Days had passed since the trial of the Sacred Spring. The academy, bathed in soft sunlight that streamed through its towering marble windows, seemed to breathe once more with a tentative calm. Corridors echoed with footsteps lighter than before, the hum of daily lessons like a gentle river flowing over pebbles. Peace appeared to have returned… or at least, that was what everyone wanted to believe.
But within Huo Feng, a tremor of something unseen stirred. A silent shift, slow and ancient, coursing through her veins like molten crystal. The purity of the Sacred Spring, once awakened by her blood, had stirred a force neither wholly light nor shadow. It whispered to her in pulses she could feel rather than hear—ripples through her chest, a soft vibration that danced along her fingertips and settled in her heart. She pressed her palm against it unconsciously, a shiver running up her spine, and realized with both awe and fear that it would not be controlled.
Wu Xin watched her from afar, standing beneath the arching branches of the academy's central courtyard. His eyes, dark as obsidian under the morning light, tracked her every movement. Calm and poised, yet threaded with tension, his muscles coiled as if ready to strike, and yet restrained by some invisible leash of caution. He knew this tranquility was a surface veneer; beneath it, destinies stirred like restless tides. Was this the beginning of salvation… or the first echo of ruin?
And then came the final day. The sky stretched above the academy, impossibly blue, the sun suspended in an almost unnatural stillness. Not a leaf trembled in the courtyard; not a bird dared break the silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Wu Xin's voice, low and solemn, cut through the tension like steel slicing silk:
"This is the last trial."
The words fell upon the students like a drumbeat, steady and inexorable. He let the pause linger, giving it weight.
"Only a few dare to attempt it. It is the Planet Trial — to descend upon a chosen world and live within it… until you uncover its deepest truth."
A ripple of anticipation ran through the hall. Whispers like silk threads brushed against the marble floors. And then, like sunlight piercing fog, a familiar voice rang out—bright, unrestrained, and recklessly alive:
"Then I choose Earth!"
Huo Feng's eyes sparkled with mischief, the light in them catching the sun's rays like tiny prisms.
"I'll go with Suo! Maybe we can visit the Flower House again!"
Suo pressed a finger to his lips, trying to stifle her exuberance, but before he could speak, Master Li stepped forward. Concern shadowed his gentle eyes, his hands clasped with a gravity that made every fold of his robe seem to carry weight:
"Huo Feng… please, don't. Earth isn't just that place you remember. We call it the Land of Trials for a reason. Those who go there either return as legends… or never return at all."
Huo Feng's smile faltered briefly, a soft ripple over her usually unshakable demeanor. Suo's hand found hers, steady and certain, grounding her.
"Those who dare to walk on Earth… dare to face themselves. You truly are brave."
He hesitated, voice lowering to a whisper only she could hear:
"And I'll protect you."
They descended at dawn. The air smelled of dew and earth, crisp with the scent of awakening. The sun spilled gold across misty valleys, illuminating every leaf, every droplet, with a brilliance that made the world feel alive. As they neared a small village, a bell tolled sharply from the central square, resonating in the quiet air—a clear, crystalline sound that seemed to carve the rules of this place into the atmosphere:
"Plant your seed before the sun sees your face."
Every household tended its own garden, flowers bending and swaying as if breathing with the villagers' hearts. Most gardens were lined with white blossoms, pure and perfect, their petals tight and flawless, like untouched snow reflecting the cold discipline of their owners' souls. But atop a lonely hill stood a house unlike the rest. Its garden was chaos given form: white lilies tangled with black irises, violets crawling over blood-red roses, and at its heart, golden flowers that gleamed like fragments of sunlight caught in crystal.
Huo Feng's breath caught.
"There! That's where we're going first!"
She darted forward, wind teasing her hair, skirts trailing behind her like streams of light. But a voice, calm, cold, and unwavering, cut through the air like a sharpened blade.
Wu Xin stood on a rooftop, arms crossed, the shadow of his form stretching long across the stone. His eyes, dark as obsidian, were unyielding:
"No… not that one, reckless girl. You'll start here."
He pointed to a smaller house, surrounded entirely by blinding, sterile white. A garden of perfection, yet lifeless. Each flower reflected light without warmth, soundless, devoid of color beyond its purity.
Huo Feng floated closer, pouting, cheeks flushed with playful indignation:
"But we chose that one! Aren't we free to explore?"
Wu Xin did not move. His voice softened, carrying a weight that seemed to seep into her bones:
"Because those who cannot endure the white… will never understand the colors."
They landed before the humble house, the morning mist curling around their ankles. Wu Xin knocked once, a firm, decisive sound that vibrated faintly through the wooden door. It opened to reveal a small girl, no older than seven.
Her eyes lit up like twin lanterns.
"Grandpa! The doctor's here!"
She ran toward him, but before she could reach him, Huo Feng swooped in, laughter spilling from her lips like wind over clear water. She caught the girl, kneeling gracefully, and kissed her tiny hand. The scent of morning flowers clung to her hair, the warmth of life in her touch grounding her.
The child leaned close and whispered, soft as the hush of leaves:
"That name suits you… my little beloved."
Huo Feng's smile faltered. Her fingers recoiled, an inexplicable unease creeping through her veins. Suo watched silently, alert, heart thudding beneath the calm exterior. And Wu Xin… only smiled faintly, a quiet acknowledgment that the real trial had already begun.
A slow tapping echoed through the air: tok, tok, tok — the wooden cane striking the floor, deliberate and measured. An old man emerged, tall yet bent with age, beard white as snow, eyes deep and glimmering like ink spilled across parchment.
"Aren't you going to greet our guests, Shu Shu?"
The child ran to his side, hugging him tightly. He chuckled, fingers stroking her hair before turning to the newcomers.
"I am Bi Hua — the so-called 'Scribe of the Land'. But I am just an old man who reads what the earth writes through the deeds of its people."
His voice was the rhythm of wind over mountains, carrying the texture of wisdom and memory, each word pressing into the skin of their consciousness.
They sat in the small courtyard, white flowers swaying like clouds caught in a gentle current. Shu Shu danced among them, laughter like bells scattering across petals.
Bi Hua raised his gaze to the sky.
"In this village, you never need to ask what a person has done. The earth itself tells you."
He opened his palm. Shu Shu placed a small seed inside, found beneath her pillow that morning.
"Every deed leaves a trace," he said, voice low and deliberate. "And every trace becomes a seed. Those who try to hide theirs… are bound to the pillar of shame for a day. Pain fades. But shame— it roots itself forever."
He crushed the seed gently between his fingers, eyes closed, as though reading an invisible text written in the vibrations of the soil.
"White flowers, like these, are born from kindness and simplicity… perhaps. But there are others—louder in color, darker in meaning. The flower of envy burns black with yellow edges. The flower of lies shines sickly orange. And the flower of theft… pale gray, like smoke. But hatred… hatred blooms pure black, and its scent poisons the soul."
Shu Shu trembled, hiding behind his legs. Bi Hua smiled, patting her head, before turning to Wu Xin and his students.
"You came from far away. It's no coincidence your final trial is here. In this land, no one escapes the seeds. Whatever lies in the heart… will bloom."
He reached into a wooden drawer and drew a strange pen, black as midnight, tip glowing faintly blue. He handed it to Huo Feng.
"Write your name upon the earth."
She knelt eagerly, a thrill of anticipation rolling through her chest. With a flourish, she scribbled: Huo Feng. Then, impulsively, kissed the pen and handed it back.
Bi Hua smiled, wiping her name away like mist evaporating in sunlight. When he looked at her again, his eyes were no longer mortal. They were infinite, deep, almost divine.
"Huo Feng… you have two choices. Take the easy path — use your gift to uncover the answer swiftly. Or take the harder one — walk it step by step, and see what no magic can reveal."
She lifted her chin, a grin spreading across her face, defiant and mischievous.
"You already know my answer. Of course I'll take the easy one!"
She closed her eyes, preparing to merge her spirit into the earth — until Wu Xin's voice thundered across the courtyard:
"Huo Feng!"
She froze, eyes snapping open, cheeks flushed with mock annoyance.
"Fine, fine! The hard path it is."
She sat cross-legged, hugging her knees, puffing her cheeks like a sulking child, yet eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"But what about Suo? Why doesn't he have to write his name?"
Bi Hua chuckled, voice soft as a breeze brushing through the courtyard.
"Because he already knows the answer. Otherwise, he would never have ascended to the Celestial Realm in the first place."
Huo Feng gasped, eyes wide with astonishment.
"What?! You mean he's your—"
A firm flick landed on her head. Wu Xin's sigh, half stern, half fond, cut through the moment.
"Huo Feng, stop talking nonsense. Suo isn't Bi Hua's son. He's human—from this realm. But he trained his soul until it shone purer than most Celestials. That's why the gate opened for him."
His gaze lingered on Suo, heavy with meaning, almost tactile.
"And soon… he may reach Nirvana."
The courtyard stilled. Huo Feng stared at Suo, awe and jealousy mingling in her gaze, her heartbeat a staccato drum in her chest. Suo remained silent, distant, serene, as if Nirvana were already a horizon he could see, waiting just one step ahead, and she could only follow.