Lin Yi’s fingers had just left the ground, his knuckles still smeared with crushed stone and dried blood scabs. The searing pain in his knees ground like rusted gears within the joints. He took a breath; the air was thick with the ruin’s unique scent—a mixture of scorched earth and the metallic, fishy odor of something cooled. His vision was still somewhat blurry, but deep within his Dao heart, that mass of dark golden fire burned steadily, bringing a heavy, almost painful clarity. This was not the slow sinking of dusk. It was as if the gray sky was a piece of cloth clenched by an invisible giant hand, abruptly collapsing inward and solidifying. Countless silver runes precipitated from the void, fine as ants, cold as frost, swirling and connecting frantically along some predetermined trajectory. They wove into a massive net, then swiftly contracted, forming an inverted, translucent bowl-shaped barrier. From its edges, countless silver chains composed of even denser runes cascaded down with a rustling sound, firmly locking down the hundred-zhang radius. The air was no longer flowing wind, but a viscous, deathly gelatin. With every breath, his lungs felt as if they were fighting against an invisible pressure; the air he drew in was so thin it was alarming. More crucially, the spiritual energy that permeated heaven and earth, which cultivators could absorb and refine, had vanished. Completely and utterly. Within the barrier, only a cold, “orderly” vacuum remained—one that rejected all foreign energies. Lin Yi’s pupils contracted. His body reacted faster than his consciousness—he forcibly suppressed the trembling in his knees, lowered his center of gravity, and assumed the most basic defensive opening stance. A faint dark golden halo appeared on his skin, like a thin layer of glaze that might shatter at any moment. A voice came from the heart of the formation. There, silver runes gathered and swirled, outlining a slender human silhouette. The silhouette rapidly solidified, and Xiao Han descended step by step, treading on invisible stairs. He still wore that pristine white robe, spotless. The jade thumb ring on his left hand reflected the barrier’s cold silver light with his subtle wrist movements. He landed ten zhang in front of Lin Yi and stood still. His gaze calmly swept over the faint golden radiance around Lin Yi, as if assessing cracks on a piece of porcelain. “Is this the ‘Fate-Reversing Flame’ you fused with the will of the sacrificed?” Xiao Han spoke, his voice clear and bright, his tone as placid as if discussing the weather. “It still appears utterly fragile.” Lin Yi didn’t respond. He deliberately made his breathing slow and deep. Each exhalation tugged at the unhealed internal injuries in his chest, bringing a needle-pricking pain. He was calculating. The formation’s range, the flow frequency of the runes, Xiao Han’s position and possible angles of attack… and the response speed of the newborn flame within him. Too slow. The dark golden spiritual power flowed through his meridians, heavy and viscous, like magma not yet cooled. Mobilizing it required several times more mental focus and willpower than before. “No words?” Xiao Han tilted his head slightly, an action that made him seem almost curious. “Are you adapting to this ‘Spirit-Severing’ realm, or are you recalling… a similar sense of powerlessness, three years ago, when your spiritual root was shattered by ‘Heaven’s Punishment’?” Lin Yi’s fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly. Not from fear, but from something colder crawling up his spine. Xiao Han smiled. That smile was as warm and smooth as jade, yet there was no warmth in his eyes. “Don’t misunderstand. I merely wish to confirm whether this newly acquired ‘power’ of yours is truly sufficient, as Mo Chen hoped, to bear the weight of ‘reversing fate.’” He raised his right hand, pointing casually at Lin Yi with his index finger. There was no sound of wind, no violent fluctuations of light or shadow. Only a thumb-thick beam of pure silver runes compressed into light silently tore through the viscous air, shooting toward Lin Yi’s left shoulder. Where it passed, even light seemed frozen and absorbed, leaving behind a brief, deeper trace of darkness. Fast. And cruel in its precision—aimed directly at the node where Lin Yi’s old injury was unhealed and his spiritual power circulation was most sluggish. Lin Yi’s muscles screamed. His physical condition simply didn’t allow for a perfect evasion. He could only violently twist his body to the right, pulling his left arm back as much as possible. The beam grazed the outer side of his left arm. There was no burning sensation, only an icy, bone-deep chill that Lin Yi let out a muffled grunt, cold sweat instantly beading on his temples. Staggering half a step, he clenched his right fist. The dark golden flames no longer evenly covered his body surface but were forcibly compressed and concentrated onto his knuckles. The glow remained dim, yet became exceptionally solid, as if a small, slowly burning, heavy piece of dark golden amber were cradled on his fist. At that moment, the several silver runic chains hanging from above seemed to receive a command, abruptly tautening. Like living silver serpents, they twisted and attacked him from different angles! The chains sliced through the air, emitting a low, dense, metallic friction-like hum, sealing off all avenues for large-scale evasion. A flash of ruthlessness passed through Lin Yi’s eyes. He did not try to block all the chains, but instead locked his gaze on the three coming head-on. Pulling his right fist back, he poured all his strength—not just the remnant spiritual power, but every ounce of muscular force from his feet rooted in the earth, his waist and abdomen twisting, his shoulders and back pushing—along with the will ignited by the burning flame deep within his Dao heart—all into this single punch. There was no roaring fist wind. Only a condensed, arm-thick pillar of dark golden light shot out from his fist, crashing straight into the thickest silver chain at the center. At the moment of collision, the sound was not the sharp clang of metal striking metal, but a dull, explosive roar like a giant hammer slamming into heavy, wet sand. The dark gold and silver light frantically eroded and annihilated each other. Scattered golden sparks and icy silver light points flew in all directions, landing on the scorched ground with faint sizzling sounds, burning out small pits. The chain at the front, starting from the point of impact, shattered inch by inch! Broken runic fragments fell like lifeless silver butterflies. But Lin Yi was in no better shape. A tremendous recoil force surged fiercely along his arm. His already unsteady lower stance could no longer hold, and he staggered back seven or eight steps, each leaving a deep footprint in the scorched earth. A sweet, metallic taste rose in his throat, which he stubbornly swallowed back down. A tearing pain flared from his old chest wound, and his vision darkened repeatedly. Meanwhile, the other two chains had seized the opening to attack his sides! One swept toward his waist and ribs, the other coiled toward his ankle. Gritting his teeth, Lin Yi forced his left arm up despite the excruciating pain of the ice corrosion. Dark golden flames erupted from his palm, forming an unstable, palm-sized light shield that barely blocked the strike toward his waist and ribs. The shield flickered violently, nearly dispersing. Simultaneously, he stomped his right foot hard on the ground, using the force to spin his body sharply backward and to the left, allowing the chain aiming for his ankle to scrape past the sole of his boot with a grating screech of metal. Lin Yi panted, one knee nearly hitting the ground, using his trembling right hand to brace himself on the earth to avoid collapsing completely. The frost corrosion on his left arm had expanded another ring; the chill was locked in a fierce tug-of-war with the power of the Flame of Defiance within him, bringing extreme pain from the clash of ice and fire. His chest heaved violently, each breath carrying the taste of rust. The dark golden flames on his body flickered unsteadily, clearly having consumed a great deal. But he had blocked it. Using this crude, heavy, newly-born power completely isolated from the outside world, within the Spirit-Severing Array, he had directly shattered one of the rule-binding chains. Xiao Han did not press the attack immediately. He stood in place, quietly watching Lin Yi struggle to regain his footing. His gaze fell on the not-yet-extinguished dark golden embers on Lin Yi’s knuckles, then swept over the stubborn golden halo resisting the silver light’s corrosion on his left arm. An extremely subtle, complex expression flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t admiration, but more like… confirmation. “Interesting,” Xiao Han spoke slowly, breaking the suffocating silence. “The source of power lies not without, but within. Burning will to oppose rules… is this the essence of the ‘Flame of Defiance’?” The jade thumb ring on his left hand rotated slightly faster. “It seems the wager Mo Chen placed has indeed allowed you to touch the ‘threshold’ a little,” Xiao Han’s tone remained calm, even carrying a trace of something akin to pity. “However, Ziyuan, have you ever considered…” He paused. His silver eyes were like two bottomless pools of icy spring water, reflecting Lin Yi’s battered yet stubborn figure. “…the ‘defiance’ you believe in, the ‘injustice “It seems you have indeed adapted to this ‘flame.’” Xiao Han’s voice remained steady and clear, like a mountain stream. “Using your own will as fuel, seeking nothing from the outside. Unique, and also… fragile.” Lin Yi did not respond. His chest heaved, each breath tugging at the sharp pain beneath the seal on his left shoulder. The dark golden flames flickered weakly across his skin, like a candle in the wind. He could feel the nascent power within him being rapidly consumed—the Heaven’s Net Annihilation Array was like an impenetrable wall, blocking all spiritual energy. His “Defiance Flame” could only burn himself. “But do you know?” Xiao Han tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into an extremely faint arc. “No matter how unique the power, if its source is a lie, it will eventually crumble.” His five fingers spread, palm facing upward. The flowing silver light screen at the center of the array suddenly distorted, like water struck by a stone, ripples spreading out in circles. At the center of the ripples, colors began to settle, to coalesce— The red was so thick it seemed to congeal, like coagulated blood, or molten iron. It spread and extended in the air, gradually outlining the form of an ancient scroll. At the edges of the scroll, dark golden runes slowly emerged, each character exuding a cold, heavy pressure. He recognized those runes. They were the oldest secret script of the Lin Family, only the clan head and a few core elders were qualified to study them. Three years ago, he had seen similar handwriting on a tattered scroll in a corner of his father’s study—Lin Zhenyue had hurriedly put that scroll away then, a flash of panic in his eyes that Lin Yi had never seen before. “See clearly.” Xiao Han’s voice came from all directions, gentle, yet piercing his eardrums like an ice spike. “This is the truth behind your clan’s destruction. Not some sect rivalry, not some accidental natural disaster.” The scene of the Lin Family ancestral hall appeared within the blood-colored scroll—candle flames flickered, incense smoke curled from the burner. Lin Zhenyue knelt in the center of the hall, his back straight, but his shoulders trembling slightly. Before him, a humanoid outline composed of pure white light hovered in mid-air. It had no features, no details, only a suffocating, absolute “sense of presence.” Lin Zhenyue bit his fingertip, blood dripping onto the already unfurled contract scroll. The moment the blood touched the paper, it transformed into densely packed runes, spreading wildly. At the same time, a cold and vast will poured directly into Lin Yi’s mind—not through sound, but carved into the depths of his consciousness like a brand— 「Contractor: Thirty-seventh Generation Clan Head of the Lin Family, Lin Zhenyue.」 「Contract Terms: Sacrifice one person with the purest ‘Defiance Bloodline’ within the clan, and thirty-seven collateral bloodline members, offering their spiritual roots, flesh, blood, and souls as tribute to appease Heaven’s Dao’s wrath towards the Lin Family’s ‘Defiance’ bloodline.」 「Cost: The Lin Family’s core bloodline may continue for one hundred years. The contractor gains Heaven’s Dao’s recognition, cultivation may break through constraints, advancing into the ‘Rule Realm.’」 「Duration: From the contract’s activation, until the tributes are completely extinguished, or the hundred-year period expires.」 「Witness and Executor: Heaven’s Dao Emissary·Xiao Han.」 In the vision, the face of a young Lin Yi flashed by. It was his seven-year-old self, wearing brand-new training clothes, standing before the Spirit Measuring Stele. The moment his palm touched it, the stele’s inscription erupted with blinding golden light—Innate Full Spiritual Root. Around him were the clan members’ frenzied cheers. His father stood on a high platform, looking at him from afar, a gratified smile on his face. Back then, Lin Yi could not see that deep within that smile was a trace of relief, of release. “See clearly?” Xiao Han’s voice sounded again, this time close at hand. He had walked out from the array’s core and stopped three zhang away from Lin Yi, his silver robe spotless. “The family conspiracy, the infighting among clansmen you thought existed—its root is here. Your father, Lin Zhenyue, was the… first hand that pushed you into the abyss.” His throat felt blocked. His heart slammed wildly in his chest, each beat a dull ache. Blood rushed to his head, a sharp buzzing ringing in his ears. The blood-colored scroll in his vision began to twist, to spin. The scene "And all the pain, struggle, and resentment you've endured these three years, your so-called 'defying fate,' the 'fire' you've condensed... are all built upon this lie. Your path, erected upon such shifting sands. Is it not laughable?" Lin Yi finally forced out two words. His voice was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own, each syllable trembling. He clenched his fists. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, warm liquid seeping out, dripping between his fingers. But this pain was utterly insignificant compared to the roaring in his head, the suffocating pressure in his chest. Three years ago, when the "Heavenly Punishment" descended, that piercing white light tore through the sky, striking him with pinpoint accuracy. Amidst the excruciating pain of his spiritual roots shattering, the last image he saw was his father suddenly standing up on the viewing platform—not in horror, not in anger, but with a kind of... weary exhaustion, as if something had been completed. So that "Heavenly Punishment" was never an accident. It was part of the contract. A sacrificial rite. He had been abandoned by his family, personally sent to the altar by his father, in exchange for the Lin family's "century of stability," and for Lin Zhenyue's chance to break through to the "Rule Realm." And all those days and nights he spent in the Cold Pond at the back of the mountain these three years, the bone-eroding chill, the humiliation of being spurned by his own clan, the nights spent desperately asking "why" over and over again in despair... All became the most insignificant garnish in this transaction. A suppressed, low roar burst from the depths of his throat. The dark golden flames completely lost control, erupting from Lin Yi's body, transforming into a chaotic mass of light and fire. The flames scorched the air, sizzling, yet they could not dispel the viscous, deathly stillness within the formation. His eyes turned red, not with anger, but with something deeper—the emptiness after the collapse of faith, the absurdity of betrayal by one's closest kin. All the meaning that had supported him until this moment shattered into dust. Xiao Han said nothing more. He just stood there, like a cold statue, observing Lin Yi's collapse. The jade thumb ring on his left hand spun even faster, its smooth surface reflecting the intertwined light of the blood-colored scroll and the chaotic flames. Lin Yi touched a knee to the ground, his right hand propped against the earth, fingers clawing into the scorched black soil. His body trembled, every muscle screaming. The flickering frequency of the dark golden flames grew faster and faster, like the heartbeat of a dying struggle. The seal on his left shoulder completely ruptured, ashen-white Rule power crept like vines over half his body, wherever it passed, frost formed on his skin, sensation lost. Maybe it's better to end like this. He thought vaguely. Defy what heaven? Change what fate? If even his own father could sell him out for the "greater good," what "justice" was there left in this world? Brother Shi Meng, Miss Yun, Wanqing... What they risked their lives for was nothing but a joke. A joke built on lies, destined to collapse sooner or later. Darkness pressed down like a physical entity, heavy, icy, carrying a suffocating temptation—give up, sink down, never have to suffer or struggle again. Just as his consciousness was about to be swallowed— Within the chaotic core of the flames inside him, three faint points of light simultaneously ignited. Not blindingly bright, but gentle, tranquil warm hues. One crimson red, one azure blue, one moon-white. They were like three tiny stars, shining steadily at the center of the storm. A savage, unreasonable sense of fierce courage crashed into his consciousness. No words, just a feeling, weighty as a mountain. It was Shi Meng. A faint scent of sandalwood, mixed with a trace of the bitter char of tobacco, and that ever-languid, aloof, yet utterly dependable-in-a-crisis complex quality. It was Yun Zhi. Her "light" was quiet, like a candle flame in the deep night, not dazzling, but capable of dispelling the deepest darkness. No sound, no scent, only a gaze. Warm, clear, carrying unwavering trust. That gaze traversed time and life-and-death, landing upon him, simple and direct—I believe in you. It was Su Wanqing. They did not try to suppress the chaos, did not forcibly infuse power. They were simply there, quietly shining, like three anchors, firmly pinning the consciousness about to be swallowed by darkness right in place. Lin Yi's violently heaving chest gradually calmed. He opened his eyes. The redness faded from them, replaced by a deep, almost sorrowful calm. Propping Xiao Han’s habitual motion of rotating the jade thumb ring came to a halt for the first time. “My path,” Lin Yi raised his hand, palm upward, the cluster of dark golden flame burning quietly in its center, “is to carry their light and keep moving forward. What I rebel against was never a specific person, nor some vague, intangible ‘Heaven’.” The flame flickered in his palm, its halo spreading, staining the surrounding cold silver runes with a layer of warmth. “What I rebel against is that icy rule of ‘the individual deserves to be sacrificed for the greater whole.’ Whether it calls itself ‘Heaven’s Way’ or ‘Lin Zhenyue’s covenant.’” Lin Yi’s gaze passed through the flame and settled on Xiao Han’s face. “My father chose submission and transaction. He signed that blood pact, trading the lives of some clansmen for the stability and power he desired.” He slowly closed his five fingers, clutching the flame within his palm. “And I, choose not to acknowledge this debt.” As the words fell, the entire Heaven’s Net Absolute Formation emitted a faint, unstable hum for the first time. Lin Yi moved. Not charging toward Xiao Han, but taking a heavy step forward, stamping down on a flowing node of the formation. Dark golden flame erupted from under his foot, spreading in a circular wave. Where the flames passed, the intricate silver runes on the ground sizzled like snow splashed with boiling oil, their light rapidly dimming and warping. Xiao Han’s eyes sharpened. He raised his right hand. Above the formation, countless silver points of light gathered, condensing into a spear composed purely of the power of rules. Its tip aimed at Lin Yi, locked on, then shot forth silently. Fast. Faster than the eye could follow. Lin Yi did not dodge. Nor could he. He simply opened his right hand, which had been clenched in a fist, toward the direction of the oncoming silver spear. At the instant of collision between dark gold and silver-white, there was no sound. Or rather, sound was devoured by something more fundamental. At the boundary where the two forces met, space twisted, folded, and tore like crumpled paper. Not an explosion, but annihilation. The dark golden light domain and the silver spear tip mutually eroded, emitting a teeth-grating, sizzling sound akin to metal slowly dissolving. Lin Yi’s entire right arm instantly tensed, fine droplets of blood bursting from the surface of his skin, only to evaporate into a bloody mist from the intense heat of the dark golden flame. Yet he stood firm. No—his entire body was burning. Dark golden flame gushed from every pore, no longer for defense or attack, but as a sacrifice—using himself as kindling to ignite this clash of ideals. A torrent of magma-like agony surged through his meridians, but he did not feel it. His consciousness was drawn out, suspended at the center of the light domain, overlapping with the faint silhouettes of three figures behind him. He saw Shi Meng’s fist smash into the silver light screen, each blow carrying earth-splitting, rock-cracking brutality, forcibly cracking the chains of rules. He saw Yun Zhi’s fingertips lightly trace in the void, sandalwood smoke transforming into intangible threads, entangling, permeating, attempting to unravel the connective logic between the formation’s runes. He saw Su Wanqing standing quietly, hands clasped together, her clear gaze like a mirror, reflecting the cold, inhuman essence deep within the silver light. They were the imprints of will left within his “Fate-Defying Flame,” now fully activated, fighting alongside him. Xiao Han’s silver light spear pierced through the outer layer of the dark golden light domain. The power of rules brought not sharpness, but “solidification.” Where the spear tip passed, the dark golden flames froze like amber, solidified, lost vitality, then shattered into cold powder. This was an erasure on a conceptual level—re-subsuming the “anomalous” into “order,” nailing “possibility” to the specimen rack of the “predetermined.” Lin Yi’s knee buckled slightly, then immediately straightened. The gravel beneath his feet turned to dust under the crushing force of the rules. Dark golden flame frantically gathered before his chest, no longer a shield of defense, but… the shape of a hand. A hand formed of flame, with distinct knuckles, palm upturned and open. This flame hand abruptly clenched, seizing the silver spear tip that had almost reached his chest! A piercing shriek finally erupted. Dark golden flame and silver rules clashed wildly, the contact surface bursting with blinding white light, illuminating the entire interior of the formation in stark pallor. Lin Yi’s arm trembled violently, the blood vessels beneath his skin bulging as if about to burst the next moment Xiao Han's pupils contracted slightly. He sensed an unfamiliar force seeping in—not destruction, not confrontation, but... "rewriting." Where the dark golden flames passed, the silver rule force was not shattered but "dyed," forcibly injected with a certain "impurity": a heavy, warm weight belonging to "individual choice." The operation of the Celestial Web Absolute Formation showed a noticeable delay. Those precisely interlocking silver runes began to flicker discordantly. At the formation's edge, several chains silently snapped and scattered into points of light. "Absurd," Xiao Han whispered, his tone carrying a trace of icy anger for the first time. He flicked his wrist. A more vast surge of rule force poured from the formation's core, channeling along the spear shaft. The silver light flared brilliantly, instantly pushing back the encroaching dark golden flames by half a foot. Lin Yi grunted, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth, but the hand gripping the spear did not loosen; instead, it clenched tighter. "See," he laughed through blood, the smile twisted yet bright, "your order... cannot tolerate even a speck of 'impurity.'" The three faint silhouettes behind him simultaneously took a step forward. The dark golden flames erupted violently. No sooner had the words fallen than the three silhouettes behind him moved. Shi Meng's silhouette stepped forward, its illusory fist smashing against the side of the silver light spear. There was no physical impact sound, but the spear shaft trembled violently, the pattern of rules on its surface briefly thrown into disarray. Yun Zhi's silhouette pressed its hands forward, sandalwood smoke transforming into countless fine threads that wormed into the gaps of those disordered patterns, replicating and spreading like a virus. Su Wanqing's silhouette raised a hand, palm aimed at Xiao Han, her gaze clear and firm—no attack, only "reflection." Reflecting the flicker of hesitation deep in Xiao Han's eyes—a hesitation even he himself had not noticed. And something deeper—the orphan who had witnessed his sect flattened by "Heaven's Punishment" as a child, surviving alone in the ruins, and his twisted longing for "safety." Xiao Han's breathing faltered imperceptibly. All the remaining dark golden flames within him—along with the points of light formed by the three will imprints—were detonated by him without reservation. Not an outward explosion, but an inward collapse, collapsing onto the single point where he made contact with the silver light spear. This time, there was a real sound. An ear-splitting explosion swept across the summit of the Heavenly Path. Debris from the ruins was lifted by the shockwave, only to be ground into finer dust mid-air by the two opposing forces. The dark gold and silver-white lights completely mingled and intertwined, like two paints of different colors splashed together roughly, swirling, tearing, devouring each other. It was not broken; it disintegrated from the level of rules, scattering into countless fine silver shards. Xiao Han drifted back three steps, the hem of his robe scorched black by the dark golden flames. He looked down at his left hand—the jade thumb ring on his thumb now bore a fine crack. At the center of the formation, Lin Yi knelt on one knee, his right hand braced against the ground, breathing heavily. The dark golden flames had dimmed to near invisibility, leaving only faint dark golden patterns flowing beneath his skin. The three silhouettes behind him had grown so faint they were almost transparent, as if they might dissipate the next moment. The silver light curtain was covered in a spiderweb of cracks. The flow of runes had slowed to an extreme, intermittent, like an old machine emitting its final lament. The formation's lockdown over this space was failing. The thin spiritual energy from outside began to seep in, strand by strand. "You have proven," he said, his voice still clear and even, yet lacking that absolute composure, "your 'flame' can indeed burn a hole in the barrier of order." Lin Yi lifted his head, sweat mingled with blood sliding from his temple. "But a hole," Xiao Han continued, his left thumb unconsciously rubbing the cracked jade thumb ring, "can be mended." The shattered silver shards of the Celestial Web Absolute Formation seemed summoned, gathering from all directions to coalesce once more above his palm. But this time, they did not form a light spear, but rather... a constantly rotating, complex three-dimensional runic array. At the array's core, a point of deep, grayish-white light slowly brightened. The moment that light appeared, the reopened seal wound on Lin Yi's left shoulder suddenly erupted with tearing agony. It was a more fundamental "rejection"—as if the dark golden flame within him and that point of gray-white light were mortal enemies from birth. "A fragment of the Rule Core," Xiao “Your ‘Fate-Reversing Flame’ is quite fascinating. It carries will, interferes with rules, and can even distort the operation of order for a short time.” The gray-white point of light in his palm abruptly brightened. The remnants of the silver light from the entire Sky Net Extinction Array seemed to converge toward that point as if in pilgrimage. The cracks on the array’s light curtain began to mend at a visible pace, the flow of runes became smooth and precise once more, even more… severe than before. An invisible pressure weighed down heavily. Lin Yi felt that the faint dark golden flame within him was being “squeezed.” Not suppressed on the level of power, but “negated” on a conceptual level. The will emanating from that gray-white point of light was simple: within this domain, only one order was permitted. “It does not recognize ‘impurities.’” Xiao Han’s voice held no discernible emotion. “Your flame, your will, those shadows behind you that should not exist… all are ‘impurities’ that need to be purified.” The gray-white light slowly rose, hovering at the center of the array’s dome. The dark golden luminous domain rotated, expanding slowly yet resolutely. Lin Yi could feel that each expansion was like pushing against an invisible wall. The wall was cold, smooth, rejecting any warmth or change. It was the core rule of the Sky Net Extinction Array, the “proper order” spoken of by Xiao Han. The searing pain within him reached its peak, as if every meridian was burning, his bones groaning under unbearable strain. He could hardly hear his own heartbeat, the sound of blood flow vanished. Only that heavy warmth, continuously pouring from the core of the luminous domain, kept him from collapsing. Within the luminous domain, the silhouettes of Shi Meng, Yun Zhi, and Su Wanqing were faint as vapor, yet exceptionally clear. Shi Meng stood slightly ahead to his left, back slightly hunched, fists loosely clenched, maintaining the posture of his final moment before death, ready to fight. Yun Zhi was behind him to the right, her long hair stirring slightly without wind, her fingertips seemingly still lingering with that unique, soothing trace of sandalwood. Su Wanqing was closest to him, just slightly behind at his side, standing quietly, her gaze resting on his back—a memory of the silent gaze she had given him in his most wretched moment. This was weight. It was an entrustment. It was a “choice” that could not be easily erased by “the greater good.” Xiao Han stood amidst the torrent of silver runes, his figure illuminated by the light of the rules until it was almost transparent. The jade thumb ring on his left hand stopped turning, clenched tightly. On that eternally gentle and composed face, a crack appeared for the first time—not anger, not fear, but a kind of… stagnation after having his rhythm disrupted, and deeper still, a gaze of near bewilderment. He looked at the slowly rotating dark golden luminous domain, at the three silhouettes within it that should not exist. “Is this your final answer?” Xiao Han’s voice remained clear, but the composure beneath it had faded, revealing a cold metallic quality. “Materializing the remnants of the deceased as a shield against the rules? Lin Yi, you are more… naive than I imagined.” “This is not a shield.” Lin Yi spoke, his voice not loud, yet strangely piercing through the thick, dead silence within the array, reaching Xiao Han’s ears clearly. “This is proof.” He raised his hand, pointing at Xiao Han, and also at the vast, precise, yet cold and ruthless silver rune system behind him. “Proof that ‘sacrificing the individual for the greater good’ is not the only path. Proof that ‘order’ need not be built upon fear and erasure.” At Lin Yi’s fingertip, a dark golden flame burned quietly, without fierce heat, yet carrying a warmth that could settle deep into the soul. “Xiao Han, look closely. Brother Shi Meng chose to take that blow for me, not because he recognized that ‘the greater good requires sacrifice,’ but because he believed in me as a person, believed my ‘choice’ was worth his own ‘choice.’ Lady Yun burned her soul to weave the illusion, not to uphold some cold system of rules, but to create an opportunity for a ‘variable.’ Wanqing…” He paused. The intense pain in his left shoulder and the burning emptiness within him struck simultaneously, darkening his vision for an instant. But he steadied himself, his voice growing deeper, yet clearer. “Wanqing, until the very end, chose ‘belief,’ not ‘resignation.’” Lin Yi looked at Xiao Han, his gaze without the arrogance of a victor, only a calmness that bordered on compassion. “Your ‘order’ demands that individuals sacrifice for the whole,