The trial grounds were silent save for the distant flutter of banners and the steady hum of spiritual formations. Elder Sun Zhen raised his hand, the Mirror of Heaven pulsing behind him like a second moon.
"The First Reflection has passed. Those who remain shall now face the Second: the Illusory Heart Realm."
Gasps rippled through the courtyard. Even among the senior disciples, the name carried weight. It was a place not merely of mirrors, but of the spirit—where the boundary between illusion and reality blurred, and one's Dao Heart was tested in a domain shaped by the subconscious.
Elder Sun's voice deepened. "Sit. Let your spirit be still. The mirror will draw you in. Resist, and you fail. Surrender... and perhaps survive."
Lin Wuxie, still composed, lowered himself into a cross-legged position. Around him, disciples did the same—though some hands trembled.
Mei Yao clutched her pendant. Shen Ziyao stared forward, still and sharp as a blade.
Then the Mirror of Heaven flared.
A wave of silver light swept across the courtyard, washing over each disciple. The world twisted—sky and ground folding like paper—and then everything went black.
Lin Wuxie opened his eyes.
He stood in the Moonlit Spirit Sect... but not quite.
The sect halls were warped—too tall, too wide, the skies above blood-red and swirling. Disciples walked with blank faces, muttering broken mantras. The mirror sigils carved into walls pulsed with false rhythm.
"Dream logic," he murmured. "No... worse. A collective subconscious simulation."
He looked down and saw his hands flicker. Not physically—but symbolically. His form wasn't entirely stable in this place. And that meant the rules weren't either.
"Fascinating."
He took a step, and the realm rippled.
Elsewhere in the illusion, Mei Yao stood in a dim courtyard. In front of her, an elder in violet robes sat on a high jade chair—her father.
His face was cast in shadow, but his voice rang clear.
"Speak when spoken to. Kneel."
Mei Yao's knees buckled. Her body moved on instinct—conditioned from childhood.
She clenched her teeth. No. This isn't real. She'd come too far.
She looked down—and saw herself again. A younger version. Kneeling, smiling on command.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she did not fall.
Then, suddenly, the world bent. The elder's face warped into a twisted mask, repeating the command like a cursed mantra.
"Kneel. Kneel. Kneel."
And then... it stopped.
The illusion flickered.
A silver moth flitted past, and the mask cracked.
Mei Yao gasped.
In the distance, unseen, Amon turned and walked away from a floating sigil, his fingers releasing a faint glow. He didn't help directly. That would be too obvious. But nudging the construct? Easy.
"You'll awaken soon enough, little shadow," he murmured.
In another quadrant of the illusion, Shen Ziyao strode through a burning corridor. Crimson flames licked the walls, and statues of blindfolded judges collapsed in her wake.
Every door she opened led to another tribunal—each more corrupt than the last. One judged a man guilty for his poverty. Another condemned a girl for crying. A third burned books deemed too dangerous.
She growled. "Lies. These aren't justice. This is tyranny."
But even her voice began to shake.
One door remained.
She entered.
Inside stood a single figure: herself, cloaked in white and red, atop a mountain of ash.
The clone raised a hand. "In the name of justice, I purge all imperfection."
Ziyao's hand trembled. This wasn't just an illusion—it was a prophecy. A warning. A truth she had buried.
Then the illusion trembled.
And something else appeared.
A tall youth, dressed in dark robes with silver trim, stood at the center of the mirror temple. Lin Wuxie.
The mirror behind him was shattered.
He turned and smiled. "Careful, Sister Shen. Not all truths set you free."
She stepped back, suddenly furious. "You—what are you doing in my illusion?"
He tilted his head. "Your illusion? I thought this was ours."
She slashed forward—but the image vanished in mist.
Back in the real world, her spiritual presence flared.
Outside the illusion, Elder Sun Zhen opened his eyes.
"Hmm." He traced a sigil mid-air. The mirror was rippling unnaturally.
One of the array masters stepped closer. "Is something wrong?"
Sun Zhen frowned. "The realm... is responding to one of the disciples. Not just projecting their heart—it's being reshaped."
His eyes narrowed. "By him."
He looked toward Lin Wuxie's still body.
Inside the illusion, Lin Wuxie walked through a warped corridor, watching the walls melt into fog and memory. He had learned the rules. Now, he was bending them.
Not enough to break them. Not yet. But enough to carve a path.
His thoughts drifted.
"I remember being a shadow behind a desk, manipulating strings no one could see. A King of Angels, feared and mocked in equal measure. Not yet a god... but almost. Now, here I am, playing with dreamstuff and low-tier formations."
He smiled.
"Still fun, though."
And ahead, the fog began to clear.
The third phase was near.