The force on his back was strange. It wasn’t heavy, yet it carried an undeniable, resolute quality. Lin Yi only felt his body lighten before he was sent tumbling toward that distorted play of light and shadow. The world spun. The last things he saw were the faded gray back of Mo Chen’s robe and the fleeting look of shock and anger on Xuan Yin Zhenren’s face. The dull, heavy sound of the stone door closing chased him, crashing into his ears—followed by absolute silence. *Thud.* His body landed on something smooth and hard, a dull ache radiating from deep within his bones. He curled up, coughing twice, his throat filled with the taste of dust and blood. Struggling, he pushed himself up. Before his eyes flowed light. Not fire, not water. It was something… alive. Dark gold, rusty red, deep blue—like overturned paint buckets, or like watching a bonfire through frosted glass, twisting and slowly writhing. They formed walls, a vaulted ceiling, a floor, with no clear boundaries, just constantly shifting, nebulous halos of light. The air held a scent, faint, like old books pressed at the bottom of a chest for decades, mixed with the metallic tang of rust. A sharp ringing screamed in his ears. Lin Yi braced his hands on his knees and stood up. The searing pain in his left arm remained, but compared to the agony in the tunnel moments ago, it was almost mild. He looked around. There was nothing. Only himself. “Master…” His voice circled in the enclosed space before bouncing back to his own ears. Hollow, echoing. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His fingertips unconsciously tapped against the outside of his thigh. Once, twice, thrice. Mo Chen had pushed him in here. Why? To save him? Or… for some other reason? He remembered the old mute’s gaze. No warmth, only a scrutiny that bordered on cruelty. His stomach twisted into knots. He took two steps forward. The feeling underfoot was cold and smooth, like polished obsidian, yet with a strange, unsettling softness, as if stepping on the skin of some enormous beast. The light-walls rippled slightly as he approached, like disturbed water. He reached out his hand. The moment his fingertip touched the halo of light, a chill crawled up his skin. Not a cold chill, but a sense of nothingness. As if there was nothing there at all, just an emptiness disguised as light… a void. He pulled his hand back. Just then, the surrounding light and shadows began to flow faster. Colors gathered, stretched, and recombined. A blinding white light exploded. Lin Yi instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them again— He was standing on the bluestone platform of the Lin Family’s training grounds. The afternoon sun stabbed at his eyes. The air carried the familiar smell of mingled sweat and dust. Below the platform was a sea of dark, shadowy figures, whispering, their gazes complex. He looked down and saw himself wearing that moon-white training uniform from three years ago, its cuffs embroidered with silver cloud patterns, glaringly new. Opposite him, his cousin Lin Feng stood with arms crossed, a familiar, condescending sneer on his lips. “Zi Yuan,” Lin Feng’s voice rang out, identical to his memory, “accept your fate. Some things aren’t yours to have. Forcing it is pointless.” His dantian convulsed violently. Agony exploded without warning. Not a memory, but real, tearing pain that burned its way up along the shattered pathways of his spiritual roots. Lin Yi grunted, his knees buckling, nearly sending him to the ground. He clenched his teeth, nails digging viciously into his palms. A sharp pain came. His palms were pierced, a faint scent of blood reaching his nostrils. *An illusion. This is an illusion.* He raised his head, his gaze passing over Lin Feng to the high platform. His father, Lin Zhenyue, sat there, clad in the black robes of the family head, his face stern, his eyes… empty. It wasn’t the look a father gives a son; it was the appraisal of a flawed object, weighing whether to discard it. The “Lin Zhenyue” of the illusion spoke, his voice seeming to come from a great distance, echoing: “Accept your fate, Zi Yuan.” Each word was like an ice spike, driving into his ears. “This is your destiny.” Lin Yi’s fists clenched tighter. His nails dug deeper into flesh, the real pain anchoring him, preventing him from being swallowed by this vivid despair. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, like a trapped beast. “Destiny?” he rasped, his voice terribly dry, “ "If the Heavenly Dao is unjust," Lin Yi spoke each word slowly, forcing them out from between clenched teeth, flecked with bloody foam, "and the family is a prison..." He lifted his eyes, fixed on that illusion, on that false sky. "This fate, I will defy it for you to see!" The moment his words fell, the training ground scene began to shatter. Like a mirror struck by a heavy hammer, the bluestone slabs, the crowd, the high platform, the sunlight—everything disintegrated into countless points of light. The points of light swirled, reassembled, but did not coalesce into a concrete scene again. They transformed into three blurred humanoid silhouettes, slowly advancing towards him from three directions. The first silhouette vaguely resembled Lin Feng, emanating a nauseating malice that trampled upon the dignity of others. The second silhouette was entwined by countless translucent, faintly glowing chains. The chains clinked against each other, emitting a soft yet heart-stirring *clack*, representing some kind of unquestionable "order." The third silhouette... Lin Yi's pupils contracted slightly. That silhouette was fainter, more blurred, yet carried a strange sense of familiarity. Wide sleeves, slightly hunched shoulders and back. Mo Chen. What did it represent? Fear? Restraint? Or... protection? No time to ponder. The three heart demon reflections moved simultaneously. The Lin Feng reflection reached him first, with no fancy moves—just a straight punch aimed at his chest. The fist wind carried that familiar arrogance, the kind that sought to grind someone into the mud. Lin Yi sidestepped to avoid it. The black-red patterns on his mutated left arm lit up in response, the burning pain intensifying. He struck back with a palm towards the opponent's ribs, but the sensation was like hitting tough leather, sending a numbing shock up his own arm. Almost simultaneously, the rule-chains shot out from the Heavenly Dao reflection, silent but swift as lightning. Lin Yi only had time to shift half his body to the side. One chain grazed his left shoulder. *Hum—* The flow of spiritual power instantly became sluggish. It was as if cold iron sand had been poured into his meridians, every movement bringing a tearing resistance. His actions slowed by half a beat. The Lin Feng reflection's fist arrived. *Thud!* A clear pain shot through his ribs. Lin Yi staggered back, a sweet taste rising in his throat. He let out a low roar—not a cry of pain, but more like the howl of a beast driven to the brink. The burning sensation in his left arm had turned into actual flames, burning along the patterns deep into his bones. He stared at the rule-chains coiling towards him again, his eyes bloodshot. *Damn it.* He stopped evading. Instead, he extended his left hand towards the oncoming chains. Not to grab them, but with fingers curled into a loose fist, he gave a fierce, virtual "yank" at that cold chain representing "confinement." An indescribable feeling. It wasn't muscle exertion, nor was it driven by spiritual power. It was more like using his consciousness, using that unreasonable force born from despair and rage, to "seize." To seize the "meaning" of this chain's existence, to seize the rule of its "confinement." His left arm erupted with a tearing pain ten times more intense than before. The patterns beneath his skin seemed to come alive, writhing madly, the dark golden light surging violently. He could "feel" it—something, some invisible "thread" that maintained the chain's effect—was forcibly snapped by him for an instant. *Clatter.* The chain wrapped around his shoulder suddenly turned illusory, then shattered inch by inch, dispersing into points of light. The feeling of confinement vanished. Seizing the opportunity, Lin Yi rolled away, breaking out of the encirclement, and knelt on one knee, panting heavily. From his shoulder to his fingertips, every inch of skin on his left arm felt as if it had been branded by a red-hot iron. The excruciating pain was accompanied by a strange, fleeting clarity. He had "understood" the composition of that chain, even if only in fragmented glimpses. But the cost was enormous. He looked down and saw the sleeve of his left arm had turned to ashes. On his skin, the black-red patterns that had originally only spread along his forearm were now visibly climbing upward at a rapid pace. They had crossed the elbow joint, encroaching towards his shoulder and chest. Beneath his skin, it felt as if molten lava was slowly flowing, bringing destructive power along with destructive pain. The other two reflections gave him no chance to catch his breath. The Mo Chen silhouette reflection moved the slowest, but was the most bizarre. It did not attack directly. Instead, it lifted its withered hand and made Master is afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid that he would master this power? Afraid that he would walk this path of opposing the Heavenly Dao? Or afraid... that he would ultimately end up like Mo Chen's former sect, utterly annihilated? This thought was like ice water, dousing his burning left arm, stirring an even more bone-chilling cold. "The chains... are 'Order'..." Lin Yi gasped, staring at the Heavenly Dao mirror-image attacking again. The pain in his left arm made his thoughts exceptionally clear. "Break for me!" He raised his hand once more. This time, his target was more precise. Not the chains themselves, but the "unquestionable" will behind them. His five fingers clenched viciously. An even more intense tearing sensation. The patterns on his left arm suddenly flared to a blinding brightness. Several tiny cracks even split open on the skin's surface, oozing dark red, nearly congealed beads of blood. But simultaneously, all the chains entwined around the Heavenly Dao mirror-image shuddered in unison, emitting groans of unbearable strain, then snapped apart all at once! The mirror-image's movements froze, its outline becoming illusory and unstable. Lin Yi did not stop. He whirled sharply toward Lin Feng's mirror-image. The moment its fist came smashing toward him again, he did not dodge or evade. His left arm shot straight forward to meet it, five fingers splayed open, aimed directly at that nauseating wave of "arrogance" rushing toward his face. "Your 'pride'..." he rasped, the patterns on his left arm flickering madly, as if greedily devouring something, "...I'll take it!" At the moment of contact, there was no thunderous crash. Lin Feng's mirror-image's movement abruptly halted. The condescending sneer on its face slowly solidified, faded, and finally became a hollow, vacant blankness. As if some core supporting its existence had been forcibly ripped away. The mirror-image swayed, then silently dispersed into points of light. Only the mirror-image with Mo Chen's outline remained. It still stood there, hand raised. The intangible pressure persisted, but seemed somewhat diminished. From the blurred location of its "eyes," it seemed to be quietly watching Lin Yi, watching that left arm covered in ferocious patterns, continuously mutating. Lin Yi gasped for breath, sweat mingling with blood trickling from his temple into his eyes, stinging. He swayed unsteadily, straightening up to face the final mirror-image. "Master..." his voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "...what exactly... are you afraid of?" The mirror-image did not answer. It merely slowly lowered its hand, and that intangible pressure vanished with it. Then, it took a step forward. No attack. It simply raised its hand, its withered, skeletal finger pointing toward Lin Yi's mutated left arm. The movement was slow, even carrying a trace of... indescribable heaviness. Then, the mirror-image also dispersed. Transforming into specks of faint light, merging into the flowing colors surrounding them. The battle was over. Lin Yi could hold on no longer, his knee crashing heavily to the ground. A sweet, metallic taste rose in his throat. He turned his head to the side and "vomited" a mouthful of dark red blood. The burning pain in his left arm reached its peak. The patterns had already spread across his entire arm, and had crossed his shoulder, creeping toward the left side of his chest. He could feel that violent power surging beneath his skin, and could also feel that power gradually altering certain parts of his body. Excruciating pain intertwined with a strange, heart-palpitating sense of immense strength, threatening to tear him apart. He hung his head, sweat dripping onto the smooth, cold floor, spreading into a small, dark stain. A long time passed. Or perhaps only an instant. At the center of the trial space, the flowing lights and colors suddenly calmed, converging toward the middle. A cluster of gentle yet unfathomably profound light emerged, quietly suspended there as if it had existed since time immemorial. A voice sounded directly in his mind. Not through his ears, but imprinted directly onto his consciousness. Ancient, desolate, devoid of any emotion. *The power to defy fate, to seize Heaven's secrets, to alter the ordained course.* Each word was like a heavy stone tablet, crashing into his soul. *Gain it, and become the enemy of the Heavenly Dao, ten thousand calamities upon your person.* *Lose it, and be lost among the masses, imprisoned within the track of fate.* The voice paused, as if waiting, or perhaps merely stating a fact. *You... for what do you seek?* Lin Yi slowly raised his head. He looked at his left arm, covered in dark golden patterns, Or perhaps, what he truly could not bear was the kind of fate that was prearranged, predestined, where even struggling was seen as “defying heaven”... He opened his mouth, his voice dry, hoarse, yet exceptionally clear: “I do not seek revenge, nor do I seek to prove anything.” He paused, his gaze falling upon that deep, abyssal light, yet seeming to pierce through it, looking toward some place more distant, more void. “I only want... to walk my own path.” The moment these words were spoken, the burning, agonizing pain in his left arm strangely subsided for an instant. Not disappearing, but settling down, transforming into a heavy, restrained sense of substance, sinking deep into the muscles and bones. “Even if,” he added, a trace of weariness in his voice, but no longer any confusion, “it means becoming an enemy of all calamities.” The light moved. It drifted over slowly, not fast, yet carrying an air of irresistible force. Lin Yi did not dodge, merely watched it quietly. The light touched his chest. There was no physical sensation, but a strange torrent, interwoven with cold and searing heat, violently rushed into his body! It felt as if his soul was seized by an invisible hand, then brutally branded with a mark. “Ugh—!” He couldn’t suppress a short cry of pain, his body trembling violently. His vision darkened; countless fragmented, incomprehensible images and shards of information flashed wildly in his mind before vanishing. The patterns on his left arm blazed with light, then abruptly turned inward, falling utterly silent. On the skin’s surface, those ferocious protrusions and bloody hues faded significantly, transforming into a deeper, dark golden pattern that seemed engraved beneath the flesh, slowly flowing like breathing. The ancient voice sounded again, this time carrying a trace of something imperceptible... a sense of finality. *«The path is chosen. The mark is sealed.»* *«Henceforth, you are the ‘Defier of Fate,’ watched by Heaven’s Dao, calamity and fortune follow you.»* *«Trial passed. Grant you the ‘Primal Theft Authority’—the ability to briefly ‘steal’ and comprehend the surface-level ‘rules’ or ‘state’ of a single target.»* *«Use it well. Use it with caution.»* The voice vanished. The light also completely sank into his body, disappearing without a trace. Lin Yi knelt in place, head bowed, only his violently heaving chest showing he was still alive. After a long while, he slowly raised his right hand and pressed it against his left chest. There, beneath the skin, besides the beating of his heart, it seemed there was something else. A cold, intangible “point,” like a nail that could never be removed, driven deep into his soul. *Watched by Heaven’s Dao.* Slowly, with extreme difficulty, he used his left arm, now covered in new patterns, to brace against the ground, trying to stand up. His muscles groaned, his bones felt as if they had fallen apart, and the “mark” on his soul emitted a continuous, subtle sense of pressure, as if, somewhere in the unseen, a truly supreme existence had, at this moment, cast its gaze upon him. Cold, indifferent, carrying the meaning of judgment. But he still stood up. Wavering, yet he straightened his body. He looked around. The flowing light walls began to thin and turn transparent, faintly revealing the blurred outlines of the scenery outside—seemingly the rock walls of the ruin passage. The trial space was disintegrating. Had he succeeded? Or... was this just the beginning? His left arm conveyed a heavy sense of power, forming a stark contrast with the cold mark on his soul. *Primal Theft Authority...* He vaguely understood the meaning of this ability, and vaguely sensed the price required to use it—far more than just the mutation of his left arm. And Master... When Mo Chen pushed him in here, did he know Lin Yi had to undergo this, or... did he have other plans? What did that final gesture of the mirror image pointing at his arm mean? The light walls grew fainter. Sounds from outside vaguely reached him—the fierce clash of spiritual power, and the cold, authoritative roar of Master Xuan Yin. The battle was not over. Or perhaps, because time had flowed differently here, the battle outside might be at its most critical moment. Lin Yi took a deep breath, suppressing the bloody taste surging in his throat. Dragging his utterly exhausted body—now possessing a new and dangerous core—he took his first step toward the direction where the light wall was weakest. His own path. He was coming. And at the end of the path were endless calamities, waiting for him long ago. The instant Lin Feng’s mirror image completely He knelt on one knee, sweat dripping along his jawline. The ground was cold and smooth, reflecting his wretched figure at this moment: hair soaked with sweat plastered to his forehead, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, the sleeve of his left arm long since shattered in battle, the exposed skin crawling with dark golden patterns, visibly spreading toward his chest. Pain. Pain that pierced to the bone. But within this excruciating pain, a heavy, almost tangible sense of power was rising from the depths of his altered flesh and blood. No longer the uncontrollable impulse to steal from before, it was more like… some kind of tamed beast, lurking in a cage, awaiting command. He raised his head, panting. The trial space had not returned to its original state. All around was pure, bottomless darkness, only the patch of ground where he knelt emitting a faint gray-white light. Absolute silence pressed down, even the sound of his heartbeat vanished. Then, the darkness began to coalesce. Three blurry figures materialized from the void, their outlines deepening from faint to solid. The one on the left, tall and arrogant in stature, surrounded by thorn-like dark red patterns—Lin Feng’s mirror image, representing the internal strife and trampling of the clan. The one in the middle, shrouded in translucent chains of rules, the chains clashing with cold, rhythmic crisp sounds—the Heavenly Dao mirror image, representing absolute order. The one on the right, thin and hunched, its silhouette resembling Mo Chen, hands held loosely before it—the Master’s Shadow mirror image, representing protective fear and constraint. They gave Lin Yi no time to catch his breath. Lin Feng’s mirror image moved first. It did not run, but strode forward with a trampling gait, the ground trembling slightly with each step. The dark red thorn patterns suddenly flared, an invisible pressure crashing down on Lin Yi like a mountain—not a physical impact, but directly targeting his spirit, seeking to “stamp” him into the dust, crushing his dignity. Lin Yi’s knee buckled violently. His bones groaned under the strain. He clenched his teeth, the dark golden patterns on his left arm lighting up in response, resisting the spiritual trampling. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure of the thorns intensified, like countless needles piercing his sea of consciousness, trying to nail him to the label of “trash.” “Your pride…” Lin Yi rasped, sweat blurring his vision, “I’ll take it.” He did not try to stand and face it head-on. Instead, he raised his left arm, fingers spread, aiming at the brightest cluster of dark red thorns at the center of Lin Feng’s mirror image’s chest. This was not an attacking posture, more like… grabbing. Not grabbing a physical object, but grabbing a certain “concept.” The burning pain in his left arm instantly spiked. It felt as if a red-hot branding iron were being pressed into his marrow. Lin Yi grunted, his vision darkening, but he did not let go. The dark golden patterns flashed wildly, some indescribable “sensation” extending through his fingertips—he had “touched” it. What he touched was not the thorns, but the very rule of “trampling dignity” itself. A cold, arrogant, blood-tinged “existence.” “Break… for me!” His five fingers abruptly clenched. A sharp, clear agony, as if flesh were being torn open, shot through his left arm. Dark golden light erupted from his palm. Simultaneously, the cluster of dark red thorn patterns at the mirror image’s chest suddenly dimmed, as if all its fuel had been drained. The mirror image’s forward charge froze, the thorn patterns covering its body shattering inch by inch, dispersing into drifting black smoke. The mountain-like spiritual pressure vanished. Lin Yi staggered back two steps, his left arm hanging limply, thick, nearly black blood dripping from his fingertips. Every breath tugged at the patterns spreading across his chest, burning like fire. But he had no time to recover. The clashing sound of rule chains was already close at hand. The Heavenly Dao mirror image slid silently to his side, a translucent chain shooting out like a venomous snake, aimed directly at his dantian. No sound of tearing air, no fluctuation of spiritual energy, only an absolute, indisputable “restraining” will. Lin Yi twisted aside in a desperate dodge. The chain grazed past his waist. There was no physical contact, but the meager spiritual energy stored in his dantian instantly stagnated, its circulation sluggish like a frozen river. A dull pain, as if clamped by an iron band, spread through his meridians. A second chain followed closely, targeting his throat. A third, a fourth… countless chains shot from the mirror image’s body, weaving into an inescapable He suddenly stopped evading. He stood in place, allowing several chains to whistle as they coiled around his limbs. The moment the chains touched his skin, that absolute sense of “confinement” surged again, threatening to freeze him completely. Lin Yi closed his eyes. Not in surrender. But to focus all his attention on that heavy, newly-born sense of power deep within his left arm. He no longer tried to “resist” the rules of the chains, but to “understand” them—to use that power to “touch” the core “order” concept of the chains. The burning pain in his left arm turned into a sharp, stabbing ache. It felt as if countless ice needles were piercing his nerves. But amidst this intense pain, a clear “cognition” surfaced in his mind: these chains were not physical entities, but projections of “Heavenly Dao Order” in this place. Their core rule was to “maintain the established trajectory and eliminate all deviations.” Eliminate deviations. Lin Yi’s eyes snapped open. In the instant the chains were about to fully tighten, the dark-gold patterns on his left arm erupted with light once more. This time, the light did not surge outward but contracted inward, condensing in his palm into a swirling vortex of deep gray. He did not try to “grab” the chains. Instead, he gently pressed that vortex in his palm against the chain binding his right wrist. At the moment of contact, time seemed to skip a beat. Then, starting from the point of contact, that translucent chain rapidly lost its color, turning gray-white and brittle. Immediately after, like a sand sculpture scattered by the wind, it silently crumbled into powder, drifting away into the darkness. Not destruction. It was “theft”—briefly “stealing” the rule of “confining the right wrist” carried by this chain from the entire network of order. One instant was enough. The moment his right wrist regained freedom, Lin Yi twisted his body, breaking free from the other chains that had not yet fully tightened. His steps staggered, but his gaze locked onto the chest of the Heavenly Dao Mirror Image—there, at the source of all the chains, was a swirling, pale sphere of light composed of countless tiny runes. “The core…” He wiped the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. “The core of order…” The Heavenly Dao Mirror Image seemed to sense the threat. All the chains abruptly retracted, weaving into an impenetrable shield of rules before the mirror image. Runes flowed across the shield’s surface, emitting an aura of absolute, despairing “inviolability.” Lin Yi smiled. The smile tugged at the patterns spreading across his chest, bringing a fresh wave of burning pain. But he did not stop. He raised his left arm; the glow of the dark-gold patterns had dimmed considerably, and more black blood dripped from his fingertips. Yet the deep-gray vortex in his palm spun faster and faster. “Nothing is absolute,” he whispered, as if telling himself. “Especially… order itself.” He charged forward. Not toward the shield, but toward its left side—where the weave of chains was slightly sparser than elsewhere. As he charged, the deep-gray vortex in his left palm flew out, silently disappearing into that gap. There was no explosion, no flash of light. Only an extremely faint *crack*, like fine porcelain developing a fissure. On the Shield of Rules, starting from that gap, countless intricate gray cracks spread out. Wherever the cracks passed, the runes on the chains rapidly dimmed and disintegrated. Behind the shield, the Heavenly Dao Mirror Image trembled violently, the chains of rules around its body beginning to flail uncontrollably and break. Lin Yi had already closed the distance. The mutated hand of his left arm, fingers curled like claws, plunged fiercely into the pale sphere of light in the mirror image’s chest. “Your order…” He gritted his teeth, feeling the icy, vast torrent of rules within the light sphere washing over his consciousness. The burning pain in his left arm peaked, as if his entire arm were about to be crushed by this torrent. “I see it.” His fingers clenched violently. Not to crush it. But to “grasp” a strand of the rules at the core of the light sphere—the foundational setting regarding “this trial space, independent from the flow of real-world time.” Theft. A deep-gray light erupted from his palm, instantly engulfing the pale sphere. The Heavenly Dao Mirror Image let out an inhuman wail, like the sound of countless rules snapping, and its entire body disintegrated from the inside out into a sky-full of drifting light-dust. Darkness returned to silence. Lin Yi stood where he was, his left arm hanging limply. The dark-gold patterns had now spread to the center of his chest, and the visual of molten rock flowing beneath his skin was In that gaze were scrutiny, concern, profound worry, and a kind of... restrained fear that bordered on terror. The mirror image did not attack. It merely raised its loosely cupped hands and slowly parted them to either side. With the motion, three floating, light-and-shadow-formed images appeared before it. The first: a young Lin Yi, at the family spirit-testing ceremony, a dazzling glow of innate full spiritual roots blossoming from his palm. On the high platform, in his father Lin Zhenyue’s eyes, what flashed past was not joy, but a heavy, almost despairing complexity. In a corner of the scene, a blurry figure shrouded in shadow (the outline resembling Mo Chen) stood quietly, holding a turtle shell in hand, its surface covered in spreading cracks. The second: three years ago, the instant the Heavenly Punishment descended. On the martial arts stage, the youth Lin Yi was engulfed by pale lightning. But as the scene zoomed in, one could see the lightning did not entirely come from the sky—an extremely faint, dark-gold stream of light seeped from a crack somewhere in the ground, silently mingling with the Heavenly Punishment lightning and drilling into Lin Yi’s dantian. Beside that crack, near a half-broken stone stele covered in ancient characters, stood the same blurry shadowed figure. He reached out as if trying to stop something, yet froze mid-air. The third: not long ago, inside the relic passage. Mo Chen stood with his back to Lin Yi, confronting Master Xuan Yin. But from an angle Master Xuan Yin could not see, Mo Chen’s left hand inside his sleeve was swiftly performing calculations, fingertips seeping blood. Before him appeared a line of ancient characters, condensed from bloody light, fleeting and transient: "Rebellious Fate Awakens, Heavenly Dao Watches. Nine Deaths, No Life. A Single Thread Lies in Theft." The three images floated for a moment, then slowly dissipated. The Master Shadow mirror image lowered its hands, silently "gazing" at Lin Yi. Though no sound was made, a thought directly transmitted into Lin Yi’s mind—old, weary, laden with deep guilt and warning: *"Do you see?"* *"These are fragments of the truth."* *"Back then... I deduced that 'the Heavenly Dao is flawed, a great calamity approaches,' and tried to leave a warning. But it drew the Heavenly Punishment, destroyed the sect, shattered my own Dao foundation, and brought a curse upon me, forbidding me from ever revealing heavenly secrets through speech for all eternity."* *"But I saw more... I saw a possibility: the rules of the Heavenly Dao itself are not perfectly just or benevolent. It is like a vast, cold machine, maintaining a set 'order,' erasing all 'variables.' And the 'Power of Rebellious Fate' is an 'error'... accidentally produced as this machine operates."* *"To steal a thread of vitality, to reverse a set destiny—this is the power of an 'error,' and also the only lever that might possibly shake the 'machine.'"* *"I led you onto this path because I saw in you the aptitude to bear this power, the potential to become a 'variable.'"* *"But I am also afraid."* *"Afraid that once you truly step onto this road, you will become the eternal enemy of the Heavenly Dao's rules, calamities and misfortune your constant companions, facing ten thousand deaths with no hope of redemption. Afraid that my intervention will ultimately, like how I caused the deaths of my fellow disciples back then... cause your death."* *"So I hesitate, I conceal, I try in the name of 'protection' to confine you within a relatively 'safe' range."* *"This trial was not set by me. It is an ancient mechanism deep within the relic, activated automatically upon sensing the sprouting of the 'Power of Rebellious Fate.' What it tests is not only your aptitude, but your true heart."* *"Now, you know."* *"You know the nature of this power, know the price of the road ahead, know my cowardice and concealment."* The mirror image’s thought paused for a long time. Finally, that aged voice, with a tremor almost imperceptible, asked the ultimate question: *"So, Lin Yi..."* *"Do you still wish to continue?"* *"Is it for revenge, to prove yourself to your family and those who scorned you? Or is it for something else?"* *"After you have personally seen the source of this power, personally experienced its pain and price, personally glimpsed the fear and unworthiness within me—your guide..."* *"For what do you seek?"* Darkness, soundless. Lin Yi stood on the cold ground, the dark-gold patterns on his Fragments of truth, cold and heavy. Cracks of trust, clear and profound. Many things suddenly came back to him. He remembered the three years in the cold pool, the icy water seeping into his marrow, only his resentment and hatred burning in his heart. He remembered every step he took when he first returned to the path of cultivation, each one feeling as if he were treading on knife blades, the pain so intense he almost gave up. He remembered the first time Mo Chen carved guidance on a stone slab, the faint, unacknowledged sense of reliance he had felt in his heart. He remembered just now, when he was pushed into the light gate with a palm strike, that instant of shock and the chilling cold of betrayal. Revenge? Of course he wanted it. Those cold gazes, those tramplings, those looks that regarded him as trash... he hadn't forgotten a single one. Proving himself? He wanted that too. He wanted everyone to see that he, Lin Yi, was not trash, not a sacrifice to be casually discarded. But... He raised his mutated left hand, slowly clenched his five fingers, then released them. The dark-gold patterns flowed beneath his skin, bringing a sense of power, but also a burning pain. This power, stolen to seize a sliver of life, to reverse a predetermined fate—it was an "error," a "variable," a bug generated by the cold, mechanical operation of the Heavenly Dao's rules. To use it for revenge? To prove himself? Like using a lever that could move the world to smash a few annoying stones. A waste. And... not enough. What he wanted was more than that. "Master," Lin Yi spoke, his voice hoarse from pain and exhaustion, but he spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly. "You asked me what I seek." He paused. The patterns on his left chest burned fiercely with a heartbeat. He took a breath and continued. "Revenge, I've thought about it. Proving myself, I've thought about that too." "But just now... when I was fighting those reflections, I suddenly understood." "Lin Feng's reflection wanted to trample my dignity. The Heavenly Dao's reflection wanted to nail me to death within its order. Your reflection... was afraid, was protecting, but also confining." "They were all telling me the same thing: my life had long been predetermined. The life of a trash, the life of a sacrifice, a life that needed to be 'protected' and not allowed to move recklessly." Lin Yi raised his head, looking directly at the reflection of his master's shadow, at its faceless "face." In the darkness, his eyes were bright, like two sparks refusing to go out. "I don't accept it." "Not that I don't accept the grudges, not that I don't accept those slights—I remember all of those, and I'll settle them one by one in the future." "What I don't accept, is the very concept of 'fate' itself." "By what right is my path to be determined by others? By the family? By the Heavenly Dao? Even... by your fear, Master?" He took a step forward. His left leg felt a bit weak, but he steadied himself. The dark-gold patterns had already spread to below his neck; his skin burned with a stinging pain, but he did not stop. "Three years ago, the Heavenly Punishment shattered my spiritual roots. That was the 'fate' others set for me." "Three years later, I crawled back up, walked here. This is the 'path' I carved for myself." "Even if this path is stolen, an error, one the Heavenly Dao cannot tolerate... even if walking it means calamity follows me everywhere, a death ten thousand times over that I can never atone for..." Lin Yi stopped, standing before the reflection of his master's shadow, less than an arm's length away. He raised his mutated left hand, palm facing upward. The dark-gold patterns converged in his palm, slowly rotating, forming a tiny, deep-gray vortex. "I will still walk it." "Not for revenge, not to prove myself." "I only want..." He paused, his voice soft, yet like nails, each word driven into the darkness: "To walk my own path." "Even if it means becoming the enemy of ten thousand calamities." The moment his words fell, the body of the reflection of his master's shadow trembled slightly. Then, it began to dissipate. Not shatter, but like morning mist meeting sunlight, slowly becoming transparent, thinning. Before disappearing completely, that aged consciousness entered Lin Yi's mind one last time. No warning, no remorse. Only a very soft sigh, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted. And two words: *"...Very well."* The reflection vanished completely. The darkness began to recede. Not reverting to the Dragging his nearly shattered body, step by step, he walked up to the ball of light. He reached out his hand. His mutated left hand, palm facing up, slowly lifted towards that light. The ball of light seemed to sense something, trembling slightly. Then, it slowly descended, like a feather without weight, gently landing in Lin Yi's palm. At the moment of contact— There was no explosion, no impact. Only a warm and vast torrent of "information"