Lin Fei emerged from the cavern with the seed secured in a hidden pouch close to his heart. His token now glowed with three golden runes—Resolve, Legacy, Instinct—a mark few outer disciples ever obtained.
But the Root Hollow was far from over.
He walked through the next archway and found himself in a strange glade. The sky here was dusky blue, as if caught between twilight and midnight. Trees stood tall, yet their shadows pointed in no direction.
It was silent.
Too silent.
Then he saw them.
Dozens of disciples—some unconscious, others curled into fetal positions—surrounded by shadowy figures mimicking their shapes.
One disciple stared straight at Lin Fei, eyes wide, mouth moving without sound.
Then his shadow stabbed him through the chest.
Lin Fei flinched—but the body didn't fall. The disciple's form shimmered, then vanished into mist.
It was illusion. No—remnant. Memory.
This trial is mental, he realized. Not of power, but of identity.
The shadows turned toward him.
A hundred Lin Feis stepped from the darkness—each bearing a different face. One was older. One wore black. One held a bloodstained sword. One had a smile too wide to be sane.
"Which one are you?" the shadows whispered in unison. "What will you become?"
They rushed him.
Lin Fei gritted his teeth, grounding his mind in the Heavenroot's rhythm.
He began to breathe—not with lungs, but with spirit.
Golden qi flowed through him. Not to attack. Not to defend.
To remember.
"I am the one who chooses."
The air cracked. The shadows froze.
One by one, the false versions of himself burned away, consumed by a quiet, golden flame.
And in the center of the glade, a small stone pedestal rose, inscribed with a single phrase:
Know yourself, or be devoured by the path.
A fourth rune lit on his token: Self.
He sat down to meditate. He needed time—to process, to reflect, and to prepare.
He sensed it in the Hollow's pulse: the deeper trials would not just test his will… they would test his truth.