The competition grounds were far grander than before.
The second trial, held in the inner circle of the Wind Sect, was a spiritual confrontation—a battle not just of strength, but of will. The open arena glimmered with floating formations, carved from ancient jade and glowing with soft cyan runes. Disciples lined the outer rings, watching in anticipation.
Little Wind stood at the center, his calm gaze fixed on the trial overseer. Shuye remained by his side until the last moment, her grip on his hand tight.
"Come back to me safely," she whispered.
He nodded with a slight smile, then stepped into the array.
The moment he entered, the formation activated, and Little Wind was pulled into a spiritual domain—an illusory world created by the Wind Sect's ancient artifact, The Mirror of Whispers. His surroundings turned hazy, like mist shifting around a mountain peak.
Then, enemies emerged.
Dozens of versions of himself, each formed by his own fears, doubts, and regrets. They wore mocking smiles, each holding a wind-forged blade, each whispering his inner failures.
"You let them die."
"You are a mere clone—what right do you have to live?"
"She will cry… and you will disappear."
The first illusion charged, blade raised high. But Little Wind didn't waver. He sidestepped with elegance, twisting his palm to summon a vortex spear of wind and shattered it with a single strike.
One down. Ninety-nine to go.
His body moved like a tempest—flowing, precise. Each illusion broken was a whisper silenced. But each strike left a toll. The illusion realm wasn't physical—it was spiritual. And each cut he received went directly into his soul body.
Midway through, one illusion stabbed him through the ribs.
He grunted, falling to a knee—but he did not fall completely.
Instead, he reached deep into his soul core. Chasing Dream Art flickered within, and a silent flame rose.
"I'm not bound by what I was," he muttered. "I am the wind—free, ever-changing."
The illusions wavered.
And then, with a scream of defiance, he released a burst of storm Qi, sweeping the field. Illusions shattered like glass in a hurricane.
The mist cleared.
He stood, barely, chest rising and falling, blood seeping from his lips.
The formation dissolved. He had passed.
Cheers erupted from the disciples watching, but he barely heard them.
From the stands, Shuye's heart clenched as she rushed toward him.
---
Back in their peak's private chamber, Shuye pulled him inside without a word. She shut the doors behind them and turned.
He looked pale. His steps slow. Yet still… he smiled.
Before he could speak, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself tightly against his chest.
"Don't do this again," she whispered, voice trembling. "No more trials. Stay with me…"
Little Wind gently placed his hand on her head, stroking her hair as she trembled. "I'm fine," he lied softly. "It's nothing serious."
But she pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. "Don't lie to me."
"…Just a minor internal injury," he admitted. "It'll heal by tomorrow. I promise."
She frowned deeply. "I don't care about winning or status or anything else. I just want you."
He smiled weakly, brushing her cheek. "I know. And I'm not leaving you."
There was a pause.
She bit her lip, then hesitated before whispering, "I want to dual cultivate with you…"
His breath caught slightly. She looked away, blushing. "Not for power… I just want to be closer to you. Your warmth… I want to keep it with me."
He gently held her shoulders. "Tonight, let's wait. I want my body to fully recover."
She gave a small nod, her eyes still glistening. "Then… at least sleep beside me. Just for tonight."
---
The bed was soft, covered in pale blue silks. They lay side by side, facing one another. Her arm rested lightly on his chest as his hand held hers.
Their legs tangled under the sheets, and for a while, they just listened to each other breathe.
"I was so scared today," she admitted quietly. "What should I do… if one day, you leave me behind? If you… die?"
He remained silent.
Her voice cracked slightly. "Should I follow you to the next life? Or live this life remembering you… forever?"
The moonlight caught a tear sliding down her cheek.
For a long while, he didn't answer.
Then, in a low voice, almost lost in the wind, he whispered, "If that happens one day… I will come back to get you. In another face, another name. And then… it'll be up to you to reject me or accept me. I will respect your will."
His breathing slowed. His body relaxed.
He had fallen asleep.
She stared at him, heart aching, fingers brushing the side of his face. "You're cruel… but so gentle," she murmured.
And she didn't ask anything more.
---
The next morning, the winds shifted.
A divine presence fell upon the sect grounds. The third trial was set to begin—but unlike before, an honored guest had arrived.
The Ancestor of the Wind Clan, a woman in elegant white robes, her long silver hair flowing like a waterfall, stepped onto the high platform. Her cultivation exuded a frightening pressure—Perfect Soul Creation, Middle Stage.
Gasps echoed through the arena.
"That's the Wind Ancestor herself!"
"She hasn't appeared in over thirty years!"
Little Wind stood in the participant circle, his injuries internally suppressed but not healed fully. Yet his back remained straight.
The Wind Ancestor's eyes rested on him.
"So, you are the one," she said softly. "The boy who bends the wind without a name."
She raised her hand.
"The third trial… begins now."
---
---[To be Continued]---