Chương 87: 1.86 Your Life is a lie~

Ning's journey continued. From sects to secret realms, from ancient ruins to forbidden mountains, from tournaments to battlefields, his footprints spread far and wide. Not because he wanted to wander, but because he was never allowed to stay in one place peacefully for long. The longer he walked, the more he could no longer deny one terrifying truth. He had rizz. An astronomical amount, to be precise. At first, Ning tried to ignore it. After all, cultivators were usually good-looking.

Beauty pills, spiritual qi, body refinement, and even surgery existed in this world. Being admired here and there was not strange. But Ning's situation had long since passed the level of "admired." It had become a calamity. During his travels, the number of people who pursued him was frankly unreasonable.

Mature women, young geniuses, righteous fairies, demonic witches, cold sword maidens, cheerful alchemists, lonely princesses, mysterious masked cultivators, and even one beast-taming saintess whose spirit fox was just as taken with him. Worse yet, his charm did not seem restricted by gender. At one point, a male sword cultivator had stared at him beneath the moon and said, "Brother Ning, your back looks very lonely." Ning immediately moved three steps away.

Looking at his peach blossom luck, some people might wonder why he complained. Was being loved not a blessing? Was being surrounded by beauties not the dream of countless young men? Was this not the kind of fortune that made ordinary cultivators beat their chests and curse the unfairness of heaven? Those people did not understand. Excess was just as bad as deficiency. The problem was not that Ning hated them. That would have made things easier.

If they had all been unreasonable demonesses trying to harvest his yang qi, he could have simply run, fought, negotiated, or reported them to the nearest righteous elder. But many of them were sincere. That made it worse. If he chose one, the others would be hurt. If he rejected all of them, they would look heartbroken. If he married them all, as certain shameless old cultivators enthusiastically suggested, then Ning was fairly certain he would not survive past the wedding night.

He was a body cultivator, yes, but even he had limits. And that was not even mentioning the demonesses. That was another can of worms he did not want to open. Ning did not know how any of this had happened. He was not even trying to flirt. Shit just happened. It also did not help that the heavens seemed determined to throw him into situations specifically designed to ruin his peace.

Ancient inheritances, secret trials, collapsing caves, sealed chambers, yin-yang formations, suspicious pink mist, Ning had seen enough to recognize the pattern before the incense even finished burning. Twice already, he had been trapped in a sealed inheritance chamber with a female cultivator while an aphrodisiac formation was activated. Twice. That was already one time too many. Fortunately, Ning was a cultivator who packed everything that could be packed.

His storage ring contained antidote pills, calming pills, qi-stabilizing pills, emergency purification pills, and even a pill meant for explosions if the situation became truly unsalvageable. With great determination and proper dosage, Ning survived both incidents cleanly. Unfortunately, this only made the women involved fall for him even harder. Apparently, "restraining oneself under aphrodisiac influence through sheer willpower and medical preparation" counted as peak husband material. Ning had no words.

Some people might say, It should have been me, not him fr. Those people had never been chased across three provinces by a lovesick demoness riding a black phoenix while shouting that his self-control had conquered her heart. They did not understand the suffering of excessive peach blossom luck. And as for why Ning was lamenting this fate right now? That was simple. His warhammer had just transformed into a beautiful young woman. It was supposed to be a glorious event.

His war hammer had advanced further, reaching the realm of a magical treasure. The heavenly tribulation for its advancement had been rough, but his good old reliable hammer had pulled through. It should have been a happy occasion. His warhammer had awakened its spirit. She looked around sixteen or seventeen, with long black hair streaked by faint lines of lightning. Her eyes were bright gold, her skin seemed carved from warm jade, and black battle robes clung to her slender figure.

Tiny arcs of thunder danced around her wrists and ankles like ornaments. Her beauty was fierce and wild, like a thunderstorm given human form. The problem was that she could not return to her previous state.

"What do you mean you can't return to your previous form?" Ning asked aloud.

"Ehe." The girl looked away meekly.

"While I was going through tribulation, I might have chosen to permanently stay in this form?" Ning stared at her.

"Why?"

"Master, it's because of you, okay?" his war hammer said, suddenly sounding wronged.

"Recently, you have been neglecting me and meeting with those hussies. As your beloved weapon, I must protect you from all threats, including those hussies." She raised her fist, lightning crackling dramatically around her.

"From today onward, I will stay by your side forever. Whether you fight gods, demons, immortals, or annoying pretty women, I will smash them all for you. We are one body and one heart. Wherever you go, I go. Whoever you hit, I hit. Whoever dares separate us, I'll cave their skull in." The surrounding spiritual light surged. It was a miracle. A partner born from countless battles, a bond that crossed the boundary between metal and soul. Ning's face slowly became blank.

"How am I supposed to fight with you now?" he asked.

"If enemies come right now, how am I supposed to smash them?"

"That's simple," she said brightly.

"I will fight beside you."

"With what weapon?"

"My fists."

"You are my weapon."

"Exactly. Now the weapon can punch by itself." Ning closed his eyes. For the first time, even his common sense had been defeated.... Outside the illusion, the elders had already started betting. It began with one person casually placing two spirit stones on the table. Then another elder raised an eyebrow and added five. After that, the entire atmosphere changed. Within a few breaths, what had once been a serious observation chamber had turned into something disturbingly close to a gambling den.

Then again, most of their conversations had not been serious in the first place, so it did not damage the atmosphere much.

"So," Elder He Shou said, rubbing his hands together, "who clears the second trial first?"

"I bet on Lei Dong!"

"Qiu Han. That brat's arrogance might actually help him here."

"I'll take Ji Ning."

"Same."

"Xiao Fan for sure. He beat the sect leader's record in the first trial."

"That only means his perseverance is extraordinary. This illusion is more about clarity of mind. His stubbornness might very well be used against him here."

"That is true. But that kid did beat the sect leader's record."

"That is your go-to reason, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The elders placed their bets one after another. Since they could not see what the disciples were experiencing inside the illusion, they had to pass the time somehow. He Shou tossed another spirit stone onto the table.

"Should we also bet on whether anyone breaks the record this time?" Lou Ren snorted immediately.

"No need. That record is unbeatable." Several elders nodded. This time, no one argued. The record for the second trial still belonged to the current sect leader, Ge Xuan. His talent had been famous across the surrounding lands even before he became sect leader, so no one found it strange that he had performed well in the Heavenly Origin Tower. But in the Trial of Illusion, his result had been especially ridiculous.

"Sect Leader Ge Xuan broke through the illusion in less than a single incense stick of time," Hong Zeiling said, his tone carrying both respect and helplessness.

"His Clear Sword Heart allowed him to remain extremely aware of his own heart. Illusions, heart demons, hesitation, false desires; all of them had very little effect on him."

"Clear Sword Heart," Lou Ren muttered.

"That talent really was unreasonable."

"Unreasonable?" He Shou snorted.

"Call it what it was. Cheating." Several elders looked at him. He Shou spread his hands.

"What? Am I wrong? The Trial of Illusion attacks confusion, obsession, fear, desire, hesitation, and regret. A Clear Sword Heart naturally cuts through illusion and mental corruption. That is like entering a drowning trial while being born a fish."

"You really need to work on your analogies," Lou Ren muttered.

"What did you say?" He Shou glared at him. He was crude and fiery by nature, so naturally, he could not tolerate his rival from the same peak badmouthing him for long.

"I have been tolerating you for a while now."

"If I remember correctly, didn't I beat you last time?" Lou Ren said smugly.

"Grr…"

"Stop it, you two." Hong Zeiling's expression darkened.

"Have some dignity, will you?" The two troublemakers finally quieted down. Hong Zeiling looked back toward the water-mirror and continued, "The sect leader's result was extraordinary, but it cannot be used as the normal standard. Most disciples do not possess such a talent. For them, clearing the illusion depends on will, perception, and whether they can confront what the tower shows them."

"Yes," another elder said, nodding.

"Especially since this illusion is quite insidious. It always starts slowly, then gradually ramps up near the end. For some disciples, the danger may not even be fear. Those who are shown extravagance, abundance, and a perfect life may have an even harder time waking."

"Right. I remember receiving a Nascent Soul opportunity inside the illusion," one elder said with a sour expression.

"A complete inheritance, a heavenly pill, and even a cave mansion filled with spiritual stones. Then I woke up and realized it was all fake. I was furious for half a month."

"True. I remember practicing an immortal level technique, only for it to be for naught." Hong Zeiling shook his head and said, "Although the techniques and treasures inside the illusion cannot truly be brought out, the experience itself is not entirely meaningless. A disciple may forget the exact scripture, but retain a trace of inspiration. He may lose the treasure, but remember the kind of path he wished to walk.

He may wake from a false battle without gaining real martial arts, yet still understand something about his own courage, fear, or weakness." He paused for a moment.

"These trials are not just for testing the disciples; they themselves are a kind of boon for them to hone their path." Inside the illusion, the sky was breaking apart. Great wounds opened across the heavens, and beyond them was not darkness, but emptiness. The sun had dimmed, the moon had shattered, rivers flowed backward into the sky, and entire continents trembled beneath the pressure of the approaching end.

Ning stood above the ruins of the final battlefield, his hammer cracked in his hand, his robes torn, his body covered in wounds. Behind him lay the corpses of gods, demons, ancient emperors, immortal beasts, and whatever other absurdly high-level beings the world had thrown at him. This was the war to end all wars. And Ji Ning had fought them all. The Demon Emperor, who wanted to devour the nine heavens, the Ancient Dragon Sovereign was corrupted by the Abyssal Dao.

The Moonless Saintess, who had sealed away the sun. And finally, the world-ending threat itself. The Calamity Origin. A monster born from resentment, karma, heavenly punishment, and the essence of nothingness. Ning had defeated it. Somehow. Through schemes, desperate battles, ridiculous opportunities, sudden breakthroughs, old friends appearing at the last moment, enemies turning good after hearing one heartfelt sentence, and finally, the Primordial Origin Treasure activating when all hope seemed lost.

The world should have been saved. The final enemy had fallen. The battlefield had gone quiet. Far below, the surviving cultivators cheered his name, their voices rising like waves.

"Ji Ning!"

"Ji Ning!"

"Ji Ning!" The hero who saved the world. The savior of all realms. Ning stood above it all and looked at the broken sky. For some reason, he felt no joy. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Only exhaustion. The endless escalation of threats, one after another, had drained him more than any single battle. Still, Ning did not say something foolish like, It's finally over.

In his long life, he had learned that a Daoist cultivator named Murphy had once established a very terrifying law. And as always, this world did not forget to bend backward and screw him over until the very end. A soft clap rang out. Ning turned. A figure stood before him. At least, it had the outline of a person. It wore no crown, robe, armor, or even clothes for that matter. Its body seemed to be made of pale mist and ink, constantly shifting, never fully settling into one shape. Its face was the worst part.

There were no eyes, no mouth, no nose, no features at all. Only a smooth blankness where a face should have been. And yet, Ning felt it smiling.

"Excellent," the faceless figure said, though it had no mouth. Its voice was gentle and warm.

"Truly excellent. You reached the end." The figure raised one hand, and the world stopped breathing. The shattered heavens froze. Rivers pouring upward into the sky hung motionless like silver chains. Mountains remained half-collapsed, stones suspended in the air. Far below, countless cultivators stood frozen mid-cheer, their mouths still open as they chanted his name. Ji Ning. Ji Ning. Ji Ning. Ning tightened his grip around the hammer.

"Who are you?" The figure chuckled.

"A reasonable question. Still asking those, even now." It turned its blank face toward the frozen world below.

"You defeated the calamity. You avenged the dead. You protected your companions. You shattered the schemes of ancient monsters and stood above every young master, elder, saint, demon, and heavenly genius who once looked down on you." Its voice carried a strange fondness.

"Was it satisfying?" Ning did not answer. The faceless figure spread its arms.

"The broken engagement. The old soul in the earring. The miraculous inheritance. The tournament. The tragic enemies. The arrogant young masters. The sects that collapsed around you. The treasures that appeared when you needed them. The enemies who arrived at the perfect moment. The companions who believed in you. The crowds that shouted your name." The world trembled with each word.

"When your sworn brother on a long and terrifying quest turned out to have been a hidden girl all along. When your war hammer transformed into a beautiful maiden and proclaimed she would stay with you forever." The faceless figure's voice brightened.

"It was me all along." Ning's eyes narrowed. The figure stepped closer.

"I arranged the road beneath your feet. I placed the stones that cut you. I opened the doors you thought you discovered. I sharpened the enemies you thought you defeated. I gave you suffering when you needed growth and fortune when you needed hope." Its tone remained warm, but that warmth had become unbearable.

"You thought you were clever because you noticed the patterns. You mocked the clichés. You avoided trouble when you could and prepared when you could not. You called it common sense." The faceless figure leaned down slightly.

"But even that was part of the design. It was all according to plan." The cracked hammer creaked in Ning's hand.

"I am the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. In a sense, Ning, I am your father for you are my creation. The figure spoke warmly, then just as abruptly it turned cold.

"What can you do, Ning?" The question rolled through the frozen heavens.

"What can a pawn do after learning the board was never his? What can a character do after seeing the hand that wrote him? What meaning does struggle have when the pit was dug for you, the ladder was placed for you, and even your desire to climb was anticipated?" It raised one finger.

"You were never free. Choice was the prettiest illusion I gave you." For the first time, Ning's breathing slowed. The faceless figure watched him silently. This man, before it was its masterpiece. And now, what it wanted most was to see the expression Ning would make after hearing the truth. Surely, it would be sweet....

"This illusion trial is built on inner demons," Hong Zeiling said, his gaze fixed on the water-mirror.

"More precisely, it borrows the seeds from which inner demons are born and turns them into illusion." The room quieted slightly. When the subject was gambling or which disciple was more talented, the elders could argue for half a day. But when the topic became cultivation itself, even He Shou and Lou Ren restrained themselves.

"On the path of cultivation, it is terrifyingly easy to conceive an inner demon," Hong Zeiling continued.

"A single defeat, a moment of cowardice, an unresolved regret, a desire one cannot obtain. Even those with strong Dao hearts are not completely safe. The sharper the heart, the deeper the wound when it cracks." A white-browed elder nodded slowly.

"That is why this trial is both dangerous and valuable. These disciples are still young. Most of them have not lived long enough to form truly terrifying inner demons."

"Which means this is the perfect time for them to get a taste of it," Lou Ren said.

"Better to face a shadow now than a full-grown heart demon during Foundation Establishment."

"Exactly," Hong Zeiling said.

"The tower will not truly destroy them, but it will force them to look at what they usually avoid. Fear, greed, guilt, obsession, helplessness, desire. Whatever lies hidden in the heart, the illusion will eventually touch it." He Shou snorted.

"So young disciples have an advantage in inheritance trials. Less baggage."

"Not always," another elder said.

"Some young people carry heavier things than old men." The room went quiet for half a breath. That was true. Cultivation did not measure suffering by age. Some cultivators refined qi peacefully for a hundred years and still had hearts as shallow as ponds. Others were only sixteen or seventeen, yet had already crawled through blood, humiliation, hunger, betrayal, and despair. Lou Ren glanced at the water-mirror.

"In that case, those with unusual experiences may suffer more."

"And those older fellows mixed into Lei Dong's group," He Shou said, his expression turning ugly.

"Tsk. If that brat were not the grandson of the Grand Elder, I would personally drag him down and kick him all the way back to his peak." Hong Zeiling gave him a flat look.

"Elder He, please remember that we are in an official observation chamber."

"So?"

"So do not threaten to assault disciples in front of so many witnesses."

"I said I would kick him. That is guidance."

"That is not guidance."

"It could be, depending on where I aim." Several elders turned away and coughed. Hong Zeiling pressed two fingers against his forehead.

"The rules do not prohibit bringing older attendants into the tower, as long as they meet the cultivation restrictions and possess entry tokens. However, exploiting the trial like this goes against its original purpose. I will bring it up during the next elders' meeting."

"Good," He Shou said.

"Write down that I support beating him."

"I will not write that."

"Then write that I support strict correction through physical instruction."

"That is the same thing."

"It sounds more official." Lou Ren gave a cold snort.

"For once, I agree with him. The tower is meant to temper disciples, not help spoiled brats build a ladder out of older cultivators." Hong Zeiling nodded.

"Then it will be discussed later." With that matter set aside, the elders turned back to the trial. A ripple passed over the water-mirror. One disciple's body twitched violently before settling again. Another frowned, his face pale, as though trapped in a nightmare he could not escape. One elder sighed softly.

"Inner demons are troublesome because they are not always wrong." He Shou glanced at him.

"What do you mean?"

"If an illusion simply lies, it is easy to reject. The strongest inner demons use truth. They take a real regret, weakness, or fear, then twist it just enough that the heart cannot deny it." Hong Zeiling's eyes sharpened.

"That is the hardest kind." Lou Ren nodded.

"A disciple can shout that an illusion is false all he wants. But if the pain inside it comes from something true, shouting is useless."

"Unresolved trauma," another elder said.

"Failed oaths. Lost loved ones. Missed opportunities. Betrayals that still sting. The more a person pretends not to care, the deeper the illusion can dig." He Shou crossed his arms.

"Hmph. Then how do you deal with it?"

"With clarity," Lou Ren said.

"With acceptance," the white-browed elder added.

"With strength," He Shou said immediately. Lou Ren looked at him.

"You say that about everything."

"Because it applies to everything."

"You cannot punch regret."

"You can punch the person who caused it."

"That is not always possible."

"Then punch something nearby." Hong Zeiling's mouth twitched. Despite the absurdity, no one laughed too loudly, because every elder present had once faced their own answer. A woman in blue robes spoke first.

"When I faced my inner demon, it showed me my dead master. She asked why I survived when everyone else died. For many years, I had no answer. In the end, I could only bow to her and say that since I survived, I would carry her teachings forward." The room became quiet. Another elder said, "Mine showed me the day I failed to break through. I watched myself make the same mistake again and again. I only escaped after admitting that my failure was not caused by heaven or lack of resources. It was my own impatience."

Lou Ren looked toward the mirror and spoke slowly.

"Mine showed me a path where I had never picked up a hammer." He Shou raised a brow.

"You? Without a hammer?" Lou Ren's expression did not change.

"It is what it is." No one interrupted him.

"For a moment, I wanted to stay. There was no fighting, no blood in my hands. Just a small house, ordinary meals, ordinary job, and people who expected nothing from me." He Shou looked at him for a while, then asked, "How did you break it?" Lou Ren lowered his eyes.

"I realized peace bought by abandoning my own heart was only another kind of death." He Shou was silent for once. Then, after several breaths, he coughed and looked away.

"My illusion showed me my father calling me a disappointment." Lou Ren glanced at him.

"And?"

"I punched him." Hong Zeiling closed his eyes. Lou Ren asked, "Was that really your solution?"

"It worked."

"Did it?"

"I woke up, didn't I?" The atmosphere, which had almost become solemn, cracked slightly. But even that answer carried its own crude truth. Some people accepted. Some understood. Some forgave. And some simply refused to bow any longer. Hong Zeiling let the silence settle before speaking again.

"There is no single correct method. That is the nature of inner demons. If bravery alone were enough, all reckless fools would have perfect Dao hearts. If intelligence alone were enough, all scholars would be immortals." His gaze moved over the disciples in the water-mirror.

"When the true moment comes, no elder can guide them. No scripture can answer for them. No pill can swallow their fear. They must face whatever appears and decide what kind of person they are after seeing it." The elders listened quietly. Outside the tower, they could analyze, argue, bet, and explain. Inside the illusion, the disciples were alone. One elder asked softly, "Then what should a cultivator rely on at that moment?" Hong Zeiling was quiet for a while. Then he sighed.

"In the end, perhaps only the original intention." He Shou frowned.

"That sounds vague."

"It is vague," Hong Zeiling admitted.

"But when everything else is stripped away, when techniques fail, excuses collapse, and even your understanding of yourself is shaken, what remains is often the first reason you stepped onto the path." The observation chamber fell silent.

"If a disciple can remember that, even when the illusion twists everything else, then he may still find his way forward." He Shou scratched his cheek.

"So basically, when the heart demon starts talking too much, remember why you started and keep moving?" Hong Zeiling paused.

"That is… a crude way to phrase it."

"But accurate?"

"Somewhat." He Shou nodded, satisfied.

"Then just say that." Lou Ren snorted.

"Only you would turn Dao-heart tempering into street advice." He Shou grinned.

"Street advice is useful. Your poetic nonsense cannot even scare a chicken." Hong Zeiling was about to scold them again when a younger elder suddenly said, "Actually, I once heard a disciple describe it even more simply." Everyone looked at him. The younger elder coughed.

"He said that when life becomes unreasonable, the heavens give no answer, and everything looks doomed, there is only one thing left to do." He Shou leaned forward with interest.

"What?" The young elder hesitated, then said with a straight face-"Fuck it. We ball." For a transmigrator like Ning, there were certain thoughts that could not be avoided. He was a soul from another world, thrown into a cultivation setting that resembled the fiction of his previous life far too much. It was difficult not to wonder whether some higher power had been involved. Had his transmigration been an accident? Had everything he experienced been arranged for the amusement of some godlike being?

Did his second life serve some greater purpose? Those questions had only grown heavier as he learned more about high-level cultivation. At higher realms, things he had once thought impossible could be artificially created. Souls could be moved. Memories could be manipulated. Entire worlds could be shaped into something their hearts desire. And now, this illusion had struck that buried fear directly. Was everything he had done meaningless? Did he even have free will?

[̴̡̡̨̧̹͎̮̫͎̐͂̎͌̈́͛̕K̶̳̭͚̩͉̗̼̫͕͒̈́͂͘͜n̸̛̬͔̗͉̪̰̱͈̐̑̾̏͗̈̿͝o̴̥̦̟͇̎̅ͅẅ̶̭̘̲̬͈́̅̓͠ ̶͍͂̈́̑̍͋͘ṫ̶̨̛̛̹͕̘͇̤̇̒͆̚̚͜͝h̸̙̣̍̄̈́͊̇́͗͊͆͠y̸͕̯̺͈͎̏́̾͐͆s̴͈̳̣͐͌̚é̶̢͎̮͚͍̬̝̠̊̓̇͘͝l̵͙̫̰̏̔̿͌̍f̴̩̟̪̼̍͛͒̕͘͠]̴̦̉͒̅͂͑͝ Ning took his warhammer, one without the spirit, and then rushed the figure. [Falling Heaven Strike]"Seriously, do you think you can beat me?" It flicked its finger. Ning was sent flying backward, crashing through the ruined battlefield and tearing a long trench through the stone before he forced himself to stop.

Ning coughed up blood from a mere finger. The faceless figure walked toward him slowly.

"I have the high ground, Ning. You can never reach me." Ning pushed himself up and attacked again. Lightning djinn form. Body refinement. Hammer intent. Movement technique. Every art, every method, every ounce of power erupted at once. He fought with everything he had, swinging again and again, refusing to retreat even as the world vanished around him. And every time, the figure broke him. A finger shattered his lightning. A glance dispersed his qi. A wave of its hand crushed his movement technique.

Finally, Ning's hammer turned to dust. The faceless figure stood above him.

"You see?" Its voice was calm.

"I know every technique because I made every technique. I know every plan because I arranged every situation that shaped your mind. I know every path you might take because I built the maze."

"Reality can be whatever I want it to be. For I am inevitable." Ning fell to one knee in pain and exhaustion. No matter what he threw at this being, it was all for naught. [̴̡̡̨̧̹͎̮̫͎̐͂̎͌̈́͛̕K̶͒n̸̛̐̑̾̏͗̈̿͝o̴̥̦̎̅ẅ̶̭̘̲̬͈́̅̓͠ ̶͂ṫ̶̛̚̚͝h̸̍̄y̸̏́s̴͈̳̣͐͌̚é̶̢͎̮͚͍̬̊̓̇͘͝l̵̏̔̿͌̍f̴̕]̴̉"Fuck you," Ning spat, glaring up at the blank-faced bastard.

"Resorting to curses now? That's not good behavior, Ning," the being chided gently.

"You sure like to monologue a lot for just an illusion," Ning snarked. The moment those words left his mouth, the surroundings vanished in an instant, snapping away as if they had never existed in the first place. The broken battlefield and the shattered sky were gone. Only the faceless being and Ning remained, standing in a completely quiet void.

"Oh?" The being tilted its blank head, genuinely amused.

"You even figured that out? I'm impressed. What gave it away?"

"The references," Ning said, wiping blood from his chin.

"You're the only one here who would drop references I actually know. Seriously, Marvel, Star Wars, and even Bleach? You didn't even try to hide it."

"Just that?" The being shrugged.

"I didn't even get to say the famous 'Omae wa mou shindeiru' line yet."

"Hey, don't bring Japanese anime lines into my high-fantasy xianxia setting," Ning said flatly.

"There is a time and a place for everything."

"Dr. Oak. Nice," the being nodded, acknowledging the catch.

"But even if you've figured out this is an illusion, it's not over, is it?" [̴̡̡̨̧̹͎̮̫͎̐͂̎͌̈́͛̕K̶̳̭͚̩͉̗̼̫͕͒̈́͂͘͜n̸̛̬͔̗͉̪̰̱͈̐̑̾̏͗̈̿͝o̴̥̦̟͇̎̅ͅẅ̶̭̘̲̬͈́̅̓͠ ̶͍͂̈́̑̍͋͘ṫ̶̨̛̛̹͕̘͇̤̇̒͆̚̚͜͝h̸̙̣̍̄̈́͊̇́͗͊͆͠y̸͕̯̺͈͎̏́̾͐͆s̴͈̳̣͐͌̚é̶̢͎̮͚͍̬̝̠̊̓̇͘͝l̵͙̫̰̏̔̿͌̍f̴̩̟̪̼̍͛͒̕͘͠]"Your true fear remains unchecked," the being said, its voice finally dropping the playful edge, turning cold and heavy.

"You were afraid your transmigration wasn't an accident. That your second life wasn't true freedom. You feared that every cliché you mocked wasn't just a joke, but evidence. Evidence that something above had placed you here, watched you struggle, rewarded your efforts, laughed at your panic, and called it entertainment." The faceless figure leaned down closer.

"You were afraid that none of it was yours." The void fell entirely silent. There it was. Ning's true fear lay completely bare. His deepest anxiety was that his life lacked true ownership. That the path he walked, the choices he made, the people he met, the agony he endured, the strength he gained, and even the cynical personality he used to survive it all had been meticulously arranged by something beyond him. A transmigrator feared many things.

But the absolute deepest dread was always this: What if crossing worlds hadn't made him free? What if it had only moved him into a flashier cage?

"Tsk. Do you think I don't know that?" Ning groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"I know it better than anyone." He looked out into the space where the frozen world and the cheering crowds had just been. Why had he transmigrated? Why this specific world? Why a reality so absurdly familiar, as if someone had taken every webnovel trope he knew and shaped everything around it?

"So," the being asked, watching him closely.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Just what I've always done." Because Ning had lived with this anxiety for a long time, he had naturally given it a lot of thought. He didn't want his next inner demon to be this crisis, so he tried to understand it. But alas, what you fear would always come true; he was still confronted by this fear in this illusion. At this point, Ning understood why the illusion had taken this form.

To Ning, someone like Xiao Fan was the clearest example of a person wrapped in fate, heaven-blessed, constantly thrown into dangers beyond reason, somehow always surviving, always profiting, always dragging storms behind him. A protagonist was the closest image Ning had for a life shaped by unseen hands. So the tower had turned Ning into one. Chosen. Favored. Watched. Controlled. He wasn't a rogue variable; he was a piece on a board.

If his entire existence from his very first breath to his inevitable end was already a pre-written script, then every calculation, every bit of paranoia, and every cautious step he'd ever taken to survive was a farce. Ning thought of his first life, that ordinary world where people lived, worked, complained, hoped, failed, and died within the safe, suffocating boundaries of a routine. Had that life been any more "free" than this one? He hadn't chosen his birth there either.

He hadn't chosen his genetics, his era, his economic limitations, or the unglamorous way death had eventually come for him. Then, this life. He hadn't chosen the sect. He hadn't chosen his spiritual root. He hadn't even chosen the face he saw in the mirror. He had simply been dropped into the middle of a chaotic, high-stakes fantasy world with zero instructions and a target on his back. But who in the history of existence had ever chosen their beginning? A farmer did not choose his soil.

A servant did not choose the coarse fabric of his robe. A disciple did not choose whether heaven granted him a supreme-grade talent or a crippled meridian. Even the so-called heaven-blessed geniuses didn't choose to be born under a sky filled with jealous eyes and sharpened knives. The universe had never been fair. Not on Earth. Not here. Perhaps true freedom had never meant choosing the board you played on. Perhaps it was simply finding joy in the smaller things, in the grit of the game itself.

[̴̡̡̨̧̹͎̮̫͎̐͂̎͌̈́͛̕K̶̳̭͚̩͉̗̼̫͕͒̈́͂͘͜n̸̛̬͔̗͉̪̰̱͈̐̑̾̏͗̈̿͝o̴̥̦̟͇̎̅ͅẅ̶̭̘̲̬͈́̅̓͠ ̶͍͂̈́̑̍͋͘ṫ̶̨̛̛̹͕̘͇̤̇̒͆̚̚͜͝h̸̙̣̍̄̈́͊̇́͗͊͆͠y̸͕̯̺͈͎̏́̾͐͆s̴͈̳̣͐͌̚é̶̢͎̮͚͍̬̝̠̊̓̇͘͝l̵͙̫̰̏̔̿͌̍f̴̩̟̪̼̍͛͒̕͘͠] So what if an unseen hand had arranged his beginning? So what if the world were merely the imagination of some cosmic entity? So what if the stage had been meticulously built, the arrogant young masters placed, the ancient inheritances hidden, the disasters timed, and the path entirely prepared?

He had still been the one walking until his legs shook. He had still been the one forced to think when panic would have been the easier option. He had chosen caution over pride, raw effort over useless complaint, and survival over dignity when dignity was too expensive to afford. If his pain had been arranged by a script, it still fucking hurt. If his absolute effort had been expected, it had still exhausted him to his very core.

If his choices had been perfectly predicted, he had still made them from the depths of his own bleeding heart. No matter who designed the maze, the climb belonged to him. It had still been his adventure.

[̴̡̡̨̧̹͎̮̫͎̐͂̎͌̈́͛̕K̶̳̭͚̩͉̗̼̫͕͒̈́͂͘͜n̸̛̬͔̗͉̪̰̱͈̐̑̾̏͗̈̿͝o̴̥̦̟͇̎̅ͅẅ̶̭̘̲̬͈́̅̓͠ ̶͍͂̈́̑̍͋͘ṫ̶̨̛̛̹͕̘͇̤̇̒͆̚̚͜͝h̸̙̣̍̄̈́͊̇́͗͊͆͠y̸͕̯̺͈͎̏́̾͐͆s̴͈̳̣͐͌̚é̶̢͎̮͚͍̬̝̠̊̓̇͘͝l̵͙̫̰̏̔̿͌̍f̴̩̟̪̼̍͛͒̕͘͠] In the grand scheme of things, Ning knew he was completely insignificant, nothing more than a speck of dust drifting through a vast, uncaring universe. But who was to say that even if his will were completely untouched by others, his life would naturally possess meaning? Meaning wasn't something others could give.

It was something one understood and decided on their own. Ning found genuine joy in cultivating, in unravelling the bizarre mysteries of this magical world, and in slowly building himself into someone stronger. If his circumstances were being monitored by a higher power, then so be it. At the end of the day, he lived his life doing exactly what he deemed meaningful. If he died on this road, then at least he died on his own terms. That was enough.

The faceless being stared at him, the shifting ink of its form settling into a steady rhythm. When it spoke, the terrifying echo was gone, replaced by an intimate clarity.

"Your fear has not vanished," the being observed softly.

"But you have accepted this fear. You have woven it into the shape of who you are." Ning let out a dry, breathless chuckle, crossing his arms.

"Cut me some slack, okay? It's kind of hard to completely cure a deep-seated existential crisis with just a single shonen realization."

"That is true, I suppose," the being nodded, its featureless face tilting with something resembling warmth.

"Then let us move forward." Fear was not the absence of courage. If anything, courage only existed because fear did. Anyone could act when nothing was at stake. What mattered was taking a step forward when every instinct screamed at you to run. And for Ning, this was the only choice. The entity slowly extended its pale, misty hand. [I am you] Ning's eyes shone as he reached out and slammed his palm directly into his own reflection.

"We only ever had one real choice here. Fuck it, we ball." [You are me] As their fingers met, the ink and mist flowed into his own skin, completing the circle of his own consciousness. [Know Thyself] And the illusion shattered into a thousand pieces of light.... Thanks for reading~ A/N: You guys had quite a discussion about this trial with admittedly much more interesting routes than mine feeble imagination of going the classic route. Hopefully, you still like this one enough.