The bronze doors of the mirror hall groaned open, their echo rolling like thunder across the mountain courtyard. Inside, the air felt heavy, colder than it should have been, as though the hall itself was alive and waiting.
Rows of towering mirrors lined the chamber walls, each one polished to unnatural clarity. They reflected not the torches alone, but shadows deeper than shadow—illusions waiting to be born.
The candidates filed in, twenty-some youths from Sunflower Town and the surrounding villages. Their footsteps rang sharp against the stone floor, and beneath the shuffle, whispers bloomed like weeds.
"Is this it? Just looking in a mirror?" a stocky boy from a merchant clan scoffed, running a hand through his slicked hair. "Hah. Easy test."
"Easy until it shows your coward's heart," came a voice like steel. A tall girl with narrow eyes strode past him, arms folded. "Boasting won't help you when the truth cuts deeper than any sword."
The stocky boy faltered, muttering something about "ugly women and sharp tongues." A few others laughed nervously, grateful for the release of tension.
Near the back, a quiet youth muttered a prayer under his breath, his hands trembling. The boy beside him rolled his eyes. "Pathetic. If you're already scared, better to quit now than embarrass yourself in front of the sect."
Lin Feng and Qiao Wen exchanged a glance but said nothing. Both carried themselves with calm, but the tension in their shoulders betrayed the storm beneath.
At the front, Elder Zhao raised his hand. His voice carried through the chamber with the weight of a judge's gavel.
"The Mirror of the Heart does not lie. It will not show you who you wish to be, but who you fear you are. Step forward one by one. If you break, leave. If you run, leave. Only those who can face themselves are worthy to continue."
Silence.
The first candidate was called—a slender boy with restless eyes. He stepped before the nearest mirror. For a moment, it showed only his reflection. Then the surface rippled. His image twisted into something cruel and sneering, hands dripping red.
The boy screamed, stumbling backward. "No! That's not me!" He bolted for the door, and no one tried to stop him.
So it began.
One by one, the candidates approached. Some froze in place, trembling until Elder Zhao dismissed them. Others collapsed into sobs, their illusions too much to bear. A rare few walked away pale but unbroken, their eyes sharper than before.
At last, Elder Zhao's gaze turned. "Lin Feng."
Feng drew a steadying breath. His steps echoed as he crossed to the mirror. For a moment, it was only his reflection—eyes steady, jaw set. Then the world shifted.
He stood in the Lin family inn.
At first, everything was familiar—the smell of cooking, the chatter of guests. Then came the smoke. Dark tendrils curled along the beams. Flames burst from the rafters, roaring to life.
"Feng!"
His mother's voice. He spun, and through the haze saw Lin Ruyin and Lin Xue, reaching for him, coughing as fire devoured the walls.
"No!" He surged forward, but his legs were heavy, as if chains bound them. His qi flared in panic, but slipped like water through his fingers—wild, useless. He screamed until his throat burned, yet the flames only roared higher.
I can't save them. I'll lose them.
The thought dug into his chest like a blade. He felt himself sinking, the weight of failure dragging him down.
But then—like a breath of cool air through the smoke—he remembered John's lesson.
A river does not bind itself. Freedom is not chaos. It is harmony.
He closed his eyes, forcing the panic to flow through him, not against him. He stopped clenching his qi like a rope and let it move, light and fluid.
And when he opened his eyes again, the fire was gone. The inn stood whole. His mother and sister smiled softly, not in pain but in pride.
The image faded, and only his reflection remained.
Feng staggered back, drenched in sweat but standing tall. His chest heaved with breath, but his eyes shone brighter, calmer.
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Elder Zhao's gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than the others before he simply said:
"Next."
The chamber fell silent.
Qiao Wen stepped forward. His stride was firm, though his hand twitched slightly at his side. The mirror loomed before him, its polished surface glimmering like still water, waiting.
The air grew taut, as though even the torches bent closer to watch.
And with that, Wen stood before the mirror.