from exhaustion.

  From something he had let go...

  ...

  Chen Gao's illusion began with weight.

  Not formation pressure.

  Something worse.

  He stood in a field littered with corpses.

  Human, Monster, Creature.

  Old and Young.

  Men and Women.

  Blood soaked the ground until the earth looked like it had been painted red.

  Grave-Severing Earthcleaver was in his hands.

  His axe was heavier than it had ever been.

  Not because the spirit item changed,

  Because it remembered the amount of blood it touches.

  A voice spoke behind him.

  "You're good at this."

  Chen Gao turned.

  He saw himself.

  Twisted, eyes colder, grin wider, hands red up to the elbows.

  "Kill them," it said pleasantly. "That's what you do. That's what you're made for."

  More figures rushed towards them.

  They moved like puppets, eyes empty.

  They came forward in waves.

  Chen Gao swung.

  His axe cleaved.

  Bodies fell.

  Again.

  Again.

  and Again.

  The illusion did not let him stop.

  If he hesitated, the figures grabbed at him, clawing, biting, pulling.

  So he killed.

  And killed.

  And killed.

  His arms grew numb.

  His breathing grew harsh.

  "See? More killing is always the answer."

  Chen Gao's teeth clenched.

  He had always believed strength meant solution.

  That if you hit hard enough, you could break anything in front of you.

  This illusion offered him a familiar truth...

  Chen Gao's breath hitched when a child-shaped figure stumbled toward him, arms out, face blank.

  His axe rose on instinct...

  And stopped.

  His hands shook.

  His other self leaned closer, whispering.

  "If you don't kill, you die."

  Chen Gao stared at the child-shaped figure.

  He remembered the second test.

  How Chen Yiru had collapsed unconscious in his arms.

  How he'd held her like she was something fragile in a world designed to be broken.

  How he'd told her,

  We made it.

  He had wanted to protect someone.

  Not just destroy.

  Chen Gao's arms trembled harder.

  His axe felt like a mountain.

  He lowered the axe.

  The puppet-figures surged forward.

  Hands grabbed at him.

  Fingers clawed his shoulders.

  He released.

  Not the axe's grip.

  The need behind it.

  He let the axe fall from his hands.

  Grave-Severing Earthcleaver hit the ground with a dull boom.

  The blood-stained world froze.

  The puppet-figures halted mid-lunge.

  His other self stared, expression cracking.

  "What are you doing?!"

  Chen Gao's voice came out rough, raw.

  "I'm tired."

  "I don't want to kill anymore."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  His other self twisted, furious.

  "You're weak!"

  Chen Gao's eyes narrowed.

  "No."

  His voice steadied.

  "I'm choosing."

  And the moment he chose to stop feeding the endless slaughter...

  The illusion had nothing left to bind him.

  The battlefield shattered.

  Blood turned to dust and dissolved like smoke cut by wind.

  Supervisors rushed to steady him, checking his meridians.

  Chen Gao stared down at his palms.

  They were clean.

  But he could still feel the blood.

  He swallowed hard.

  And for the first time since the selection began, he looked… quiet.

  The hourglass's sand was more than half gone.

  Only two remained asleep.

  ...

  Chen Xueyin opened her eyes into winter,

  and the first thing she heard was Chen Fanyu's voice, sharp enough to cut.

  "You let go!"

  She stood on the same narrow passage from the tunnel, the same frost-rimed stone, the same oppressive gray that made time feel stuck.

  Chen Fanyu stood a few steps away.

  Alive.

  Awake.

  Not bleeding out. Not fading. Not gone.

  His face was hard, eyes bright with hurt that looked like anger.

  Chen Xueyin's breath caught.

  "Fanyu…?"

  He stepped closer.

  "You remember it, don't you?" he spat. "The moment you chose yourself."

  That wasn't how it happened.

  She remembered his hand striking his own chest, his sacrifice...

  but the illusion shoved a different memory over it like a lid.

  A flash:

  Her fingers on the waist-bond seal.

  Her own hands trembling.

  Then the bond snapping.

  And Chen Fanyu's eyes, wide with betrayal as he fell.

  Chen Xueyin staggered back, heart hammering.

  "No… that's not"

  Chen Fanyu laughed, bitter.

  "Not what? Not the truth you lie to yourself so you can breathe?"

  The tunnel's shadows writhed at the edges, whispering like winter wind.

  You abandoned him.

  You broke the bond.

  You chose herself.

  Chen Xueyin's head spun.

  The illusion was too clean.

  It felt like her memory was wrong.

  It felt like guilt given teeth.

  She clutched her whip at her waist, Scarlet Coil tight and cold.

  Her forearm, where the whip had bitten her before, throbbed with phantom pain.

  Chen Fanyu's voice pressed in, relentless.

  "I held on," he said. "I held on until my bones screamed. And you..."

  He jabbed a finger at her chest.

  "You were supposed to be stronger. You were supposed to not let go."

  Her eyes burned.

  The worst part was that the words sounded like her own thoughts.

  Which one was real?

  Which one was the lie?

  Her breath came ragged.

  The shadows loved this.

  They didn't need to kill her body.

  They just had to make her doubt her own truth until she couldn't stand.

  Chen Xueyin's hands shook.

  "I didn't… I didn't want..."

  Chen Fanyu's gaze softened for half a heartbeat, then hardened again.

  "What you wanted doesn't matter."

  He stepped aside.

  The narrow passage ahead opened into a sheer drop, black and endless.

  A waist-bond seal floated in the air above it, glowing.

  Waiting.

  A choice, again.

  Break it and walk forward alone.

  Or cling and fall together.

  The old panic tried to rise, winter's suffocation, the crushing need to fix what cannot be fixed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  And in the dark behind her eyelids, she searched for the only anchor that wasn't a whisper.

  The thin crimson line on her forearm, proof she had fought to keep control. Proof of pain that was real.

  She opened her eyes.

  Chen Fanyu was still there, watching like a judge.

  Chen Xueyin's voice came out hoarse, but steadier than her shaking hands.

  "Even if you blame me," she said, "it doesn't change what happened."

  His eyes narrowed.

  "You're admitting it?"

  "I'm admitting this," she said, swallowing hard. "That I can't keep living inside a version that the tunnel can rewrite whenever it wants."

  "I'll carry what I did," she whispered. "I'll carry what you chose. But I won't let this decide my future."

  She reached over.

  Her fingers touched the Chen Fanyu face.

  For a heartbeat, she saw his face the way she remembered it, tired, gentle, urgent.

  Then the illusion tried to slam the accusation back into her,

  and she pressed through it.

  She broke the illusion.

  Light snapped.

  The bond dissolved.

  Chen Fanyu's accusing figure cracked like ice under heat.

  And the moment she truly chose to move forward, the winter world shattered.

  Outside, Chen Xueyin's eyelids fluttered open.

  Only fifteen minutes remained before noon.

  Her breath hitched once, then steadied.

  Tears slid down her cheeks silently.

  Her whip trembled at her side, then coiled tighter, obedient and calm.

  Healers moved in immediately, checking for spiritual backlash.

  Chen Xueyin stared at the hourglass.

  So little sand remained.

  Her lips parted.

  No words came out.

  But her shoulders loosened.

  For the first time since winter, she looked like someone who could stand again.

  The crowd's tension sharpened.

  Only Chen Ba remained asleep.

  And time was almost finished...

  ...

  Chen Ba's illusion was a dream he always wanted.

  He blinked and found himself in a small courtyard, sunlight spilling over clean stone, a windchime tapping softly under the eaves.

  A table sat in the shade.

  Two bowls.

  Three sets of chopsticks.

  His hands froze.

  A lady sat there, hair pinned neatly, sleeves rolled back while she stirred porridge. She looked up and smiled.

  Another men sat beside her, pouring tea, shoulders relaxed, gaze steady like a mountain that didn't need to announce itself.

  "Ba'er," the lady said, like it was the most natural sound in the world. "Eat before it gets cold."

  Chen Ba sat down because his knees gave out.

  The porcelain was warm under his fingers.

  "Mum?" Chen Ba called out.

  The lady laughed and answered "Yes Ba'er? Hurry up and eat your porridge."

  The men hummed. "You sleepy head, still sleeping? Don't even recognize your own parents?"

  Chen Ba froze.

  My mum and dad is here?

  Days passed.

  Not in flashes.

  In morning light and evening lamps.

  In his mother folding clothes while humming off-key.

  In his father correcting his stance with a tap to the elbow.

  In quiet conversations that weren't about bloodlines, rankings, spirit items, or expectations.

  Sometimes they didn't talk at all.

  They just existed together, doing their own things like a normal family would.

  And Chen Ba felt something settle in his chest, something he have always wanted his whole life.

  One morning, after breakfast, his mother poured tea and pushed the cup toward him.

  He wrapped both hands around it.

  The warmth soaked into his fingers.

  His father looked at the sun's angle and then at Chen Ba, eyes gentle.

  His mother's smile wavered, just a little.

  "Ba'er," she said softly.

  Chen Ba looked up.

  Her eyes were shining.

  Not with sadness.

  With the kind of tenderness that hurts because it can't last.

  "It's almost noon," his father said quietly.

  Chen Ba's heart lurched.

  Noon?

  His gaze snapped to the sky.

  The sunlight was too perfect.

  The shadows too still.

  A thin ringing filled his ears, like he'd been underwater and only now noticed.

  His mother reached out and touched his hand.

  Her palm was cool.

  "Outside," she said, voice steady but soft, "it hasn't been long."

  Chen Ba's throat tightened.

  "Outside…?" he asked.

  His mother nodded.

  "This is an illusion."

  His grip on the tea cup trembled.

  The warmth in the courtyard suddenly felt fragile, like it could shatter if he breathed too hard.

  He looked at them, desperate, childish in a way he hated.

  "What do you mean?"

  His father's gaze softened.

  "You'll fail your third test if you don't leave now."

  Chen Ba swallowed, he remembered everything now.

  He couldn't make himself stand.

  His mother squeezed his hand once, firm.

  "You've been walking without us for a long time," she said. "You just didn't realize it."

  Tears blurred Chen Ba's vision.

  His lips parted but no sound came.

  His mother leaned forward and, without hesitation, brushed her thumb under his eye, wiping away the tear like she'd done it a thousand times.

  "Thank you for coming home," she whispered.

  His chest cracked.

  "I…" His voice broke. "I don't want to forget."

  His father's voice was low. "You won't."

  Chen Ba closed his eyes.

  He let the courtyard's sounds sink into him, the windchime, the tea being set down, his mother's quiet breath.

  Outside...

  the hourglass was almost empty.

  The final stream of sand narrowed to a thread.

  People leaned forward without meaning to, as if their bodies could pull him out faster.

  A few whispers slipped out, tense and confused.

  "How is he still asleep?"

  "He's Chen Ba... he's was the first to reach Qi Initiate Realm level 3 during the first test."

  "He also cleared the tunnel the fastest!."

  The sand fell...

  one last thin cascade...

  and Chen Ba's eyelids snapped open.

  His breath came sharp.

  His body swayed once.

  Then held.

  A bell rang.

  One toll.

  Deep and final.

  Noon.

  Chen Ba had woken with only seconds to spare.

  He wiped off his tears quickly.

  But his eyes were still red.

  Silence hit the crowd like a wall.

  Then the breath they'd been holding exploded out.

  Relief. Shock. Confusion. Cheers.

  A whisper slipped out, barely audible.

  "How… was he last?"

  Another answered, equally uncertain.

  "His Dao heart… took the long way out."

  Elder Chen Zhaolin stepped forward.

  His voice carried cleanly across the ground.

  "The Dao Heart Illusory Realm concludes."

  He looked at the six.

  "All have awakened before noon."

  A pause.

  "Pass."

  The word struck the survivors differently.

  Chen Shun's eyes sharpened, already calculating what came next.

  Chen Yiru's shoulders loosened, but her gaze stayed heavy.

  Chen Lanyue clutched her bowl like it was the only thing holding her together.

  Chen Gao stared at his hands as if remembering something he wished he could forget.

  Chen Xueyin's eyes were calm, her posture was steadier than it had been before.

  Chen Ba sat quietly, eyes red, as if his heart was still in a courtyard that no longer existed.

  Elder Chen Zhaolin's gaze swept them.

  "This test was not about strength," he said. "Not about speed."

  His voice sharpened.

  "It was about what you cannot escape when no one is watching."

  He turned slightly, gesturing to the platform.

  "Those who pass will receive a foundational technique aligned with their spirit item."

  But his eyes were cold.

  "Rest today."

  "Because what you awakened inside yourselves… will follow you into the outer court."

  "Report to the Outer Court Heritage Pavilion tomorrow at dawn, you will receive your reward there."

  The platform's runes dimmed slowly.

  The cloth remained folded at the side like a discarded skin.

  And above the testing ground, the sun sat high and indifferent.

  The third test was finally over...