Heifeng Cheng buzzed with an electric tension as the festival of prodigies reached its zenith. The grand arena, a colossal structure of polished white stone, was packed with cultivators from every corner of the realm, their colorful robes a vibrant tapestry against the stark architecture. This was the stage for the Three Petal Trial, a public spectacle designed to identify and patronize the most promising young talents. Jianyu knew it was a test, a trap, and a vital opportunity.
He had to enter as both personas, one after the other, and he could not fail as either. The stakes were immense: failure meant public humiliation, loss of potential patronage, and, for him, the risk of exposure. The trial itself was a symbolic ascent: the Three Petal Tower, with each level designed to test Body, Spirit, and Desire.
First, as Xu Jianyu. He entered the arena, a silent, stoic figure clad in dark, unadorned robes, his face a mask of quiet intensity. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Who was this "guardian" of the enigmatic Niánmei? The first level, the Body trial, was a brutal combat challenge. His opponent was a hulking, qi-infused warrior from a northern sect, known for his overwhelming physical might.
The fight began. Jianyu moved with a terrifying precision, not relying on brute force, but on his Absolute Body Control. He allowed his opponent to unleash a flurry of blows, absorbing the impact, feeling every shift in qi, every muscle contraction. He then countered, not with a direct strike, but with a series of subtle, almost imperceptible touches. He redirected his opponent's own momentum, twisted his joints, and, in a horrifying display of anatomical mastery, even subtly altered the blood flow within his opponent's limbs, causing momentary, debilitating spasms. He fought blindfolded, too, a silent challenge, relying solely on his heightened senses and the System's precise data. The warrior collapsed, gasping, his body wracked with unseen pain, his spirit broken. Jianyu stood over him, unblemished, a silent, deadly victor. The crowd roared, stunned by the display of controlled, almost surgical, power.
Then came the second challenge, as Xu Niánmei. He entered the arena again, this time as the ethereal beauty, his presence a stark contrast to the brutal display that had just concluded. The Spirit trial was a test of mental fortitude, a confrontation with a powerful illusionist from the Thousand Silk Hell Garden. The air shimmered, and the arena dissolved, replaced by a vision of impossible serenity.
Niánmei found himself in a sun-drenched garden, filled with moonlotus blossoms. Empress Yuelian approached, not with her usual melancholic possessiveness, but with genuine affection. She offered a life of adoration, of protection, of being cherished as the true Moonlotus Saint, free from the constant threat of other sects. It was a life of peace, of effortless power, of being truly loved for what he was, or rather, for what he appeared to be. Jianyu felt the seductive pull, the deep, aching longing for a life unburdened by masks and vengeance. He nearly stayed. The illusion was perfect, a mirror of a desire he had suppressed for too long.
His mind screamed, a silent battle against the perfect illusion. He saw Ling'er's fearful eyes, the faces of the discarded male experiments, the cold, calculating smile of Gong Xuelan. This was a prison, however beautiful. This was control, however soft. He was not meant for peace. He was meant for vengeance.
With a guttural, internal scream that no one heard, Jianyu ripped himself free. The beautiful garden shattered like glass. The illusionist staggered back, clutching her head, her face pale with shock. Niánmei stood trembling, his serene smile now a fragile, almost pained line. The crowd murmured, sensing the profound internal struggle, though they could not comprehend its true nature.
He had passed. But the cost was immense. He had confronted a version of himself that desired peace, that craved acceptance, and he had brutally suppressed it. The victory felt like a wound.