Gravity wasn't the only thing pressing down on Xiao Yan when he returned to the 32nd Gate.
The dormitory corridor was silent. Ma Qingya had already vanished into the upper canopy for her scout rotation, leaving nothing but a fading whisper of wind in the air. Xiao Yan walked beside Xiao Yanlin—heavy steps, steady rhythm—but his thoughts were somewhere else.
Ling Xuelian's eyes.
It hadn't been pity.
It had been recognition.
Like she was staring at an unsharpened blade… and wondering how long before it cut the world.
[Master,] Michael's voice echoed inside his mind, calm but edged with warning. [The Ice Dragon girl's healing was efficient. However, your internal spirit sea remains unstable. The 12th Stage Trinity Path is agitated. If you do not vent the pressure soon, lightning discharge will resume.]
"I know," Xiao Yan muttered, pushing open the door to Room 32-Z.
Inside, the air felt wrong—dense, thick, as if the world had gained weight.
Cheng Yanlin sat cross-legged on the floor, iron plates scattered around him. His Earth Titan Physique glowed faint orange as his palms pressed against a granite slab. Veins bulged. Slowly, deliberately, the stone began to crumble.
Dust.
Pure pressure.
"You're back," Yanlin grunted without looking up. "Qingya sent word. Said you ran into pests at the falls."
"Scouts." Xiao Yan tossed his jacket onto the bed. His gaze drifted around the room. Now that he focused… he felt it.
A pull.
Subtle. Relentless.
Dragging his spirit downward.
Yanlin stood, wiping sweat from his brow. "The 32nd Gate isn't just some bottom-tier dorm. It used to be the Root Essence Gate. The academy was built here first. There's something buried beneath us."
He stepped forward and threw a slow punch.
The air rippled.
Not fast.
Heavy.
"The gravity here isn't natural," Yanlin said. "Three times stronger in the cellars. Some days more. Most disciples ignore it because they're desperate to fly. But what good is the sky if you can't endure the earth?"
Xiao Yan felt something in his chest respond.
Pressure.
Weight.
Challenge.
"I'm going down tonight," Yanlin said. "Granite Bone Root refinement. You should come. Your aura… it's meant for weight."
Xiao Yan's lips curved faintly. "Lead."
The Cold Moon Watches
Far above them, in the silent Immortal Hall, Yan Bingxue removed her veil.
The room was frozen solid. Frost climbed the walls like claws. Her Extreme Yin Formation pulsed unevenly—unstable.
"The seal is thinning…" she whispered.
She stepped onto the balcony, gazing toward the Silver-Thread Falls.
She had felt the clash earlier.
She had seen Xiao Yan fight.
Reckless. Raw. Unpolished.
"You're stepping into a war you don't understand, Xiao Yan Long."
She raised a hand. Frost condensed into a small silver bird.
"Follow him. If the Root Essence array destabilizes… freeze it."
The bird dissolved into mist and vanished into the dark.
The Root Essence Cellar
The descent was endless.
Black basalt corridors twisted downward, illuminated only by moss that pulsed like a heartbeat. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became.
When they reached the lowest chamber, Xiao Yan staggered.
"This isn't three times…" he breathed.
"Five today," Yanlin replied, his skin hardening to stone-grey. "The mountain's restless."
The circular chamber at the bottom felt alive.
The gravity wasn't just weight.
It was will.
It wanted to crush.
Xiao Yan stepped forward anyway.
His knees trembled. His lungs burned. The Trinity Path inside him roared like a beast straining against chains.
He drew the Sword of Heaven and Earth.
The blade slammed against the floor.
CLACK.
Under fivefold gravity, it felt like holding a fallen star.
He didn't resist the pressure.
He embraced it.
Slow sword forms began—agonizingly deliberate. Each movement felt like carving through stone. Red sparks flickered along his skin, clashing violently with the chamber's blue-grey gravity.
"More," he whispered. "Michael. Open the second layer of the temple foundation."
[Warning: Structural integrity nearing critical threshold.]
"Do it."
The shockwave exploded outward—red and blue colliding.
The chamber cracked.
Gravity surged.
Yanlin stepped back, eyes wide.
This wasn't refinement.
This was domination.
The pressure radiating from Xiao Yan wasn't just heavy—
It was sovereign.
As if the ground itself recognized him.
As if it was… bowing.
"What are you?" Yanlin breathed.
CLANG.
A metallic echo cut through the chamber.
Not gravity.
A sword.
At the entrance stood a group of older disciples. At their head—a man with a jagged scar slicing across his nose. His claymore pulsed with toxic green light.
"So the rumors are true," the scarred man sneered. "The Mortal trash and the Stone Boy found the Root Essence chamber."
He stepped forward, boots grinding against basalt.
"This room belongs to the Top Ten of the 32nd Gate."
His blade scraped the floor.
"And you're not on that list."
Xiao Yan didn't stop moving.
Didn't turn.
Didn't acknowledge them.
Each sword form grew heavier. The air trembled.
"Leave," he said quietly.
His voice vibrated with the weight of the mountain.
"Before the ground decides to eat you."
The scarred man laughed—
But the laughter faltered.
Because the floor beneath his feet had begun to crack.
And deep below them—
Something ancient shifted.
Not the gravity.
Not the mountain.
Something older.
Something that had been asleep for thousands of years.
And it had just opened its eyes.
To be continued ....