The victory in the training hall felt like poison wrapped in honey. The respectful gaze I received from the Dark Instructor, and even more so, the frozen fear from my fellow Chosen Disciples, was not a victory. It was my death warrant signed in the darkest ink. I had proven that I was not just a predator; I was something alien, something the cruel system did not yet fully understand. And in a place like this, things that are not understood are usually dissected, or exterminated.
"You made a mistake," Jiao snarled the next day, as we lined up to receive our morning "nutrition"—a thick, purple liquid that emitted corrupt spiritual energy. His cracked lips curled in cynicism. "You should have pretended to struggle. Now the Red-Eye and Yan will make you their primary target."
"I had no choice," I answered curtly, swallowing the liquid. It tasted like grass and dirt, but my "Seed" welcomed it ravenously.
"Everyone always has a choice," Jiao shot back, his hate-filled eyes narrowing. "Including choosing to die quickly rather than be tortured slowly." He turned his face away, but not before I caught a flash of calculation in his eyes. He wasn't just a brute; he was cunning.
Today's training was different. We were taken not to the hall, but to a long, narrow corridor with damp, sweating stone walls. At the end of the corridor was a plain stone door without a handle. A different Instructor from yesterday stood beside it, his body similarly covered in a black robe and silver mask.
"Today's lesson is Unification," the Instructor's voice echoed, flat and soulless. "Your Seeds are an extension of yourselves. But to what extent? Can you see through its eyes? Feel through its skin? Or... even dive into the ocean of consciousness you carry?"
He patted the stone door. "Behind this door is the 'Chamber of the Boundless Trial.' A psychic space built from the memories and nightmares of perished slaves. Inside, you will be placed in situations that force extreme unification with your Seed. Your goal is simple: find the way out. Or... become a permanent part of the chamber's collection."
One by one, the Chosen Disciples were called and entered the door. Some did not return. Those who did—like Jiao—came out with wild, shining eyes and unstable spiritual auras, as if they had forced a fragile and dangerous unification.
"Wa Lang," the Instructor called. "Enter."
With a pounding heart, I pushed the stone door. It opened by itself, without a sound, and closed behind me, severing the outside world.
I was not in a room.
I was standing on the edge of a highway on Earth. Cars sped past, horns blaring, the air reeked of pollution. My heart instantly raced. This... this was the day of my death. Across the street, I could see the food stall where I had scavenged for leftovers.
"No," I whispered. This is an illusion. But it felt so real. The smell of hot asphalt, the piercing hunger in my stomach.
'But this isn't just your memory,' a voice in my head whispered, sounding tense. 'It's merging ours with it.'
Suddenly, the scene changed. I was now standing by the neon-green sewer in the Poison Tunnel. In front of me, the body of the young slave I had harvested lay on the altar, his hollow eyes staring at me. "Why?" he whispered, his voice echoing from all directions. "You said it was mercy."
Simultaneously, from the Earth highway, an old woman—her face blurry—turned and pointed at me. "You lazy bum! No wonder you died like trash!"
The pain, the guilt, the anger, and the despair from two different lifetimes assaulted me from all sides. I was trapped between two equally torturous realities. My "Seed" spun wildly, trying to absorb these wild emotional waves, but it was like trying to contain a flood with a bucket.
'This is a trap!' Liang Jie shouted. 'This space feeds on inner conflict! You must unify your perception! Focus!'
But how? The world around me kept shifting. Now I was in the mine tunnel where I first saved the Burly Man, then suddenly I was in Yan's lab as he sliced my arm. Every bad memory, every moral wound, was resurrected and amplified.
I fell to my knees, clutching my head which felt like it would split. This was worse than the Soul Mist. This was personalized torture, tailor-made to shatter the boundary between me and the thousands of voices I carried.
'We are a part of you,' whispered a young woman I had absorbed. 'But you are also a part of us. Let go of control.'
'Don't!' Liang Jie argued. 'If you let go, you'll be lost forever!'
My "Seed" itself seemed divided. On one hand, it wanted to unify everything, to swallow all this pain into one coherent collective. On the other hand, its survival instinct rebelled, afraid of losing the "I" that was the center of its consciousness.
Then, a crazy idea emerged. Instead of resisting, or surrendering, could we... reshape this space?
We are the archive, I thought, trying to reach all the voices. We are not just victims of our memories. We are also their creators. Together!
I concentrated my will, not to block the memories, but to sort them. I imagined the Earth highway and the mine tunnel not as two colliding worlds, but as two layers of the same painting. I took the hunger from Earth and the pain from the mine, and wove them into a single thread of cold, focused anger.
We are angry at being treated unjustly, I said to the collective. Anger is good. But don't let it consume us. Direct it!
The scenery around me shimmered. The cars and the mine tunnel began to blend, forming a surreal landscape: a highway made of mine stone, with cars pulled by the shadows of slaves. But the chaos lessened. I could start to breathe.
Now, lead us, Wa Lang, whispered the voice of Old Man—or perhaps just his memory—from within me. Show us the way out.
I looked at this strange landscape. My "Seed," now calmer, stretched out its awareness. It sensed a "seam" in this illusory reality—a point where the psychic energy was thinnest. It was a small door, hidden behind the shadow of the altar where the young slave lay.
With new determination, I walked towards that altar. This time, the hollow gaze of the young slave was no longer accusatory. It was just a memory. I reached out and touched the shadow behind the altar.
The world collapsed like shattering glass.
I was standing back in the narrow corridor, right in front of the stone door. The Instructor stood there, and for the first time, his rigid body showed a hint of surprise.
"Astonishing," he said. "The fastest time. And... you didn't scream." He stepped closer, his red eyes behind the mask scanning my body. "You're not even sweating. It seems your unification is nearly perfect."
I didn't answer. I just felt something different inside me. The boundary between "I" and "they" was indeed thinner. The voices were no longer completely separate; they were like a calm undercurrent in my own thoughts. It was calming, and terrifying.
As I turned to return to the line, my gaze met Jiao's. And in his eyes, I didn't just see hatred. I saw... an acknowledgment. An acknowledgment that I was an existential threat to him, and that one of us had to die.
Back in the silent cell, I sat cross-legged, trying to process what had happened.
You are changing, Liang Jie whispered, and his voice sounded closer than before, almost like my own thought. We are all changing. That room... forced an evolution.
Is this good? I asked, feeling doubtful.
It is necessary, he stated firmly. To survive what is to come.
Suddenly, a new voice emerged in the current of my consciousness. Weaker, farther away, like a signal from across a vast lake.
...Hear... it whispered. ...Hear me...
I froze. This wasn't a voice from the souls I had absorbed. It was... coming from outside.
"Who's there?" I asked, focusing my attention.
'...The Forgotten... Spring...' the voice whispered, growing weaker. ...Danger... Yan knows... trap...
Then, the voice vanished, cut off abruptly.
My chest tightened. It was Overseer Shen's voice! Or... remnants of his consciousness? Was he trying to warn me? "Yan knows." Knows what? About our meeting? About the sabotage? And "trap"? What did he mean?
His warning about the "Forgotten Spring" was clear. It was where we had met. Was he trying to tell me not to go back there?
Or... was this a trap from Yan? Bait to see if I would contact Shen again?
I stared into the cell's darkness, the old feeling of isolation haunting me again, even though thousands of voices now accompanied me. I was trapped in a labyrinth more dangerous than the Trial Chamber—a labyrinth of suspicion and conspiracy.
My only ally on the outside might be lost. Yan was getting closer to discovering the truth. And my time to become the "prime bait" was running out.
I had to take a risk. I had to go to the Forgotten Spring. But not alone. I needed another spy, someone who wouldn't be suspected.
My eyes turned to Old Man, who was sleeping in the corner. Or... perhaps, someone who would be expected to follow me.
A desperate plan began to form. I would bait Jiao. I would give him a reason to follow me, and at the Forgotten Spring, I would confront not only the truth from Shen, but also the threat from a fellow Chosen Disciple.
This game of cat and mouse would end. And this time, I would not be the mouse.
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END OF CHAPTER 17
Wa Lang, increasingly unified with the collective consciousness within him, receives a mysterious warning message believed to be from Overseer Shen. Feeling his time running out and increasingly cornered by Yan and his rival Jiao, he plans a risky move: to lure Jiao into following him to the "Forgotten Spring" to confront the truth while simultaneously eliminating the internal threat, all while hoping the message is not a deadly trap set by Yan.