The wind was thin in the northern mountains — sharp as knives, dry as bone.
Each breath Lin Yuan drew turned to frost, scattering into the storm that brooded above.
Black clouds coiled like serpents in the heavens, pulsing with veins of lightning. The mountain beneath his feet was carved from violet stone — ancient, scarred by tribulation bolts that had struck it for centuries. The locals called it the Peak of Silence, for nothing mortal could dwell beneath such wrath of heaven.
Lin Yuan had climbed for three days without rest. His robes were torn, his sword dull from battle. But his eyes — they were calm.
Within them shimmered the faint reflection of lightning.
He reached a flat plateau near the summit. The air here was heavy with energy; the qi was so dense it shimmered visibly, twisting the horizon.
He sat cross-legged on the cold rock. Slowly, he placed his sword beside him, palms resting on his knees.
"Thunder is not destruction," he murmured, voice barely audible over the roaring sky.
"It is the mirror that reveals the flaws within metal."
He closed his eyes and let his breathing fade.
The storm began to respond.
Lightning snaked down in crooked arcs, striking near him, again and again. The mountain trembled. But none touched him directly. Each bolt split around his seated form as if diverted by invisible hands.
Inside his body, the mirror-qi stirred — silver currents coursing through his veins. He guided them carefully, merging them with his breath. Inhale stillness, exhale fire.
His consciousness drifted inward — past blood and bone, into the deep sea of his spirit.
There, the reflection appeared: a vast mirror suspended in darkness, its surface rippling. Within it, his image sat under the same storm, but above him floated a shadow of himself — calm, unbound, and radiant.
The two reflections slowly approached.
But then — the mountain screamed.
A bolt unlike the others descended — thick as a tree trunk, glowing white-gold, its roar shaking the heavens.
Lin Yuan's eyes opened. "Heavenly Tribulation."
He stood, summoning all his qi. The mirror-light burst outward, forming a barrier around him. The bolt struck — and the barrier shattered instantly.
He was thrown backward, blood spraying from his mouth. The ground cracked, violet stone splitting open.
Lightning crawled across his body like living fire. Every nerve burned; every thought threatened to scatter.
So this… is heaven's judgment.
He forced his consciousness inward again. Within the storm of his mind, the shadow-self spoke.
"You fear the storm because you think it seeks to end you."
"Does it not?" Lin Yuan's voice echoed weakly.
"The storm does not end — it transforms. You cannot defy heaven by resisting it. You must become its reflection."
The words sank deep.
Outside, Lin Yuan rose to one knee, his aura flickering between silver and gold. His left hand trembled, but his eyes no longer held fear.
The second bolt descended.
He didn't dodge.
Instead, he drew his sword — the dull steel now pulsing faintly. He raised it skyward, channeling every fragment of will into a single breath.
"Come, then," he whispered. "Let this body become the mirror of your flame."
The bolt struck.
Light consumed everything — sky, stone, sound, thought.
When the glare faded, Lin Yuan still stood. Smoke curled from his robes, the sword in his hand glowing white-hot. The mirror-qi around him had changed — sharper, clearer. Where once it merely reflected, it now resonated.
He exhaled softly. "The lightning entered, but did not burn. It revealed."
Then he collapsed to one knee, laughing once in disbelief. "So that's the price for a single step upward."
Above him, the clouds began to clear. The storm broke into fragments, revealing a vast, star-streaked sky. The world seemed impossibly still after the chaos.
As dawn crept over the horizon, Lin Yuan looked up and saw — for the first time — faint shapes gliding in the upper atmosphere: ethereal dragons formed from condensed qi, circling the Peak of Silence. They were remnants of those who had transcended before him, illusions left by ancient cultivators.
One dragon lowered its head, its golden eyes meeting his.
No words passed, yet understanding flowed between them — recognition, perhaps even approval.
Lin Yuan bowed slightly. "Your path was fire; mine is reflection. But both face the same sky."
The dragon dissolved into mist.
He sat once more, allowing the residual energy to settle. His spirit sea now shimmered — the mirror no longer singular, but layered, countless reflections folding into one another like an endless corridor.
He had entered the Stage of Insight — First Step of Apperception.
From here, the road would only grow harder.
As he opened his eyes, a flicker of crimson danced across the horizon — fire-qi, far to the south. He remembered Yan Fei's warning, the Crimson Lotus Alliance, the gathering wars of the Empyrean Clans.
He sheathed his sword. "Storms fall on all peaks eventually."
With that, Lin Yuan began his descent — his steps light, his aura serene, but his eyes sharper than lightning itself.