The flames of fate had not yet faded—
But Xiao Chen already sensed a subtle shift within.
It wasn't a surge in spiritual breath.
Nor an expansion of meridians.
It was something deeper—
A condensation of essence.
His fate-mark, like a cocoon breaking open,
Had transformed from a mark of breath
Into a mark of form.
Within his life-seal,
A new dark pattern emerged—
Faintly pulsing like a heartbeat.
This was not the result of cultivation—
But of a decision.
A choice made in the depths of resentment.
To face the past.
To bear the consequences.
That choice had forged
A stronger vessel for his soul.
He stood still for a moment,
Feeling the unfamiliar ripple within.
This was not an end—
But only the beginning.
He took a deep breath,
And stepped into the unknown.
What greeted him—
Was not a challenge.
But a dream.
—
Scene Shift: Outside the Tower
The mist churned endlessly.
At the top of the fifth floor,
The glow had dimmed.
A hidden assassin whispered in disbelief:
"He… passed another layer?"
"Two days."
Shi Zhongdao replied coldly.
His tone no longer held the calm of before.
"Five layers in two days…
He's not human.
He's a monster."
He immediately ordered his men
To send word back to Star-Plucking Palace,
And quietly summoned a second squad.
He knew—
This was no ordinary prodigy.
This was a variable
Capable of shaking the entire balance.
—
Within Star-Plucking Palace
In a quiet chamber,
Shen Daoheng sat reading fragments of fate charts.
When he heard the report,
His fingers paused.
He slowly looked up.
"The fifth floor is broken…
Far faster than I expected."
He was silent for a long moment.
Then spoke:
"Send the second Extinguish-Star Squad.
Shi Zhongdao will take full command."
His voice dropped.
Cold as black ice:
"Success only.
Failure—
Bring me your head."
The subordinate bowed and left in haste.
The room returned to silence.
After a moment,
Shen Daoheng slowly closed his eyes.
Then—
He opened them again.
And in that instant—
His eyes glowed with a strange green light.
Like a hidden sorcery
From beyond the Central Plains.
Dark.
Unnatural.
—
Xiao Chen stepped into the mist.
But what appeared before him
Was not a trial tablet—
It was a village scene
He had seen before.
Or thought he had.
He frowned.
"Is this… a trial?"
But as the familiarity washed over him,
He was drawn in.
No humming.
No collapse of heaven and earth.
Not even a ripple of spiritual breath.
Only a breeze
Brushing past his hair.
The scent of soil
Mixed with the sweetness of morning mist.
Faint.
Like a memory long forgotten.
Before he realized it,
He was standing on a familiar ridge.
In the distance,
Smoke curled from chimneys.
Homes lay quiet.
A stream meandered past,
Its sound brushing over stones
Like a lullaby from childhood dreams.
He didn't question its reality.
Didn't try to summon his breath.
He simply walked forward—
Naturally.
As if he had walked this path
A thousand times.
As if, in this morning light,
He had once met someone's gaze.
Until he saw her.
Standing by the well,
Carrying water home.
She smiled gently.
Said nothing.
Neither did he.
Only one thought rose in his heart:
"The sunlight today… is beautiful."
He didn't ask who he was.
Didn't ask where this was.
He simply took the bundle of firewood from her hands,
Wordlessly followed her home,
Placed it by the stove.
She bent to tidy.
He shelled beans.
They moved with quiet harmony—
As if they had never been apart.
In the afternoon,
Sunlight slanted through the window.
He sat on the porch,
Carving bamboo for a basket.
She sat beside him,
Embroidering an old cloth.
The wind stirred her hair.
When she turned,
A strand brushed his cheek.
He didn't flinch.
Instead,
He tilted his head slightly—
As if used to such closeness.
At dusk,
They fetched water together.
She carried one bucket.
He carried two.
He said she was too weak.
He'd do it.
She pouted.
"Says who?"
He only smiled.
Before dinner,
He chopped vegetables by the stove.
She mashed garlic beside him.
His knife moved with steady rhythm.
Suddenly,
She said:
"Your knife skills are better than mine.
Were you a cook before?"
He paused.
Looked up:
"I don't know if I was—
But tonight,
I'm cooking."
She glared.
Waved the garlic pestle:
"You?
Last time you made it so salty
I drank three bowls of water!"
He laughed:
"How many bowls tonight?"
She pretended to smack his hand.
He dodged, laughing.
But turned too quickly—
Knocked over the dish.
Bean sprouts scattered.
She was about to scold him—
But saw him scrambling to pick them up.
And laughed.
He looked up at her smile—
And couldn't help but laugh too.
In that moment,
He felt he had heard that laughter
Countless times.
So familiar—
Like a life he had once lived.
A dusk like this.
A her like this.
He picked up a fallen grain of rice.
She said he was so meticulous.
He didn't reply.
Just smiled.
As if he had done this
A hundred times before.
After dinner,
She said she wanted something sweet.
So he went to the backyard,
Picked a few wild fruits,
And made a bowl of slightly sour fruit soup.
She took a sip,
Frowned:
"Why is it so sour?"
"Didn't you say you liked it a little sour?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"I never said that!"
She turned away, cheeks puffed in protest.
He chuckled,
Handed her the bowl:
"So you're not drinking it?"
She gave a small huff—
But still sipped it,
One mouthful at a time.
He didn't say anything more.
Just watched her profile quietly.
And in that moment—
He felt a warmth in his chest.
Not spiritual energy.
Not a fate-mark.
But something else.
Something he hadn't felt
In a very long time.
A feeling called—
Peace.
He looked down at her.
And in that moment—
Fragments surfaced.
Her smile.
Her tears.
Her figure in red, standing before him…
Like memory.
Like dream.
He didn't know why these images appeared—
But something in his chest tightened.
It wasn't a memory of this life.
Nor a remnant of the tower's trials.
It was—
A tremor from deep within the cycle of reincarnation.
In that instant,
He understood—
This was never just an illusion.
When she glanced at him,
Her eyes held a mix of confusion and familiarity.
As if searching for something.
That gaze made his heart tremble.
Like fragments of countless missed moments
Finally overlapping.
These days,
He dreamed the same scenes every night.
Walking hand in hand through rainy dusk.
Sitting side by side beneath the moon.
And every time he woke,
He told himself—
It's just a dream.
Only a dream.
But when he sat on the porch,
Watching her mend his clothes,
Cook his meals—
Those dreams felt
Too real.
He tried to remind himself
This wasn't reality.
But one day,
As he watched her profile—
A whisper rose from deep within:
"If this is a dream…
Then let it never end."
—
A few days passed.
Late at night,
The lamp flickered.
Silence blanketed the world.
He had just finished tidying the scrolls on the table
When he turned—
And saw her leaning against the doorway,
Gazing at the waning moon.
"Why aren't you asleep?"
He asked.
She didn't turn.
Only whispered:
"Do you… believe in dreams?"
He paused.
Stepped closer,
Joining her in looking at the moon.
"I dreamed we were married."
She said suddenly.
Her voice was so soft
It nearly vanished in the wind.
But it landed
Clearly in his heart.
"In the dream…
I wore red.
My veil was long.
The lanterns lit the room in crimson.
You were dressed formally.
Quieter than usual.
You didn't smile.
You just kept looking at me."
She smiled.
A little shy.
A little sweet.
But beneath it—
A quiet, uncontainable hope.
"Then you took my hand.
And said:
'I'm late.
You've waited long enough.'"
He said nothing.
His chest tightened.
She glanced at him,
Pretending to be casual:
"But…
It was just a dream.
Don't think too much of it.
I was just rambling."
She lowered her head.
Her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve.
As if afraid she'd said too much.
As if waiting for something.
He wanted to speak.
But his throat felt blocked.
Was it just a dream?
Yet somewhere deep inside—
One word surfaced.
Familiar.
Before she turned to go inside,
She looked back.
And asked:
"You…
Really never dreamed of us getting married?"
He wanted to say—
Yes.
But the words spun in his heart,
And never found voice.
He was afraid—
That if he spoke,
The dream would shatter.
But if he didn't—
How would she know
He had remembered all along?
She didn't wait for an answer.
She left behind only one sentence:
"It's okay.
I can wait."
She smiled.
Then turned and went inside.
Her tone was calm—
But the tremble in that smile,
He heard clearly.
Her steps quickened.
The door closed softly—
But it felt like the entire night
Had been locked outside.
He stared at the wooden door.
His chest tightened—
As if something had gripped it.
He didn't chase after her.
Just sat there, dazed.
And from somewhere deep within,
A strange unease began to rise.
Her words—
He had heard them before.
Not in this life.
Not in the tower's trials.
But etched
In the deepest part of his soul.
He raised his hand.
Touched his chest.
There—
The seed of resentment trembled.
Like a tide stirring.
In that moment,
He began to wonder—
Was this a dream?
An illusion?
Or…
Was a memory from a past life
Beginning to awaken?
The night deepened.
The lamp beneath the window flickered like a bean of light.
Inside,
All was calm.
He leaned against the doorframe,
Watching her sit at the table,
Sewing something.
Under the lamp,
Her profile was serene.
A faint smile rested on her face
As her fingers moved through thread and needle.
He felt a pressure in his chest.
Not unease—
But a quiet stillness.
Like a tide
Slowly rising within him.
He looked down
At the lines in his palm.
Familiar.
Yet strange.
He remembered these days—
Peaceful.
Joyful.
But some memories
Were like silhouettes in mist.
He remembered someone calling him "Xiao Chen."
He remembered making a promise
Somewhere far away.
But none of that mattered now.
This—
Was real.
Wasn't it?
She was here.
Cooking.
Smiling.
Pouting.
Leaning on his shoulder.
He had never thought this before:
"Maybe…
I could stay."
The moment that thought surfaced,
His heart trembled.
He didn't know why.
Only that it felt
Like a thread deep in his soul
Was being gently pulled.
He closed his eyes.
Took a deep breath.
He asked himself:
"If this is a dream—
Will she vanish when I wake?"
"If this is an illusion—
Then who built this dream for me?"
"If I leave—
Will I lose her forever?"
He opened his eyes.
Looked at her.
She smiled at him.
That same quiet smile.
And he—
Suddenly didn't dare
To respond too deeply.
But in the next moment,
He gently pushed open the door.
The room was dim.
She sat by the bed,
Eyes red,
Head bowed,
Sewing something.
Her stitches were uneven.
He walked over.
Said nothing.
Just pulled her into his arms.
"…I want to stay."
He whispered.
She trembled.
Tears burst forth.
But she only nodded,
Again and again:
"I thought…
You still wouldn't choose me."
That night,
They said nothing more.
Only the moonlight outside
Flowed like water into the room.
Softly merging
Their two silhouettes
Into the creases of each other's lives.
—
At dawn,
She rose early.
In the courtyard,
She bustled about, preparing something.
He stood at the doorway,
Watching her move in and out,
Her hands full of red cloth, wedding flowers, bamboo poles, and paper lanterns.
He didn't ask.
Just walked over
And took the items from her hands.
Together,
They decorated the space.
He didn't think too much.
Only that her smile
Was beautiful.
She said they would marry tonight.
No witnesses.
As long as he was there,
She felt at peace.
He looked at her gently,
And replied softly:
"Okay."
Night fell.
Inside, red candles burned high.
Curtains swayed gently.
She stepped out in her wedding dress,
Tears in her eyes—
But smiling beautifully.
He waited at the end of the red carpet,
His palm warm,
His heart strangely calm.
They held hands.
Bowed.
First to heaven and earth.
Second to the absent elders—
Still solemn.
Just as they were about to perform the third bow—
To each other—
A thunderous horse cry shattered the silence!
The ground trembled.
Hooves roared.
"Quick! Someone's inside!"
The courtyard gate burst open.
A gang of bandits stormed in—
Rough, chaotic, faces full of malice.
She cried out.
Xiao Chen immediately shielded her.
He tried to summon his breath—
But was stunned to find—
Nothing.
No response.
The bandit leader saw her beauty,
And laughed wickedly:
"Kill the man.
Leave the woman—
Tonight, we feast!"
Xiao Chen roared,
Stood in front of her.
But he couldn't muster even a single strike.
He could only dodge.
Blade after blade slashed at him.
Soon,
Blood streaked across his body.
"Useless!"
The leader cursed,
Raising his blade toward her back.
"No—!"
Time froze.
She fell before him.
Her red dress soaked in blood.
Her hand trembled,
Reaching for him—
But never touched.
Xiao Chen stood frozen.
Like his soul had been torn away.
Then—
A power he had never felt before
Exploded from deep within his soul!
"Aaaahhh—!"
He went mad.
His hands moved like wind.
His fists fell like thunder.
The void shattered.
Candles burst.
The illusion collapsed.
The world crumbled beneath his roar.
The ground split.
Red walls fell.
The illusion became scorched earth.
He knelt beside her body,
Trembling,
Holding her.
She opened her eyes slightly.
Tears still lingered.
She looked at him.
But her voice changed:
"You said you'd protect me…
Why didn't you try harder?"
"You promised we'd spend our lives together.
But now…
You hesitated, didn't you?"
Her voice was cold.
Full of sorrow.
Full of accusation.
Full of fracture.
Xiao Chen froze.
The illusion turned on him.
The dream of happiness
Shattered.
The aftermath of the collapse still lingered.
Around him—
Scorched earth.
Broken tiles.
Burning candles.
Fallen red curtains.
And he—
Still knelt before her fading form.
His fingers trembled.
His eyes reddened.
But he didn't cry.
Her voice echoed in his ears.
Like blades
Peeling away the last dream in his heart.
It wasn't the illusion's fault.
Nor the tower's cruelty.
It was—
He truly hesitated.
He nearly chose to stay.
To escape.
To lie to reality.
And that—
Was the most terrifying part of this trial.
He slowly rose to his feet.
Lifted his gaze
Toward the empty sky.
But within his heart—
There was a clarity
He had never known before.
"I'm sorry…
Lin Miao."
He whispered.
His voice was calm.
But it felt
Like a true farewell
To every version of himself
Across the cycle of reincarnation.
At that moment—
His chest trembled.
The life-seal pulsed.
A warm energy surged
From the depths of his soul.
Unlike the scorching force of before—
This power was gentle.
Steady.
Like a shield.
Like a wall.
Like heart's intent
Forged into form.
He opened his eyes.
His fate-mark shone.
A new imprint
Began to take shape.
Soft as silver moonlight.
A mark born of a wish—
The Guardian Seal.
Formed.
This was no longer a power for battle.
It was a vow to protect.
He finally understood—
True strength
Was not in how many enemies you could defeat.
But in how many people
You were willing to protect.
In that moment,
The voice of the Tower Guide
Echoed once more.
Low.
Reverent.
"Though the dream shattered,
The heart did not stray.
To know the will to guard—
Is to find truth.
This trial—
Is passed."
As those words fell,
The space shifted again.
The broken illusion
Burned away completely.
Silence returned.
And before Xiao Chen—
The staircase to the next floor
Appeared once more.