The group of children moved forward under the guidance of the disciples until they reached what appeared to be an immense plaza.
Jin slowed his pace slightly the moment he stepped into the place and let his gaze sweep over the surroundings. The space was vast and open, the ground covered with large slabs of perfectly polished stone. From there, several platforms could be seen, arranged symmetrically, each separated by a short distance.
As Jin analyzed the area, the disciples began to act with efficiency. They gave clear orders and separated the children without roughness, but without allowing delays.
Little by little, the children were organized into six distinct groups.
One for each platform.
Jin tried to count how many there were in total. He made it to around one hundred and fifty before his head started to ache. Realizing how pointless the effort was, he gave up and refocused on what actually interested him.
The platforms.
On each one stood several senior disciples, all wearing violet robes. Their bearing was different from that of the outer disciples who had guided them there. Straighter, more confident, with a presence that made it clear they stood a level above.
But what truly caught Jin's attention was at the center of the plaza.
There, separated from the platforms, sat an elderly man on the ground, legs crossed and back straight, meditating like a monk. His breathing was slow and deep, and he seemed completely detached from the noise around him.
His robe was also violet, but unlike the others, it was adorned with carefully embroidered mountain patterns. On his chest he wore what appeared to be a jade insignia, a soft, translucent green that caught the light subtly.
Jin narrowed his eyes slightly.
He didn't need anyone to tell him that this elder was no ordinary figure. His mere presence imposed a strange silence amid the constant movement of the plaza.
"So this is where it truly begins…" he thought.
Around him, the children began gathering in front of the platforms—some nervous, others expectant—unaware that this place would mark the first major division in their paths.
The disciples began moving the groups in an orderly fashion, guiding each batch of children toward one of the platforms.
Jin noticed something curious almost immediately.
He, Wei, and Xiao Lian had ended up in the same group.
He didn't comment on it, but he registered it mentally. As they advanced, the children around them spoke in low voices. Some barely whispered; others simply stood rigid, backs straight and eyes fixed forward, so tense they looked like statues about to crack.
When they reached their assigned platform, the murmuring grew slightly louder.
Xiao Lian stepped closer to Jin and carefully tugged at his sleeve.
"Big Brother Jin…" she began. "Do you think—"
She didn't finish.
A calm yet authoritative voice spread across the plaza.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't harsh.
It was simply there.
It seemed to come from every direction at once, enveloping the space with a clarity that was impossible to ignore. The children fell silent instantly, many of them looking around in confusion, trying to locate the source of the voice.
Only a few reacted differently.
Some children wearing finer clothes or martial robes immediately lifted their heads, fixing their gaze on the elder meditating at the center of the plaza. Jin was among them—he had no doubt who was speaking.
And to his surprise, Wei also turned his head toward the elder at the exact moment the voice rang out.
"Confused seeds," the voice said, "you come with the hope of rising into the heavens and reaching the Dao.
You seek the path of immortality…
and you struggle to steal a fragment of celestial wisdom."
The words lingered in the air.
They were solemn.
Cryptic.
Far too heavy for children who were only just beginning to understand the world they had stepped into.
Jin listened in silence.
"Nice speech," he thought."Definitely not beginner material."
Around him, many children understood nothing. Some swallowed unconsciously, feeling pressure in their chests without knowing why; others simply listened, convinced it was important even if they couldn't grasp it.
The voice fell silent.
A heavy, absolute silence dropped over the plaza like a slab of stone. No one dared speak. Even the most restless children remained motionless, as if afraid that any sound might shatter something invisible.
Then the voice returned.
"What is the most important thing for a cultivator?"
The question didn't seem directed at anyone in particular.
"Talent… luck… destiny… background," the voice continued. "All of these are part of the whole. All of them matter. But there is something that supports the entire foundation—something that determines whether a cultivator can advance… or be ground into dust by time."
The voice paused briefly.
"Will."
A faint chill ran down Jin's spine.
"A cultivator without will," the voice continued, "is like a sky without stars. Empty. Inert.
What we will test today is not your talent… but whether you possess the will required to walk the cruel path you have chosen."
The children listened without breathing.
"The array will induce an illusion," the voice said calmly. "What you will see within it—
not even this elder knows."
Some children shifted nervously.
"The heart of each person is like a world," the voice went on. "And within that world, you must face yourselves.
Only those who overcome it… will be able to take the first step."
The voice faded.
Jin frowned slightly.
He understood the general idea. An illusion test—something common in cultivation stories he had read more than once. Still, hearing it like this, in this place, made everything feel different.
So they're going straight into it… he thought.No detours.
As he was still processing the words, he looked up.
The elder at the center had opened his eyes.
Without saying a word, he slowly raised the palm of his hand.
Jin barely had time to react before he felt something envelop him. It wasn't pain, fear, or pressure. It was as if his consciousness were being gently pushed backward.
The world began to fade.
Sounds vanished.
Shapes lost definition.
Colors bled into one another.
What the hell—this fast? Jin thought, with a final flash of lucidity.They're not even going to let us prepare?
The plaza disappeared.
And his consciousness turned completely white.
Birdsong drifted in from outside through a half-open window. A beam of sunlight filtered in, illuminating part of the room and making it clear that it was already daytime.
A twenty-five-year-old man slowly opened his eyes, as if waking from an overly long dream. The first thing he saw was a familiar ceiling, followed by a light bulb still on, forgotten from the night before. He blinked a few times, trying to focus.
There was a phone in his hand. The screen was still on, displaying a novel chapter paused halfway through.
Jin frowned slightly and brought his free hand to his head, gently pressing his temple.
"What happened…?" he murmured. "I feel like I had a really crazy dream."
He turned his head and scanned the room. Shelves filled with old and new books—some neatly arranged, others stacked without order—covered almost an entire wall. The desk, the chair, the folded clothes in one corner… everything was exactly where it should be.
Jin sat up on the bed, still confused. His breathing was normal, but there was a strange sensation that wouldn't fade, as if something had gotten caught at the back of his mind.
Then the memories came.
Not all at once, but in fragments.
A vast forest. Waking up on the ground. Meeting a strange young man with cold eyes.
A village. Being transported by an old man. Meeting a small girl who clung to his clothes.
The images were incomplete, but far too vivid to dismiss easily. Jin pressed his lips together as he tried to organize them, but the more he tried, the more confused they became.
"That wasn't a normal dream…" he thought.
He stood up slowly, a faint sense of alarm settling in his chest. He looked around again, as if expecting to find something out of place that would confirm what he felt.
He found nothing.
The room was the same.
The sun still shone through the window.
The birds were still singing.
And yet, Jin had the clear impression that he had woken from something he shouldn't have been able to forget.
He stood there for several seconds in silence, turning that dream over in his mind.
He walked to the window and rested a hand on the frame. Outside, the sky was completely clear, bathed in the morning sun. Clouds drifted slowly, indifferent to his thoughts. And yet, every time fragments of that dream resurfaced, a deep sense of emptiness tightened in his chest.
It wasn't sadness.
Nor nostalgia.
It was the clear impression of having been moving toward something.
In that dream, he had felt that his life had direction. That every action carried weight, that every decision could lead somewhere. For the first time in a long while, he had felt like he was truly living—like he could find meaning and a reason to keep going.
And then he woke up.
Jin let out a short, quiet laugh—more tired than amused. He lowered his gaze and shook his head slightly.
"Of course…" he murmured. "How else could it be?"
He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to clear his head.
"Who would believe that reincarnation exists?" he added. "What kind of idiot would wake up and start questioning whether a dream was real?"
He looked up again.
The clouds were still there, drifting slowly over the city. Jin watched them for a few seconds in silence. The ironic smile gradually faded from his face.
His fingers tightened slightly against the window frame.
"But…" he thought, "I want it to be real."
He didn't say it out loud. He didn't make any dramatic gesture. He simply stood there, looking at the sky, that thought settling firmly inside him, refusing to vanish as easily as a simple dream.
Jin went down the stairs of his apartment building without haste.
He didn't take the elevator. He needed to move, to feel his body in motion so he could sort out his thoughts. His footsteps echoed softly in the stairwell as he descended level after level until he stepped outside.
The park was just below.
Jin crossed the short concrete path and sat on one of the benches. He rested his elbows on his knees and observed his surroundings carefully. Cars passed along the nearby street. People walked back and forth—some talking on their phones, others carrying bags, others simply moving forward without looking around. The city was alive, functioning normally, completely indifferent to what was going on in his head.
He closed his eyes.
Why did he long for that dream world so much?
The question surfaced clearly.
He thought about freedom and cultivation.
About the power one could obtain and the adventures he could have.
He dismissed each idea almost immediately.
No. None of those things, on their own, satisfied what he felt. That wasn't what tightened his chest every time he remembered that place.
Then he understood.
In that world, he could seek an answer.
It didn't matter what it was. It didn't matter whether it was kind or cruel. There, he could walk a path that led to something—to a truth of his own, to a reason that didn't depend on this mortal life.
Yes.
That was it.
He opened his eyes abruptly.
A brazen smile spread across his face, and without caring whether anyone heard him, he spoke aloud.
"It doesn't matter whether this is reality… or if reality is just another dream."
He leaned back slightly on the bench, staring ahead.
"As long as I keep walking, regardless of the outcome… that's all that matters."
The moment he reached that conclusion, he felt a subtle change. It wasn't physical or obvious, but something deep within him accepted that answer, as if it had been waiting for it for a very long time.
The noise of the city grew distant.
His breathing slowed.
And little by little, his mind began to fade, pulling him toward a quiet darkness, without resistance—like falling into something he already knew.
Jin regained consciousness abruptly.
He frowned and drew in a sharp breath, as if he had just surfaced after holding it for too long.
"What the hell was that illusion…?" he thought.
He didn't have time to sort it out.
Around him, crying and complaints began to rise. Choked voices, ragged breathing, uncontrolled sobs. Jin turned his head and saw several children collapsing to the ground—some clutching their chests, others simply losing consciousness and falling like empty sacks.
The disciples reacted immediately.
They moved among the groups, lifting the children who had passed out, and those who had clearly failed the test were carried away without much explanation and taken off the platform. Jin didn't know what would happen to them afterward. He didn't ask.
He observed more carefully.
Very few were regaining awareness in anything resembling a normal state. At least, that was what he thought at first—until he realized that even those few were drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, faces pale and legs trembling.
So no one came out unscathed… he thought.
Except him.
Jin lowered his gaze to his own hands. They were steady. His breathing was stable. He felt no dizziness or weakness, as if the illusion had vanished without leaving a trace.
That struck him as strange.
A low whimper caught his attention.
Jin turned his head immediately.
"Xiao Lian…" he thought.
She was beside him, curled in on herself. Her body trembled visibly, and her lips murmured incoherent words. Her hands clutched at her clothes as if trying to hold onto something she couldn't see. It was clear she was suffering badly within the illusion.
"Damn it…" Jin muttered under his breath.
Then he noticed something else.
Wei was still standing.
He hadn't collapsed. He wasn't breathing heavily. His expression was the same as always—cold and impassive. However, he was looking directly at Jin.
Their gazes met for several seconds.
They said nothing.
There was no need to.
Then, almost at the same time, both lowered their eyes toward Xiao Lian.
She shuddered more violently, letting out a muffled groan. Jin clenched his teeth slightly. His expression became serious, focused, as if searching for a solution—even though he didn't yet know what it was.
He didn't know what kind of illusion the girl was seeing.
But he knew one thing clearly.
If he didn't do something soon, this wouldn't end well.