The vast plain stretched endlessly, a barren sea of dust and ruin, and before Ling Li, the shadowy figure waited. It loomed in the distance, a silhouette of malice and sorrow. With every step he took, the air seemed to grow thicker, pressing against him like a tangible force. The whispers of the past echoed louder, the voices of those lost long ago, their grief mingling with the wind.
As he neared the figure, the world around him seemed to warp and bend, as if reality itself was shuddering under the weight of something ancient and terrible. The ground beneath his feet shifted, the cracked earth crumbling and reshaping itself. Ling Li could feel the power of the trial thrumming through his veins, the inheritance calling to him, urging him forward.
"You've come far," the voice whispered, but it wasn't the voice of Art this time. It was something deeper, darker. The figure before him began to take shape, a form shrouded in tattered robes, its face obscured by shadows. It stood still, yet its presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, suffocating in its intensity.
Ling Li stopped a few paces away, his heart pounding in his chest. The figure's presence was overwhelming, and yet, he could feel something stirring within him—a warmth, a spark of defiance.
"Who are you?" Ling Li demanded, his voice steady, though his hands trembled slightly. He could feel the power of the trial pressing down on him, testing his resolve.
The figure let out a soft laugh, a sound that chilled Ling Li to the core. "Who am I?" it echoed, the voice distorted, as though it came from the very depths of time. "I am but a reflection. A shadow of the past. A manifestation of everything you fear."
Ling Li's eyes narrowed. "A reflection of fear?" He stepped forward, his voice gaining strength. "I fear nothing."
The figure tilted its head, the shadows around it swirling like a storm. "You fear more than you realize, child. You fear failure. You fear the weight of the past. You fear the knowledge that you cannot change what has been written."
Ling Li felt his chest tighten, the words hitting closer to home than he cared to admit. Failure. The word echoed in his mind, reverberating through his thoughts. It was a fear he had carried with him ever since he had first awakened in this strange new world. A fear that his every action, every choice, would be meaningless. That no matter how hard he tried, he would never escape the shadows of his past life, nor the crushing weight of the inheritance he had inherited.
But that was a lie.
He clenched his fists, a wave of determination flooding through him. "I don't fear failure," he said, his voice unwavering. "I fear giving up. I fear not trying."
The figure's shadowy form flickered, as if momentarily unsettled. "Such arrogance," it sneered. "Do you think your will can stand against the tide of fate? Do you think you can change what has been set in motion?"
Ling Li met the figure's gaze, his eyes burning with intensity. "I don't know if I can change everything. But I will try. And if I fail, I will rise again. Because that's what it means to live."
The figure fell silent, its form trembling, as though the very essence of its being was threatened by Ling Li's resolve. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind, the soft whispers of the past.
Then, the figure spoke once more, its voice no longer mocking, but tinged with something else—something like... recognition.
"Perhaps," it said softly, "there is more to you than I thought. But do not think the trials will be so easily overcome. This is only the beginning. The path ahead is filled with darkness and pain. You will have to confront the worst parts of yourself, the parts that you would rather ignore. Only then will you have a chance to change the course of destiny."
Ling Li's heart clenched at the words, but he didn't back down. The road ahead would be difficult, he knew that. But it was his road to walk, and no matter how dark it became, he would walk it with his head held high.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice firm. "No matter what you throw at me."
The figure nodded slowly, as though in approval. "Very well. The trial begins now."
Suddenly, the ground beneath Ling Li's feet shifted violently. The air crackled with energy, and the world around him seemed to dissolve into a blur. For a moment, everything was chaos—light, sound, and movement crashing together in a dizzying whirl.
And then, as if on cue, the world stopped.
Ling Li found himself standing in a darkened room, the air heavy with the scent of burning incense. The walls were lined with shelves, each one stacked with books and scrolls, their pages yellowed with age. At the center of the room stood a large wooden desk, piled high with papers and tomes.
Ling Li's heart skipped a beat. This place... he recognized it.
It was the same study he had seen in his dreams—the study of the man whose inheritance he had claimed. The man who had once been a powerful cultivator, a figure whose name had long been forgotten by the world.
And standing behind the desk, his back to Ling Li, was the man himself.
"You've come," the man said, his voice low, almost reverent. He turned slowly, his face obscured by shadows, but Ling Li could feel the weight of his gaze. "You seek the truth, don't you? The truth about the inheritance. The truth about what happened."
Ling Li stepped forward, his heart racing. "Yes," he said, his voice steady. "I need to know everything. I need to understand."
The man nodded, his expression unreadable. "Then come closer. The truth is not what you think it is."
Ling Li took a step forward, every instinct telling him to be cautious. This was the trial—the moment of reckoning. The truth would come, but whether he was ready for it, he could not yet know.