When Jiang Mo regained consciousness, he found himself in a vast hall filled with mirrors. The floor was made of polished black stone, reflecting the countless images surrounding him. Each mirror showed a different version of himself: glimpses of his past, visions of his triumphs, his defeats, and even versions of him that he had never known.
One mirror, in particular, drew his attention. It reflected a simple life: Jiang Mo as a farmer, tending the land, surrounded by a loving family. No cultivation, no battles. Just peace.
A bitter feeling welled up inside him. Was this what he had sacrificed in his pursuit of power? He stepped closer to the mirror and, without thinking, reached out to touch it.
The mirror shattered into thousands of fragments, each piece floating around him like leaves carried by the wind. Suddenly, the fragments began to spin, forming a vortex. Each shard cut into him, but instead of bleeding, he felt something deeper: forgotten memories resurfacing.
He saw the faces of those he had betrayed to reach the summit. He felt the regrets he had long buried. Each cut was a lesson, each fragment a reminder.
As the whirlwind subsided, Jiang Mo fell to his knees, gasping for air. But something had changed. The weight of his choices remained, but he no longer resisted it. He accepted it.
He realized that the first trial was not about erasing his mistakes but embracing them fully.