Chapter 49
"And after you succeed in standing without breathing and without seeing," Huan Zheng continued, his voice growing softer, more careful, like someone opening an ancient coffin he had not touched for decades, "you must fuse your 10 Falling Crystals into one. Not merge them like fitting together two pieces of a puzzle, but force them to unite, to melt, to become a single entity that cannot be separated even as every fiber of those crystals screams in agony. And believe me, Liu Xin—every time two crystals begin to fuse, you will feel torment beyond anything you have ever imagined. Not physical pain like wounds or broken bones or ordinary suffering, but torment within your soul, within the very foundation of your cultivation that you have painstakingly built over the years, within the memories of your mother that replay before your eyes, wounds that never truly healed. Nine cycles of life-and-death torment, Liu Xin—because there are ten crystals that must become one, and each time two crystals merge, you will die and live again simultaneously, in the same space, in a consciousness split into two, into three, into ten, until you no longer know which one is truly you and which is merely a shadow of a death that never truly happened."
Huan Zheng paused for a moment, looking at Ling Xu with eyes that had suddenly grown gentler, warmer, like a man who wished to shield his lover from a bitter truth yet knew that she could not be protected forever—that she had to face it herself, and the only thing he could do was stand beside her, not ahead, not behind, but right beside her, as he had always done since the first time they met in that dark, damp cave.
"And the torment does not end there, Liu Xin," he continued, his voice nearly a whisper, like wind slipping through dry leaves before a storm arrives, "because after you begin the fusion of the first two crystals, after you succeed in standing without breathing and without seeing for days, after you endure the first torment that makes you wish to die but cannot die because you have already died ten times and death no longer holds power over you—you must open your eyes. Not by command, not by rule, but because suddenly, without warning, your consciousness will be hurled into an unknown universe, a universe unrecorded on any map, a universe accessible only to those standing at the brink of the Supreme Dao. And in that universe, Liu Xin, you are not merely required to endure—you must absorb. Absorb every surge of excessive Qi radiation, radiation powerful enough to kill an ordinary Vast Cosmos cultivator a thousand times over, radiation pouring from every corner of that universe like water from a well that never runs dry. If you fail to absorb it, it will shatter your soul into fragments that can never be pieced back together, not even with the ten deaths you have already endured."
Ling Xu, hearing all of this, did not respond with words—he simply closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to feel the pulse of the 10 crystals in his chest beating with an oddly cheerful rhythm, like children dancing in a palace courtyard before a storm arrives, like soldiers singing war songs before marching into a battlefield they will never leave alive.
"Every universe," Huan Zheng whispered, finishing his explanation with a voice that suddenly grew lighter, more casual, like someone who had just finished announcing the death of an unfamiliar neighbor, "aside from emitting radiation that will kill you if you are not strong enough, also contains potential, Liu Xin. Potential called talent. Talent that will be extremely useful in the realm of the Supreme Dao."
Huan Zheng paused mid-explanation, his once-gentle eyes turning dark, like the sky before the fiercest storm, like the ocean before a tsunami that would swallow all land without mercy.
"But you must understand, Liu Xin," he said, his voice suddenly heavy, like a gravestone dropped into a bottomless well, "not everyone who begins this journey succeeds in finishing it. In fact, most fail. Not because they are weak, not because they lack effort, but because this trial is designed to filter—to separate those who are truly worthy from those who are merely fortunate, to distinguish those who possess destiny from those who possess only luck."
He pressed his hand against his chest, right where his ten crystals pulsed, then continued in a voice barely above a whisper, like a priest reciting a curse over an unmarked grave.
"If a cultivator fails to fuse even one—or all—of their Falling Crystals, if they fail to absorb both the talent and the Qi-laden radiation from that unknown universe, then their death is certain. Not an ordinary death that can be overcome through the Trial of Hiding Within a Corpse, because that trial has already been passed to reach this realm. This is a final death, Liu Xin. A death that cannot be undone by crystals, coordinates, or anything else. A death that will turn their body into dust, and that dust will scatter across the universe, never to return, never to be remembered, as if they had never existed."
Ling Xu felt a chill crawl along his spine as he heard this.
Not a chill of fear—because he had died ten times and his fear had died with his mother on the most horrifying night of his life—but a chill born from the realization that at the brink of the Supreme Dao, there was no safety net, no second chances, no words of "try again" spoken in encouragement like those he often heard from elders in the sky cities when a disciple failed a promotion trial.
"And if one is fortunate?" Ling Xu asked, his voice soft but steady, for he was used to asking questions whose answers might make him want to cry—yet he had cried too many times, until no tears remained, leaving behind only a cold curiosity, like that of a surgeon dissecting a corpse not out of cruelty, but because he needed to know.
Huan Zheng let out a long breath—a breath like wind whispering through dry leaves after a storm had passed, carrying the exhaustion of someone who had witnessed too many deaths, too many deformities, too many dreams shattered before his eyes—then answered in a voice that grew softer, more cautious, like a doctor delivering devastating news to a family whose loved one would never return.
"If they are fortunate—and the word 'fortunate' here is the cruelest word I have ever spoken in my entire life—they may survive the Trial of Concealment Within Corpses. Their body will not crumble into dust, their soul will not shatter into irreparable fragments. They will remain alive, Liu Xin. They will continue to breathe, to walk, to speak, to smile—though that smile will never again reach their eyes. But they will never be able to cultivate again. Forever."
To be continued…