39: First Floor – The Mirror of the Self
Darkness
Not the absence of light, but something far more deliberate.
A crafted darkness, purposeful and quiet—so complete that even Lin Tian, whose spiritual sense could stretch across valleys, found himself disoriented for the first time in years.
He took a slow breath.
The wind in this place was still.
The air wasn't lifeless. It pulsed gently, like a lung breathing—except it wasn't his breath.
This realm was alive.
A construct of the ancient Azure Moon Sect founders. Crafted with heavenly-grade formations and soul-weaving principles. A test created for one purpose:
To break what cannot be bent.
Lin Tian exhaled, spreading his spiritual awareness slowly. The field returned information like sonar—he was in a vast room, circular, with no visible walls, but with layered barriers of spiritual pressure suspended like silk around him.
Then, the voice returned. Not from the air, but from the trial itself.
"First Floor: The Mirror of the Self."
A faint ripple shimmered in the space before him, and a mirror formed out of thin air—an enormous, floating sheet of polished obsidian surrounded by glowing runes, ten meters tall and humming with spiritual energy.
Lin Tian studied it without moving.
The surface shimmered—then it flickered, and his reflection appeared.
But it wasn't just him.
Not quite.
The figure in the mirror looked identical—down to the robes, the expression, the faint amusement in the eyes. But it emanated a strange pressure.
As if it wasn't copying him—but revealing something buried beneath him.
The voice spoke again.
"Defeat yourself… or remain."
Then the reflection stepped out of the mirror.
Fully formed. Real. Radiating cultivation at the exact same level as Lin Tian.
It stood across from him, smiling with eerie calm.
"Well," Lin Tian murmured, cracking his neck. "That's new."
His copy smiled. "Is it? Or have you always known this was coming?"
Azure Moon Sect – Council Hall
While Lin Tian faced himself in a world apart, tension simmered like coals in the depths of the sect's council chambers.
Several elders had gathered without formal summons.
Unofficial meetings—sometimes more dangerous than official ones.
At the head of the long table, Elder Shen—one of the longest-serving sword elders—spoke first.
"So it's done," he said, fingers steepled before him. "They've sent him into the trial."
Another elder—a gaunt man known for overseeing outer sect discipline—snorted. "He volunteered. No one forced him."
"He was cornered," said a third, leaning back in his seat. "Too much attention. Too many women behind him. That kind of influence breeds chaos."
"Or strength," said a fourth. This voice belonged to Elder Lan, the only one among them who did not hide his support of Su Meiyu.
The others fell quiet.
Shen narrowed his eyes. "We cannot allow him to return more powerful than he already is. If he completes the trial, he'll return untouchable. The younger disciples already whisper his name like he's some myth. If even the Mistress yields, the sect's hierarchy will collapse."
Elder Lan's eyes twitched. "You speak of hierarchy… but what about potential? Did you all forget what this sect is built on?"
"Stability," Shen replied. "Not fantasy."
A murmur of agreement swept the room.
Lan stood, brushing down his robes.
"Then prepare yourselves," he said. "Because fantasy is waking up. And it wears Lin Tian's face."
He turned and left without another word.
Trial Realm – Mirror Duel
The two Lin Tians circled slowly across the smooth stone floor, each step echoing with deliberate weight. Their eyes never left each other.
The reflection spoke first. "You don't belong here."
Lin Tian smirked. "You're not real."
"I'm more real than the masks you wear."
Lin Tian attacked first.
A burst of palm wind struck out like a blade—but the reflection matched it instantly, palm to palm, countering the pressure with perfect symmetry.
They clashed.
Not like two strangers—but like dancers who knew the other's rhythm intimately.
Strike, block, slide. A counter. Another strike. Sword drawn. Dodge. Knee. Grapple.
Every move Lin Tian made was answered with precisely the same timing.
It wasn't just copying him.
It was him.
And worse—it knew everything he did. His instincts. His reflexes. His weaknesses.
"Is that all you've got?" the reflection mocked as they clashed blades again.
Lin Tian panted softly but grinned. "You sound like my inner critic."
The clone's eyes narrowed. "I am your inner critic."
Then came the psychic attacks.
With a pulse of Qi, the mirror behind the clone flickered again—and this time, it showed images.
His past life.
Moments of failure. Betrayal. Weakness.
A cold alley where he died.
The woman who mocked him before walking away.
His hands clenched.
More images.
Yue Qingyan, turning away after their first confrontation.
Su Meiyu laughing at him the first time they met.
Jiang Yuyan saying, "You're dangerous."
Then—
The reflection struck hard, blade slicing through Lin Tian's shoulder and sending him sliding back.
Pain flared.
Not physical—but spiritual.
The reflection smiled.
"You are built on defiance," it said, stepping forward. "But what are you when there's nothing to fight?"
Lin Tian gritted his teeth. Blood trickled from his shoulder.
He stood.
And smiled.
"Wrong question."
He gathered his Qi—not in anger, but in stillness.
His aura shifted.
From aggression… to centered presence.
He breathed in.
Then said softly, "You fight like me. You think like me. You know what I know."
He stepped forward.
"But you don't believe what I believe."
His hand closed around his sword hilt.
"I don't need to win by outmatching myself," he said.
The sword burst with spiritual flame.
"I only need to remind myself of who I am."
And then he attacked again.
This time, not with mirroring.
With unpredictability.
He drew on his understanding of the women he had met. On lessons from each.
From Yue Qingyan: precise timing.
From Su Meiyu: fluid adaptation.
From Jiang Yuyan: mental clarity under pressure.
The clone couldn't follow.
Because it wasn't designed to.
It adapted based on what he had been.
Not what he had become.
Within ten strikes, Lin Tian had his double on the defensive.
On the twelfth strike, he disarmed it.
On the thirteenth, he shattered the mirror behind it with a single concentrated palm of spiritual force.
The clone froze.
Its body cracked—fractures glowing along its skin—then dissipated into pure spiritual energy.
Silence returned.
And the voice came once more.
"Truth accepted. Floor passed."
Back in the Sect – Elder Quarters
Elder Shen moved through the inner pathways with purpose, stopping before a secluded pavilion where a lesser-known array master waited.
They spoke in hushed tones.
"It's not too late," Shen whispered. "The trial has many layers. If he's to fail… we may simply need to… adjust one."
The array master frowned. "You're speaking of tampering with a sacred construct."
Shen's voice dropped. "I'm speaking of preserving order."
A pause.
"Can you do it?"
The man hesitated. "With the right sigil, I could delay him. Force an overdraw of Qi. Trigger backlash. But nothing fatal."
Shen nodded.
"Do it."
Crimson Pavilion – That Night
Jiang Yuyan sat before a scrying mirror, watching the faint energy patterns on its surface. She could see glimpses of the trial's realm—just flickers. But it was enough.
She knew someone was tampering.
She whispered a command.
One of her oldest protectors appeared from the shadows.
"Find the interference," she said quietly. "If someone tries to tilt the trial… break their hands."
End of Chapter 39