Han Chen's breathing grew shallow, the air heavy around him. The illusion pressed on him like a storm that wouldn't end. His chest felt tight, as if chained. The frozen flames and faces surrounding him remained motionless, but inside his head, voices overlapped—his own thoughts colliding with the insidious whisper of the black smoke.
He stared at the lifeless scene—his burning home, his younger self trembling beside his sister, and his parents' false smiles carved into memory.
Then, he lowered his head."What…" his voice trembled slightly, "…would have happened… if I didn't kill them?" The words barely left his lips, but they carried the weight of years.
The shadow twitched, its white eyes glowing brighter. "Yes," it hissed, voice wrapped in mock sympathy, "that's the thought festering in your heart, isn't it? You ask, what if? What if you spared them? What if you endured the pain, the humiliation, the betrayal? Maybe then, you would not be so alone."
Han Chen clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. His reflection in the illusion's fire seemed to stare back with silent accusation. "You could have chosen differently," the smoke whispered. "Instead of murder, mercy. Instead of revenge, forgiveness."
Han Chen's hands began to tremble. His voice cracked with suppressed rage."If I didn't kill them…" he whispered again, louder this time, "then I would have died!"
The words ripped from his throat with jagged fury. His body shook as veins rose along his neck and forehead. The fragments of restrained emotion burst open all at once as the influence of the Law of emotions tightened around him, amplifying every shred of guilt and anger tenfold.
The smoke's laughter was slow, heavy, and echoing. "But you didn't die, Han Chen," it murmured, as though consoling a child. "You lived. You killed them. You were the one who raised the blade… and took their lives. Not chance. Not fate. But, You." Han Chen's vision wavered.
The illusion flickered between the fire of the past and the endless grassland of the present, every blink showing a different world. His pulse hammered in his ears. "That's not—"
Before his words formed, the black smoke slithered closer, its tendrils curling near his shoulders, its form expanding like mist that refused to stay still. "Admit it," it breathed. "You regret it. You regret making that choice. Otherwise… why do you still see their faces when you close your eyes? Why does the flame still burn every time you dream?"
Han Chen's restraint broke."Enough!" he shouted, his voice rough from rage. He took a threatening step forward. His eyes burned scarlet under the illusion's influence, every suppressed memory striking at his chest like knives. "They killed my grandparents—they would've killed me! You think a child could reason with monsters pretending to be parents!?" The shadow tilted its head, expression unreadable behind the smoke.
"Yet," it said, "you lived on their corpses."Han Chen felt his pulse explode in his skull. "I said, enough!"
With a roar, he lunged forward, raw fury blazing through his veins. His fist cut the air, striking where the shadow's chest should have been. HIT! His punch connected with nothing.
The black figure rippled like vapor, the energy of his blow scattering harmlessly through it. Han Chen stumbled, his knuckles cold as if sunk into snow. The smoke chuckled—a hollow, rasping sound that reverberated across the frozen scene. "Yes… that's it," it crooned. "That face. That anger. That helpless hatred. Exactly what I wanted to see."
Han Chen's teeth clenched so hard they drew blood from his lip. Every word twisted deeper into the raw wound in his spirit. "Now," the smoke whispered, voice both gentle and venomous, "do you understand what you truly are? You wear indifference like armor, but you carry regret below it. You tell yourself you were right… yet even now, part of you aches for what could have been." Its white eyes brightened until the entire illusion dimmed around them. "You are not free of your past. You are what you killed."
Han Chen's breath hitched. The surrounding silence seemed to thrum with invisible force—his mind weighed down, his anger pushing him to the edge. The air quaked, responding weakly to his building emotion. And yet, deep within that turmoil, there was also pain—a whisper of himself, lingering like fading smoke.
The illusion flickered between years. His child-self weeping. His grandfather's burns. His mother's cruel smile. His younger sister disappearing into faceless shadows.
The black smoke leaned closer, its whisper almost tender now. "Do you feel it, Han Chen? Grief… regret… guilt… it's all the same. You call it strength. But to me? It's weakness pretending to be reason."
Han Chen glared back, his voice trembling but firm despite the shaking in his hands. "If you think that, I regret my choices," he said through gritted teeth, "then you've never been more wrong." The shadow paused. Then, that terrible chuckle returned—soft, mocking, endless.
For the first time, Han Chen realized it wasn't here to torment him. It was the Law itself, wearing his own doubts and grief, trying to pull him apart from within.
His breathing slowed. His fury didn't fade—but it began to focus, narrow, burn cleaner. The grassland behind the illusion trembled faintly, reacting to the shift in his spirit.
But the voice persisted, coiling back with a hiss. "Let's see how long that conviction lasts…murderer."
-----
The stillness stretched on, stretched until even the intangible whispers of the dome seemed to hold their breath.
Then, a quiet spark broke through—the Green Letter, a fragment of the Thread of Emotion, drifting into Han Chen's view like a leaf caught in a dream. 'EMOTION', the letters shimmered in a soft emerald hue.
Han Chen's eyes narrowed. The fragment pulsed with a calm, almost gentle pressure, encouraging him to listen rather than react. The Shadow's voice, ever-present, teased from the shadows. "Darn it! It was getting fun to watch you act like that. Why couldn't you go on more for a while?" Han Chen held his silence.
He knew better than to engage every taunt with speech. The Rule of Law inside him—especially the fragment of Emotion—pushed at the edges of his consciousness, trying to pull him into a spiral of guilt, rage, and confession. "I can sense it," Han Chen thought, keeping his words to himself.
The fragment wasn't just a memory. It was a tool, a blade he could wield in this test if he chose to understand its edge. The green glow in the room intensified for a moment, then faded as the Emotion fragment—this "letter"—vanished from his sight.
The Law of Emotions was a peculiar one—it only influenced those who were unaware of its presence. Once they became aware of it, its power over them vanishes.
The air settled, and the oppressive stillness resumed, but a cooler awareness lingered. He could feel the Law of Emotions retreating as he asserted control, a reminder that awareness diminishes its grip.
A distant voice—the Smoke's, soft as a moth's wing but edged with cruelty—drifted through. "Oh… so you did indeed discover my essence."
Han Chen's lips curled into a cold smirk.
The Smoke's reply came slow, deliberate, designed to needle him. "My essence is counter to your reason, a mirror that only shows the fragility of your argument. I counter you because you attempt to rationalize your actions, to justify the harm you've caused. I exist to challenge your justification, to force you to face the truth you try to bury."
His heart steadied. The voice—this internal adversary—would not break him if he did not grant it power.
"Don't be too happy just because you've overcome me," the Smoke warned, its tone thinning. "I am a voice of your inner self, and I will return when your defenses loosen."
Han Chen nodded slightly, though the gesture was only in his mind. "If you return, I'll be ready. Because, I've learned to walk with my past, I do not regret it a least bit." The room's stillness returned, deeper and more deliberate than before.
The Inner Demon's echo lingered, but its presence had shifted from overt taunt to a quiet, testing shadow—one more echo of the trials to come.
Beyond the dome, a world continued to move with the slow inevitability of fate.
Inside, Han Chen stood still, allowing the Inner Demon of his memories to settle, not to overwhelm him but to refine him.
-----
The illusion of the past lingered far longer than Han Chen anticipated. Three days. Three nights. During that time, the flames of memory burned endlessly around him—every detail of his childhood, every cruel word, every loss, replaying with merciless clarity.
Only on the fourth day did the world around him begin to dissolve. The fire dimmed to embers, the smoky sky cleared, and the faint scent of flowers returned. When he opened his eyes again, he stood once more in the grasslands—the same endless field of flowers he had first awakened in.
The petals glistened under faint sunlight, swaying gently in the breeze. But something had changed. The air buzzed faintly with lingering intent, and before him hovered a small object—a bead the color of polished obsidian, swirling with thin traces of black smoke. Its presence sent a ripple through his spiritual sense.
Han Chen stared at it in silence for a moment. There was no path forward this time—no glowing gate, no faint voice guiding him to the next step. Only this single bead floating amid the still air. Then, the voice of Wang Zhen echoed once more. "Refine the bead. Within fifteen days, complete its refinement, and you shall be able to continue. During the process, you may use your spiritual energy."
The world fell silent again after the proclamation faded. Han Chen extended his hand, and the bead drifted toward him, resting lightly against his palm. At first touch, it was cold—so cold it burned. Wisps of black smoke coiled up from it, spiraling around his wrist before dispersing into thin air. "This bead…" he whispered, inspecting it closely. "It can strengthening the foundation of my soul." He recognized the design from the old texts he'd studied, both in this world and in his original one.
True soul refinement was something beyond the reach of most cultivators. Strengthening one's soul foundation was an act reserved for Deity Formation cultivators and above—those who already stood near the summit of existence.
Yet here it was, offered to him—a 5-Star Qi Condensation, diminished to flesh and bone by the fragments of Law.
He exhaled softly. "To think something this rare would appear in a trial. As expected of a Diety Formation." For a long time, he simply sat cross‑legged, turning the bead in his hand and feeling its faint pulse.
Dark energy seeped out like breath from a sleeping giant, each wisp carrying ancient resonance. Then, he began.
Lowering himself into a proper lotus position, Han Chen placed the bead between both palms and guided his limited spiritual energy into it. The reaction was immediate: his body trembled, and black lines crept up from his hands to his arms, like living veins of smoke.
The first attempt lasted four full days.
He endured numbness, paralysis, and tearing pain that reached from his fingers to the depths of his consciousness. Each time he forced his energy into the bead, it rebounded violently, the energy tearing through his meridians in chaotic waves.
On the fourth night, the resistance broke him. The bead cracked slightly, releasing a surge of backlash that struck his chest like a hammer.
Pffft—He coughed out a mouthful of blood, dark and thick. The world blurred, and as he collapsed onto the grass, the flowers beneath him withered into gray ash before his vision went dark.
The next three days were spent in silent recovery. His energy was disrupted, and his consciousness trembled every time he tried to focus.
By the time the pain receded, it was already the eleventh day.
Han Chen sat beneath the unmoving moon now, breathing deeply, stabilizing his soul through slow rhythm. The grass beneath him had regrown, its faint luminescence reflecting against his pale face."The first attempt failed… but I learned something," he murmured softly. "This isn't just about refining the bead; it's about harmonizing with it. I forced it to obey… but this was crafted through Law. It must accept me first."
He raised the bead again, studying the faint streams of smoke swirling inside it before placing it gently on his lap. Closing his eyes, he exhaled once, then began again.
The second attempt started slowly—steadier, calmer. His spiritual energy, though faint, wrapped around the bead without pressing forcefully. Instead of subduing it, he guided it, letting his consciousness sink deeper into its rhythm.
A faint hum resonated through him. The echo of ancient whispers surfaced briefy.
Han Chen's heartbeat slowed. His focus deepened."Let's try again," he murmured to himself.
And the refinement began anew—the faint sound of his breathing merging with the quiet pulse of the dark bead in the boundless grassland of flowers.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----