Zheng Xie searched the plain with quiet intensity, scouring every blade of grass, every swaying branch, for some semblance of a clue that would lead him off this accursed island.
But there was nothing.
No inheritance ground tucked within a hidden cavern. No vicious beasts lurking in tall grass. Just an ordinary patch of life: insects buzzing in the distance, birds flitting across the sky, rodents scurrying under brush, and an unnaturally dense amount of spiritual qi saturating the air.
If there had been even a single clue, even the faintest anomaly, he could have worked with it. Instead, it was maddening in its normalcy.
"No…" Zheng Xie muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "I must be missing something."
A secret realm was never designed to be easy, but it was also not unfair. They were brutal, mysterious, cryptic even—but always solvable. A trial, not a trap.
"There must be a way out of here… Something I've overlooked. Something right in front of me."
His brows furrowed as his thoughts churned like turbulent tides.
Then—an idea sparked.
'Wait… I've only climbed up using one stream.'
There were exactly four streams that flowed down the floating island above. And until now, he had only ascended through the one closest to him—out of convenience, perhaps instinct.
'What if each stream leads somewhere different? Have I made the assumption that all paths are the same, just because they seem to end in the same place?'
Without wasting another second, he moved toward the second stream, the one nearest to a peculiar tree bearing teal-colored fruit. He used his [Concentrated Qi Blast] to carve a crude mark into the bark—a simple sign, just in case. Then, he plunged into the stream and swam upward with practiced ease.
As he broke the surface at the top, hope flickered in his chest—only to be crushed as he emerged into the same empty plain once more.
"Still the same."
Unshaken, he immediately moved to the third stream, the one nestled beside a patch of red-burning herbs named Burning Petals, if memory served correctly. This time, he scorched the herbs with a burst of qi, leaving the land blackened and dead. Then he ascended again.
Same plain.
No difference.
On to the fourth. This one rested alone, bordered only by tall grass swaying listlessly under the qi-rich breeze. Nothing noteworthy. Still, he marked it, then swam up.
And once again… the same plain greeted him with its mocking stillness.
Zheng Xie stood still, the silence around him deafening.
'Not the stream alone, then. Maybe… a pattern?'
His eyes narrowed, cold calculation returning to his gaze.
'What if it isn't about which stream I use—but how I use them?'
A realm like this didn't test only strength or perception. It tested persistence, perseverance, wisdom, willpower and intelligence. The willingness to exhaust every possibility.
He stared at the four streams, now labeled in his mind as 1 through 4.
Stream One—the original.
Stream Two—the teal-fruited tree.
Stream Three—the Burning Petal herbs.
Stream Four—the grassy silence.
'If one path didn't work, then maybe… multiple in sequence?'
He began systematically testing combinations.
1 → 2 → 3 → 4.
2 → 3 → 1 → 4.
3 → 4 → 2 → 1.
He climbed, dove down, marked areas, noted subtle changes—if any. Time bled together as his ascents continued. He switched orders, reversed sequences, skipped one, skipped two, then retried them with delays between ascents.
His breathing remained steady. His qi reserve carefully regulated. There was no frustration in his expression—just the calm, suffocating stillness of someone sinking into obsession.
He couldn't calculate how much time had passed, there was no movement from the twin sons. Everything was reverted back.
Eventually, he lost count of how many combinations he had tried. So he began carving tallies into stone to keep track. Yes, they were gone when he climbed. But it gave him a sense of peace. The repeated actions were making his brain sluggish.
Carving them was but a way to divert his brain.
87
100
120
That was the last number he etched before his hand froze mid-air.
He stood, hovering at the base of Stream Four, his figure still, like a statue carved by the wind.
His hands curled into fists.
'Nothing, no fluctuation in spiritual qi, no change in the landscape, no resonance from the heavens, not even the faintest tremor in the ground…'
He exhaled, slow and cold.
'Am I chasing a mirage?'
Doubt crept in like frost over glass.
'Have I misunderstood this trial altogether? There hasn't been a single minute change in this plain. Each climb does nothing but reset the space. Then… what is the true condition for escape?'
Still, another doubt festered in his mind, corrosive and insidious. What if the next pattern was the one? What if he was just a single step away from breaking through? What if the answer had always been just a breath away—yet he had given up too soon?
He couldn't afford to stop now. Not when he had already tried 120 combinations. Only 136 remained. A little more than half.
A normal man would have broken already. A rational mind might have deemed it futile.
But a secret realm desired more than a rational man. It desired someone with will, perseverance, intellect and obsession.
'I should persevere…'
His fingers curled into a tight fist, knuckles whitening. A weak will would never be worth anything. He had long understood that. A fragile mind could never scale the heavens. One moment of doubt could ruin a lifetime of cultivation. If he couldn't endure even this, then how could he ever hope to rival the sons/daughters of heaven?
'I strive to challenge the heavens. And I will never be able to challenge heaven with such a feeble will.'
So once more, Zheng Xie moved forward.
One step. One combination. One more attempt.
121… → 146 → 159 → 198 → 256.
He persisted, over and over, relentless and unwavering. Over the numerous attempts, he had acquired a blueprint of the island in his mind. Now, he knew about every nook and cranny of the island.
And then… only one combination remained.
One final chance.
He narrowed his eyes, his pupils almost vibrating from the raw tension. His fury was now tempered by cold, mechanical resolve. With a breath like a blade, he strode forward.
4-4-3-2.
The final sequence.
He stepped onto the central island once more. The air seemed to shift. His heart pounded against his ribs.
Then…
The scene that greeted him was exactly the same.
Not a single leaf had moved.
The same glimmering stream. The same twin suns shining overhead. The same damn birds chirping like they were mocking him. The same sense of stagnation. Of futility.
A crack of thunder echoed—not from the heavens, but from Zheng Xie's clenched fist slamming against the unyielding earth.
"ARRRGHHH!!!"
The ground trembled, the trees rustled. Qi scattered around him in wild pulses. But the island didn't even flinch.
"What is it! What am I missing!?" His voice shook with rage, his tone one of desperation and defiance.
"What! What! What!!!"
He staggered toward the stream and knelt. Submerging his head beneath the rushing water, he let the chill consume him. Let it numb the frustration. Let it drown out the voices clawing in his skull.
'I need to think clearly. There must be something I'm missing. Something obvious… so stupidly obvious I've ignored it this whole time.'
He gritted his teeth, eyes closed beneath the water's surface.
What is it? What?
Then a dark thought crept in again. One that had teased him before.
'Should I… purge every last life on this island?'
A brutal solution, yes—but not irrational.
What if this entire island was sentient? What if its "test" demanded sacrifice? Perhaps he had to prove his willingness to sever even the most innocent life in pursuit of the path.
A ruthless idea—but cultivation was never kind to the naive.
"I don't have time to doubt anymore."
Without hesitation, Zheng Xie began the purge. He moved swiftly, precisely. Birds fell mid-flight. Squirrels and rodents were struck down before they could flee. Even the insects, he crushed with merciless fervor. The once serene and vibrant island was now unnaturally silent.
No chirps. No buzzes. No rustling. Only the sound of the stream and his own breathing remained.
And then, he stepped onto the island once more.
No change.
Stillness.
Mockery.
Again, nothing.
His fist trembled. His nails dug into his palm. He had even sacrificed the fragile lives he once pitied, and still… still the island remained as it was.
"Why!?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "What more do you want from me!?"
Zheng Xie sighed, 'I should calm down…'
Leaning against the bark of a tree, he slid down slowly, letting his head fall back. His eyes stared up through the canopy as the twin suns began their descent. For the first time since arriving here, the day passed into night.
It was a small change. But it was a change.
'So… time flows now.'
The realization felt like water in a drought. A breath of something different in this otherwise static cage.
'Back then, when I was trying combination after combination… the days never changed. Time was frozen.'
But now, it moved.
Even if the world hadn't changed, time had. And maybe—just maybe—so had he.
Still, nothing else happened.
He remained seated beneath the tree, watching the stars form in the sky. The same stars he had seen all his life… and yet they felt distant here.
He waited. Hoping something would reveal itself.
Nothing.
So he waited longer.
He waited through the chill of night and the warmth of dawn. Life began anew around him—fresh birds, fresh insects. The purge had been reversed.
'I can't rely on time. I can't rely on bloodshed. I can't rely on logic or pattern.'
All that was left… was instinct.
'I must do something. I must force a change. If I want to pass this trial, I must break through it with my own will.'
Zheng Xie's thoughts spiraled, like a formation without an exit.
It was easier said than done—breaking through a loop like this. It wasn't just about power or defiance. It was about understanding. If he wanted to escape, he needed to think beyond conventional means. Something truly unorthodox.
'Start with the basics.' That was the simplest advice. The most grounded approach. 'What causes such a phenomenon?'
The answer, like always, began with qi.
Spiritual qi—the essence of heaven and earth. The omnipresent, intangible force that wove the laws of reality together. When this spiritual essence accumulated too densely in a place, it gave birth to anomalies. Phenomena which couldn't be explained by mere mortals or even many cultivators.
Qi didn't just nourish. It brought change, change in a cultivators body and similarly on lands.
'So, if I removed the spiritual qi from this place... would the phenomenon stop?'
A wild theory, perhaps. But it was plausible. Strip a place of the very essence that sustains the phenomena—maybe the phenomena would collapse.
But there was a problem. A massive one.
Absorbing all the spiritual qi in a confined space? Even if the area was limited to the size of this illusionary island, that was no easy feat.
Certainly not for him.
'This is where my lack of a proper spiritual root hinders me.'
It was a bitter truth he'd swallowed long ago. He didn't have a top-tier physique, or an otherworldly spiritual root blessed by heaven. He wasn't someone whose talent defied natural law.
His root was average if not poor… No, they were definitely poor.
And because of that, whenever he cultivated, he could only absorb a mere sliver of the surrounding qi. Less than 5%. The rest? It swirled around him, untamed and unfused, and eventually returned to the atmosphere.
Normally, in the outside world, that wouldn't matter. The atmosphere was vast. The spiritual qi endless, even if scattered.
But here…
Here, it was different.
This was a closed space.
An illusionary world—maybe even a sealed realm. The spiritual qi, no matter how abundant, had a limit. It circulated within itself. If he cultivated here and drew out qi, even if he didn't absorb all of it, it wouldn't return to a grand cycle. It would simply be pulled again, and again, and again.
Until eventually… it would wear thin.
'If I cultivate long enough… five years, give or take… I'll not only drain the qi from the air, but even from the trees, the soil, the stones. Everything.'
It wasn't fast. It wasn't efficient.
But it was possible.
Zheng Xie opened his eyes briefly, and a faint gleam passed through them. His gaze didn't burn with excitement.
A cultivator could not afford to chase illusions of grandeur. He had no golden finger, no divine artifact to bypass the grind.
He had only this method. This body. This patience.
Without another thought, he lowered himself to the ground.
His legs folded into the lotus position, spine straight like a pine. Palms on his knees, fingers forming the Yin Gathering Mudra, he closed his eyes and took in a long breath.
The air was heavy. Saturated with dense spiritual qi.
And then—
BOOM.
Like a dam shattering, spiritual qi erupted around him.
It surged, howled, and twisted in the air like a storm caught in a bottle. From every corner of the illusory island, from every tree and blade of grass, qi was drawn. It swirled around him in a violent dance, then shot toward him like countless invisible arrows.
He didn't flinch.
The qi struck his body and entered through every pore. It coursed through his meridians, wild and untamed, making him feel like his veins were on fire.
But Zheng Xie endured.
He directed it to his dantian, the spiritual core of a cultivator.
There, the qi began to swirl. Slowly, it coalesced into streams, and he tried to refine it—absorb it, convert it into his own.
But like always, it wasn't easy.
Much of it refused to stay. It hovered, resisted, and dispersed.
'Less than 5%… again.'
Still, he didn't curse his fate. Didn't rage at the heavens.
This was his reality.
Even if he could only take a drop from the ocean at a time… he would do so. Drop by drop, year after year.
Zheng Xie immersed himself in the cultivation state.
His breathing slowed. His heartbeat fell into rhythm with the qi cycle. The world outside his mind dimmed.
No sound reached him.
No pain disturbed him.
He became a stillness within the storm.
His dantian began to pulse softly with newly refined qi. Bit by bit, he expanded its capacity. His cultivation, which had been stagnant for a long time, slowly advanced.
Qi Condensation Realm, Fourth Layer.
Then, after a year passed in stillness—Fifth Layer.
And gradually, toward the Sixth.
Every inch was hard-earned. Every gain paid in time and focus.
But Zheng Xie didn't rush.
He continued in his pursuit relentlessly bit by bit, little by little.