The sword descends. Wang Tao closes his eyes. It's over.
But then, he remembers: Movement Technique — Steps Against the Current of Heaven.
The last chance. The only way.
---
Steps Against the Current of HeavenFirst Step: Facing the Tide
The moment his right foot touches the ground, reality shatters.
Piece by piece, the world splintered like a falling mirror. The trees gave way to a void; Guo Zhen's chest became an empty abyss. The shards of existence fell away until only darkness remained.
It wasn't the darkness of night he was used to. It was a darkness that seemed to erase his very being.
Wang Tao trembled.
For the first time in years, he felt it: true terror.
Then, from the void, it came—a blinding, incandescent light.
It grew, surging closer. Wang Tao felt small, insignificant. The light was majestic, yet oppressive. Slowly, it took form: a torrent of translucent water.
The Current of Fate.
His body locked up, instinct screaming: Do not advance. Do not look. Your very presence here is a profanity.
The pressure spiked—his knees buckled. The waters approached with a nefarious weight.
Wang Tao clenched his fists and closed his eyes. His life flashed by in seconds: the death of his parents, his kidnapping by the Cult of the Invisible Hand, the physical and psychological torture, the poison, the training.
If I give up now, it all ends. Nothing will have ever made sense.
He breathed.
I will not yield.
He stepped forward. The fear remained, but his eyes blazed with determination.
Collision.
The current swallowed him—not as water, but as Law.
It wasn't submersion. It was crushing.
As if every drop weighed a thousand mountains; as if every wave carried the weight of a thousand unlived lives.
Wang Tao screamed, but no sound emerged. There was no air. No space to breathe.
Only pressure. ABSOLUTE PRESSURE.
His spiritual body tore—not like fabric, but like wet paper shredded by invisible hands.
Meridians SNAPPED one by one, each rupture a thunderclap inside his chest.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Qi erupted from him like superheated steam, burning from the inside out. He felt his bones splinter—not clean breaks, but shattering into fragments that pierced muscle, nerve, and skin.
Then came the worst part.
Not the pain. The loss.
As if something were being ripped from his soul. He didn't know what it was—only that it was being denied to him.
A future. A choice. A possibility.
As if the Current were saying: "You may pass. But you will never be the same. You will never be whole."
Wang Tao tried to scream again. Nothing.
He tried to breathe. Nothing.
Only drowning, pressure, and the crushing weight of existence.
I'm going to die. I'll dissolve here. I'll cease to exist.
But from the depths of despair, a voice rose—not from outside, but from within:
This is the path you chose. This is your Dao. Fight for it. No matter the cost.
Wang Tao stopped fighting the current. He began to fight through it.
Not pushing. Just... persisting.
One centimeter at a time.
Each movement cost pieces of himself—memories turning to mist, techniques being forgotten, futures being erased.
But he did not stop. He insisted.
Then, something shifted.
The current did not retreat, but it made space. Just enough.
As if it recognized something in him.
Not talent. Not power.
Will. The will to continue when everything commanded him to stop.
Wang Tao didn't understand, but he felt it.
I passed. I survived. At the cost of...
He didn't finish the thought.
The world distorted, the light blinded him, and then—
SILENCE.
---
The Sect was thick with tension.
The spiritual formation had been activated; blue lights pulsed at the borders, detecting any movement. Disciples and Elders patrolled with rigid bodies and sharp eyes.
The assassin had escaped.
How? No one knew. Rumors spread like wildfire:
"I heard it was an inner disciple..."
"Impossible, the formation would have caught them..."
"Then how did Elder Lin Yu die?"
No answers. Only fear.
---
Two disciples approached the woods near the Mountain of the Four Tributaries. At their head was Elder Sai, hands behind his back, an air of calm confidence.
"Elder Sai," an inner disciple called out.
"Yes?" Sai inquired, his golden eyes deep and unreadable.
The man hesitated. "W-we need to search the mountain. As you know, there is a potential assassin within the Sect."
"My disciples and I are handling our area," Sai said curtly. "You may leave."
"Y-yes, Elder."
Sai watched them go, then turned his intense gaze toward the heart of the woods.
"So, you've finally decided to show up..."
---
The woods remained serene, bamboo swaying in the gentle night wind.
Until a fissure tore through space—its depths white as snow.
From it, a man fell, wrapped in his cloak, drenched in blood.
It was Wang Tao. Or what was left of him.
His body was a map of mutilation: shattered bones, cracked meridians. His right foot was twisted backward, riddled with holes. He was unrecognizable.
He gasped. At least I'm alive.
He tried to pull himself up using a tree trunk. He collapsed.
Dammit!
Then, he felt someone lift his arm.
"Who?!" He reached for weapons he no longer had.
"You are quite bold, Disciple Wang," his master's voice replied, tinged with sarcasm.
"Master Sai?!"
Wang Tao's eyes widened. He hadn't expected to find him here—of all people, of all places.
He tried to retreat, but his body refused to obey. He was exposed. Vulnerable.
"Who else would it be? Were you expecting someone else in this state?" Sai scanned him from head to toe.
"Elder Sai, this is no time for jokes," Wang Tao said, his voice cold despite the pain.
"Spare me the tone," Sai said dismissively. "We need to get you to the mountain. It seems you actually dared to use that technique, didn't you?"
Wang Tao couldn't understand.
Why? Why isn't he asking questions? Why is he helping me?
The confusion hurt more than his wounds.
"Master..." he rasped. "Why... why don't you ask what I did?"
Sai stopped. He looked at Wang Tao and smiled—a small, almost sad smile.
"Because, Wang Tao, if you could tell me, you already would have. And if you cannot, then it is none of my business."
Wang Tao froze.
Is it none of his business? Or is he giving me a choice?
Sai didn't clarify. He simply continued walking, carrying Wang Tao in silence.
---
When they arrived, Wei Lian and Yan Li were waiting.
They had felt the disturbance in the spiritual energy. Then they saw them: Sai carrying the broken form of Wang Tao.
Wei Lian froze. Yan Li gasped, hand flying to her mouth.
"Brother..." Wei Lian whispered.
Wang Tao was unrecognizable. A mangled body, blood everywhere, his breath ragged. He barely looked alive.
"What... what happened to him?!" Yan Li's voice trembled.
"Help me," Sai ordered, passing them. "We need to treat him. Fast."
They entered Wang Tao's room. Sai laid him down carefully.
"Water," Sai commanded. "Clean cloths. Herbs from the cabinet. The red ones."
They obeyed, hands shaking.
"Master..." Wei Lian hesitated. "What happened to him?"
Sai didn't stop his work. "I don't know."
"But Master, he's—"
"Alive," Sai cut him off. "He is alive. The rest is his choice to share or not."
Wei Lian looked at Wang Tao, then at Sai.
Master knows more than he's saying. He was sure of it.
But no one spoke. They only worked: Sai healing, Wei Lian cleaning wounds, Yan Li changing blood-soaked cloths.
Until Wang Tao opened his eyes.
He saw the three of them: Sai, Wei Lian, Yan Li. All there. Caring for him.
Something rose in his throat—not pain, but something else.
He tried to speak. "I..."
His voice failed. The world began to dim.
"Wang Tao! Stay with us!"
But it was too late. Before he spiraled into unconsciousness, one thought remained:
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for bringing this to you. I'm sorry...
I'm sorry for bringing this to you. I'm sorry...