As Yan Jin leapt into the maelstrom, the world around him seemed to blur, spinning into a chaotic swirl of colors and sounds. It was like falling into a tunnel, but the tunnel itself was alive, pulsating with an unnatural energy that wrapped around him like tendrils of light. The walls of the maelstrom shifted continuously, glowing with vibrant, almost hallucinatory hues—pinks, purples, deep blues, and greens. These lights flickered and flashed erratically, creating a disorienting effect as if time itself had become unstuck. Yan Jin felt his body being pulled in every direction at once, gravity no longer a fixed concept but a fluid force, dragging him deeper into the unknown.
The deeper he fell, the more the lights began to blur into one another, becoming less distinct. The kaleidoscope of colors faded into darker, more sinister shades until, suddenly, he was spat out from the maelstrom's grasp and landed on solid ground. The world snapped back into focus.
He was no longer in the arena but in an underground cave. The first thing that hit him was the overwhelming pressure—a crushing weight in the air that made it difficult to breathe, almost as if the very atmosphere was squeezing the life out of him. Yan Jin's senses were heightened, his body tensed as he adjusted to the new environment. The cave was vast and dark, lit only by the eerie glow of veins that ran along the walls. These veins pulsed like the arteries of some great, slumbering beast, each pulse sending a wave of energy through the cavern, making the entire space feel alive—organic.
The veins glowed faintly with a dark red hue, almost like blood, and they throbbed in rhythm with some distant, unseen heartbeat. Yan Jin could feel it in the ground beneath his feet, the vibrations running up through his legs and into his core. The walls of the cave were rough and jagged, but they seemed to shimmer with raw energy, pure blood essence that filled the air like a dense fog. It was suffocating yet invigorating at the same time, a paradox that left his senses reeling.
The cave was a labyrinth, sprawling in every direction with no clear path forward. Tunnels twisted and turned in unpredictable patterns, some large enough to walk through, others barely wide enough to crawl. It was clear that the winners of the Iron Blood Cell Trials would be the ones who could navigate this maze and make it to the exit.
The stakes were higher than simply finding the way out. Participants had a choice to make as soon as they entered the cave. They could choose to stop along the way, meditating and absorbing the powerful blood essence that radiated from the walls. The energy here was potent—enough to boost cultivation significantly in a short amount of time. Those who chose this path could strengthen themselves considerably but risk losing their place in the race. Others, however, would focus solely on the ultimate prize: the celestial red blood cells waiting at the end of the labyrinth. But to chase that prize was to gamble everything—your energy, your life, and the possibility of never emerging from the maze at all.
For those who sought the ultimate reward, hesitation was fatal. The deeper they ventured into the labyrinth, the more treacherous the journey became. Not only did the cave itself shift and change, but the pressure of the blood energy intensified, wearing down the bodies and minds of even the strongest participants. It was a test of will as much as it was a test of skill.
Yan Jin stood still for a moment, his senses absorbing every detail of the cave. The energy here was intoxicating, powerful enough to make him reconsider his priorities. He could feel his bloodline reacting to the essence around him, urging him to stop and cultivate. But he knew better. Yan Jin was not one to be distracted by temporary gains. His goal was the exit—the ultimate prize—and nothing would divert him from that path.
With a deep breath, he tightened his grip on his bamboo stick and began to move forward. The cave seemed to groan around him as he moved, the veins pulsing faster now, as if reacting to his presence.
After walking forward for an hour, Yan Jin began to attune himself to the labyrinth's treacherous layout. With each deliberate tap of his bamboo stick, sound waves echoed off the walls, feeding him information that allowed him to mentally map the surrounding tunnels. The disorienting pressure that permeated the air became a guide for him—subtle increases in that pressure indicated a potential path toward the exit. But the maze was a cruel thing, always shifting, its passages sometimes spiraling off into dead ends or looping back on themselves.
Yet, despite his growing familiarity with the labyrinth, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him.
Something was watching him.
Yan Jin couldn't shake the sensation of being hunted. It was subtle at first, a fleeting unease that had gradually grown into something more pronounced, more dangerous. His heightened senses could pick up no sound, no movement to betray an intruder, yet the weight of an unseen gaze pressed down on him. It was as if he had been marked as prey, stalked by a predator with an ability to evade detection.
He paused, standing perfectly still in the middle of the darkened tunnel. His breathing slowed, his body tense but controlled, every fiber of his being on high alert. He stretched his awareness outward, trying to feel for any irregularity in the flow of energy or sound around him.
The labyrinth throbbed with life force, but there, in the distance, he felt it—an almost imperceptible flicker of killing intent. It was delicate, restrained, like a predator hiding just beyond the edge of a clearing, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Whoever or whatever was following him was skilled at masking their presence, their intentions barely a whisper in the oppressive atmosphere of the cave. But Yan Jin was a hunter by nature, and the faint thread of hostility, however expertly concealed, could not escape his notice.
Suddenly, a shadow darted from above. Yan Jin barely had a moment to register the attack—a humanoid figure with a bird's head, wings flaring from its back, and talon-like claws. Its yellow skin shimmered with a sickly glow as it lunged straight at Yan Jin's throat with deadly precision.
Yan Jin's instincts kicked in immediately. He lowered his head, dodging the strike with millimeter precision, his movements fluid as water. Without missing a beat, he pivoted on his heel, and in a swift, deadly 360-degree spin, he struck with his bamboo stick. The blow landed clean and true, slicing through the birdman's neck like a ceremonial blade to a chicken.
The creature's head flew off, but instead of blood pouring from the severed neck, the entire figure disintegrated into shimmering yellow light. Tiny orbs of energy floated in the air before darting toward Yan Jin. They surged into his body, sending a strange warmth coursing through his veins. For a fleeting second, a memory not his own flashed across his mind—a great bird with enormous wings spread wide, gliding against powerful winds, its golden feathers glowing like the sun. The vision faded just as quickly as it appeared.
Yan Jin's grip tightened on his bamboo stick. Plasma cells. He had heard of such things—remnants of celestial beasts that had been slain in ages past. The resentment lingering in their corpses had manifested into these beings, gaining primitive consciousness. Sometimes, fragments of the celestial beasts' memories were embedded within them, passed on to those who absorbed their energy. That fleeting memory he had glimpsed—it must have belonged to the celestial bird whose remains had become part of this labyrinth.
But more troubling than the appearance of these plasma cells was the realization that they were undetectable. Yan Jin's keen senses hadn't picked up on them at all because they were part of the labyrinth itself, woven into its very fabric. The labyrinth was alive in a sense, and it was now turning its resentment-fueled creatures against the participants.
A frown tugged at his lips. He had underestimated this place.