The steam of the burning ice desert slowly dissolved, fading into a cold, dark void that stretched as far as the eye could see. Fang Lin sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his breathing slow, measured, and deep. Within his spiritual sea, the grey seed hummed with a quiet, ancient rhythm, sending warm, soothing threads of vital energy through his meridians to repair the lingering steam burns on his forearms. The passive recovery of his Perfection Netherskin worked silently beneath the surface, knitting his flesh back together and cooling the feverish heat that had settled in his bones after the intense heat of the second-tier trials.
When he opened his eyes, the Elderly Mansion Spirit was standing a few paces away, his long white robe hanging still in the windless vault. The ancient being's eyes reflected the quiet dark of the chamber, his expression soft but carrying a profound weight.
"You have adapted well to the elements, Little Lin," the spirit said, his ancient voice carrying a warm, welcoming tone that had replaced his previous formal address. "But the greatest opponent you will ever face in your cultivation journey is not magma, ice, or beasts. It is yourself. To cross the divide of the Core Formation and face the reclusive experts of the outside world, you must know the exact boundaries of your own strength and correct the hidden flaws in your execution. The final tier of the trials will test this limit."
The spirit raised his hand, gesturing toward the surrounding space. The rough volcanic stone floor began to ripple like water, shifting and hardening into a vast, flat expanse of polished black obsidian. The dark stone stretched for hundreds of yards, reflecting the dim vault of the sky like a quiet, frozen lake at midnight. The silence that settled over the new arena was absolute, heavy with the promise of conflict.
"This is the Obsidian Courtyard," the Mansion Spirit explained, looking at Fang Lin with a serious expression. "I will increase the gravity to a fifteen-fold baseline. And in this final month of subjective training, you will face your own reflection. I will maintain the five-fold time dilation. Let us see if you can find the edge to cut your own mirror."
The spirit bowed slightly, his figure dissolving into the dark air like mist scattering before a morning breeze.
Before Fang Lin could take a breath, the gravity surged.
At fifteen times normal weight, the physical pressure was monumental. His joints popped with loud, cracking sounds, and a heavy weight pressed against his chest, threatening to collapse his lungs. The air itself felt as thick as cold syrup, resisting every movement. Fang Lin immediately circulated his Nine Nether Phantom Body, his skin taking on a deep, cold obsidian sheen as the Perfection stage of his Netherskin absorbed the force. He aligned his bones and muscles, planting his feet firmly on the polished floor to keep from being pinned down. He focused on his breathing, drawing the dense air into his lungs and matching the physical strain with a steady flow of internal Qi.
Ripple.
Ten yards in front of him, the obsidian floor rippled. A figure slowly rose from the dark reflection, resolving into a young man of fourteen, dressed in a plain brown cotton robe.
The projection had the exact same face, the same jawline, the same posture, and the same cold, sharp gaze. In its right hand, it held an identical standard steel sword, its surface reflecting the dim light of the vault.
Fang Lin closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, extending a thin thread of his divine sense. The signature of the projection was identical to his own: Peak Middle Spirit Foundation Qi, Peak-Solid Soul pressure, and the dense, heavy vital energy of the Perfection stage of Netherskin. It was not a mere illusion or a trick of the mind; it was a physical construct with the exact capabilities of his own body and cultivation.
Fang Lin spent the final month of his subjective training inside the chamber, locked in a continuous struggle against his own reflection. It was a grueling, relentless battle where no days passed without the sound of clashing steel echoing through the dark vault. Under the fifteen-fold gravity, every step was a test of endurance, and every strike was met with its exact mirror.
During the first week of the combat, Fang Lin tried to use his superior physical strength to overwhelm the projection. He charged forward, his boots scraping against the obsidian floor, his sword swinging in a heavy, downward arc using his Netherskin's physical force.
The projection did not retreat. It met his strike with an identical downward slash, its muscles tensing with the same Perfection stage force.
Clang!
The collision of their swords produced a deafening metallic ring that vibrated through the entire courtyard. A shockwave of physical force splattered across the obsidian floor, cracking the stone beneath their feet. The recoil sent a jarring vibration through Fang Lin's arms, forcing him to slide back three steps. The projection slid back the exact same distance, its stance remaining perfectly balanced.
Fang Lin tried to vary his strikes, executing a sudden horizontal sweep, but the projection's blade was already there, blocking at the exact angle. He tried to use the Black Mountain Breaking Palm with his left hand, but the projection thrusts its own palm, their palms colliding with a heavy, dull boom of compressed air. His hand felt numb, and he realized the copy had the same bone density and physical reinforcement from the Perfection Netherskin.
In the second week, Fang Lin shifted to elemental attacks. He circulated his frost Qi, executing the Frost Trace Sword Art. His blade traced a series of cold, white lines in the air, creating a web of freezing sword paths that closed in on the projection.
But the projection moved in perfect synchronization. It executed the Frost Trace Sword Art as well, its blade tracing the exact same lines in reverse. The cold paths collided, neutralizing each other in a burst of freezing mist and icy shards that rained down on the obsidian floor.
He tried to channel the dark, corrosive Qi of the Nine Abyss Shadow Scripture, coating his blade in a silent, freezing dark aura. The projection did the exact same, its blade turning pitch-black. When the swords met, the freezing dark energy didn't blast outwards but ground against itself, eroding the steel of both swords and filling the air with the smell of scorched iron and freezing ozone.
In the third week, Fang Lin attempted to use his Peak-Solid Soul. He gathered his mental energy, sending a sharp wave of divine sense to disrupt the projection's spiritual sea. However, the projection released an identical wave of Peak-Solid Soul pressure. The two invisible forces clashed in the air, creating a silent ripple that made Fang Lin's temples throb with a dull ache. The projection's eyes flickered, but its stance did not waver.
It was a perfect mirror. It did not think, yet it anticipated. It did not feel pain, yet it guarded its vitals with the same defensive instincts Fang Lin had spent years developing.
"It is a perfect reflection," Fang Lin thought, his breathing growing heavier as the days turned into weeks. "Every technique I use, it uses. Every step I take, it takes. Because our stats are identical, I cannot defeat it through speed, force, or Qi reserve. If I try to overpower it, we will simply exhaust each other until we both fail."
Within his spiritual sea, the Dark Flame Spirit watched the battle with a rare, quiet focus, her tiny crimson form sitting on the edge of the Ancient Spatial Furnace.
"Loud-Boy, that toy is like a wall," she murmured mentally, her voice serious. "It knows everything you are going to do before you do it. If you keep fighting like this, your Qi will run dry first. You have already spent three-quarters of your energy, and that copy of yours looks just as fresh—or just as tired—as you are!"
"I know," Fang Lin mentally replied. "But it is a mirror. It only reflects what I have already mastered. It cannot reflect what I have not yet fully realized. If I want to break it, I must find the flaws in my own execution and transcend them."
He stood in the center of the obsidian floor, his sword lowered.
The projection did the same, its blade resting near its leg, its body perfectly still, waiting for his move.
Fang Lin closed his eyes, releasing his visual perception. In this battle, eyes and ears were too slow. He used his Peak-Solid Soul's divine sense to perceive the flow of Qi within his own body and the projection.
When he executed the Moonless Shadow Step, his body would merge with the darkness of the valley, and then transition into the Moon-Eating Shadow Blade.
In that transition—in the micro-second between the moment his body emerged from the concealed movement and the moment his sword struck—there was a tiny, almost imperceptible gap. It was the moment where his Qi shifted from movement to offense, a brief delay where the energy had to re-pool into his meridians.
Because he had only reached Small Mastery in both techniques, this transition gap was his only weakness. And because the projection mirrored him, it possessed the exact same gap.
To eliminate this gap under fifteen times gravity was a task that bordered on the impossible. The heavy atmospheric pressure pressed against his skin, slowing the circulation of his Qi through his meridians. If he tried to force the transition faster by sheer willpower, the sudden surge of energy would rupture his pathways before the strike could leave his blade. He had to refine the path, not force it.
He realized that instead of allowing the Qi to return to his dantian after the step, he had to partition his spiritual energy beforehand. One portion would sustain the movement, while a secondary, compressed reserve would remain dormant within the True Dark Bud in his spiritual sea, ready to ignite the blade the instant his foot touched the obsidian floor.
"If I lunge, it will lunge. If I step, it will step," Fang Lin thought. "But if I can eliminate that transition gap—if I can merge the step and the blade into one single, continuous flow—my strike will land before its strike can complete."
He didn't have enough time, as he had to return to the sect. Or the people might become suspicious.
At the start of the final week, under the crushing fifteen-fold gravity, Fang Lin prepared for the final exchange. His muscles screamed with exhaustion, and his Qi reserves were down to the last drop.
He lunged forward.
The projection lunged at the exact same moment, its blade rising to strike.
Fang Lin executed the Moonless Shadow Step.
His body merged with the darkness. The projection did the same, vanishing from the obsidian floor.
In the next micro-second, both figures emerged from the obscurity, their swords thrusting toward each other's chests.
This was the moment of the transition. He had to complete this trial at any cost.
He had to become stronger faster than others.
This is the path, an opportunity for him. He could see his Uncle Wei, his parents and others calling for him.
Normally, Fang Lin's Qi would take a fraction of a second to pool into the blade. But in this moment of life-and-death focus, under the immense weight of the gravity, Fang Lin forced his Peak-Solid Soul to compress his Qi, driving it through the True Dark Bud in his spiritual sea with absolute, violent speed.
He eliminated the transition gap. The movement and the strike became one single, continuous flow.
He executed the Moonless Shadow Step and the Moon-Eating Shadow Blade as a single, unified technique.
Because his transition was instant, his blade moved a fraction of a second faster than the projection's.
"I. Will. Overcome. Everything."
Sliver!
The dark, light-devouring edge of Fang Lin's sword pierced the chest of the projection before its own blade could reach his throat. The void energy of the Moon-Eating Shadow Blade dissolved the core of the projection, the mirror image freezing mid-strike as its body fractured into thousands of dark, sparkling mist particles.
Fang Lin stood still, his sword extended. He had done it.
His understanding of the techniques had transcended their previous limits. Within his spiritual sea, the True Dark Bud hummed, its dark runes expanding and solidifying. The bud released a pure wave of dark Qi that washed through his empty meridians, leaving a faint, permanent inscription of the technique's essence. This internal change confirmed his advancement.
He had reached the Greater Mastery of both the Moonless Shadow Step and the Moon-Eating Shadow Blade.
As the last particles of the projection dissolved into the obsidian floor, the fifteen-fold gravity suddenly vanished, returning to the normal baseline of the Mansion World.
Fang Lin's body felt instantly light, but he had nothing left to support himself. His Qi was completely dry, his meridians empty and cold, and his muscles trembled with extreme exhaustion. His standard steel sword fell from his hand, clattering against the obsidian stone.
He collapsed onto one knee, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
Ripple.
The white mist gathered in the courtyard, and the Elderly Mansion Spirit slowly materialized, his ancient face carrying a proud, welcoming smile as he looked at the kneeling youth. And with a glittery look in his eyes as if watching an extraordinary treasure.
"You have succeeded, Little Lin," the Mansion Spirit said softly. "You have found the edge to break your own reflection. Your technique mastery has reached a new level, and your foundation is peak-consolidated."
The spirit gestured toward the valley. "Your meridians are empty, but the energy of the Abyssal Valley is pure. This is the moment. Sit, and initiate your breakthrough."
Fang Lin nodded, his face pale but his eyes burning with determination.
"Thank you, Senior," he whispered.
He sat cross-legged on the polished obsidian floor. He retrieved several white jade bottles from his storage ring, containing his high-grade cultivation pills, and placed them in front of him.
He closed his eyes, circulating the Nine Abyss Shadow Scripture. The empty meridians in his body began to hum, creating a powerful, vacuum-like suction that began to draw the pure, ancient Yin-frost energy of the valley toward him.
The dark mist began to swirl around his body, a small vortex forming as he prepared to shatter the barrier of his realm.
The breakthrough to the Late Spirit Foundation Realm had begun.
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