Chương 97: 1.95 Life goes on and on and on~

"So, the orb was affected by the sudden appearance of intense qi and moved to avoid it?" Lang Rulang spoke coldly. Only now did she realize that Ning had used the mist to conceal that fact from them. It had been a trap all along. Lang Rulang suddenly understood why people compared cunning individuals to foxes. Just like a fox, Ning never hesitated to hide traps within traps, all while acting innocent. She had no doubt that if he ever gave someone a present, it would be a box inside a box inside another box.

Don't ask how she knew that. Growing up with Zhang Feng was a woe in itself.

"Bingo." Ning sat down and answered while controlling his breath.

"... You really are a crafty bastard." Qiu Han clicked his tongue.

"This is the second time I've lost among my peers, besides Xiao Fan."

"I knew you were stronger than me, so I could only win by being sneaky." Ning quickly deflected. Qiu Han was the type who was arrogant but respected those who could beat him. Ning knew this guy was another troublesome bastard, just from his tsun attributes. So he didn't want to attract any heat.

"But this is the second time you've played me. I will remember this." Qiu Han promised, his eyes blazing with flames.

"Please don't..." Ning had a bad feeling about this, so he quickly turned their attention to anything else.

"Don't you guys need to take your own orbs, though?" Qiu Han and Lang Rulang heard that and immediately dashed towards the third orb. At the same time, Ning saw that the fight was also over on the other end; Xiao Fan had somehow gotten the first orb, despite his competition being bigger and badder. Ning just raised his hand in greeting and then shut out the rest of the environment.

Well, he did not want to look at Lei Dong's surprised and suddenly furious face, along with the eighth-stage cultivators', not only losing the first orb, but also the second. You snooze, you lose, you know. It did not take long for the trial to end. For the record, Qiu Han got the third orb, Lei Dong got the fourth, one of the eighth-stage disciples, Shi Fu, got the fifth, Lang Rulang got the sixth, and Shang Zu got the seventh.

Of course, the three unconscious disciples eventually woke up since cultivators were built to receive hits and dish out more. The moment they realized that seven of the orbs had already been claimed, they immediately turned on one another. What followed was a tearful spectacle of betrayal, underhanded tricks, and shameless backstabbing, until everyone got an orb. The ten remaining disciples stood in separate parts of the hall, each surrounded by the radiance of the orb they had seized.

The smaller spheres emitted only a pale golden glow, their light trembling faintly as though a single breath might extinguish them. The larger ones shone with far greater brilliance, pouring out dense waves of spiritual energy that made the surrounding air ripple. [ALL ORIGIN ORBS HAVE BEEN CLAIMED.] The ancient voice descended from every direction at once. [THE FINAL STAGE OF THE COMPREHENSION TRIAL SHALL BEGIN.] The jade floor beneath the ten disciples lit up.

Golden formation lines spread outward from their feet, forming ten separate circles across the hall. Before anyone could react, transparent barriers rose from the ground and curved overhead, sealing each disciple inside a private arena. The walls this time were closed; none could see past their own field.

"So, this is an independent project, huh?" Ning understood at once. Maybe the Tower had learned from the previous trial or something. Did the Tower even have sentience for learning? [THE ORIGIN ORB SHALL PROVIDE A SIMULATION SPACE.] [WITHIN THIS SPACE, YOU MAY TEST YOUR THEORIES AND EXPERIMENT FREELY WITHOUT HARMING YOUR TRUE BODY.] [SO LONG AS THE ORIGIN ORB REMAINS ACTIVATED, IT SHALL ALSO BESTOW A WELLSPRING OF INSPIRATION UPON ITS BEARER.] Several disciples' expressions changed at once.

Any one of those functions would have made the Origin Orbs priceless. Together, they were almost unreasonable. [THE ORIGIN LIGHT IS LIMITED.] [EVERY SIMULATION SHALL CONSUME ORIGIN LIGHT.] [WHEN THE ORIGIN LIGHT IS EXHAUSTED, THE RESULT SHALL BECOME FINAL.] [YOU HAVE THREE DAYS.] [INNOVATE.] The excitement vanished as fast as it came. The disciples looked down at the golden glow around their bodies with far more caution than before.

A simulation without consequence sounded priceless, but the chance wasn't endless. Reckless failure could burn the treasure dry before anything was gained. Excessive caution could waste it without spending a drop. They would need to carefully balance their consumption. [ONLY THE THREE HIGHEST-RANKED DISCIPLES SHALL ASCEND TO THE NEXT FLOOR.]... [JI NING.] [ORIGIN LIGHT: FULL.]"Really would've loved a hard number of attempts instead of eyeballing it through how much Origin Light's left," Ning sighed.

The announcement changed. [Attempts: 1000] Ning blinked. Well, that settled it; the Tower was at least a little sentient. He pushed his luck.

"Can I access my storage bag? For notes and brush?" [...] The restriction lifted, just like that. Ning found it strange nobody had apparently thought to ask before; if this trial happened every five years, surely someone had wanted a brush and paper at some point.

"Eh. Not my problem." Ning just shrugged.

"So, how should I go about it?" His first instinct was a combination, the obvious approach. Fuse Shadow Steps with a concealment art. Alternate Scorching Purge with Hidden Ice Mist. Bolt Spiral Arrow onto something faster. Useful ideas, but a tad predictable. Ning knew he could pass just by improving a technique; hell, he could even create a slightly more advanced spiritual qi control technique to pass this trial. But he did not like that. In essence, Ning was greedy, he did not want to just pass half-heartedly.

He wanted to fully capitalize on this opportunity to its fullest extent. After all, this might be one of the few times he could get hands-on experience in such a blessed setting. Heck, this might be the building block necessary for him to create the myriad techniques he had seen in his past life. Just imagining the pure terror he could inflict by being able to create the fabled testicular torsion scared even him. So Ning made his choice. He stretched his hand and pushed qi into the orb. The orb answered.

Golden radiance swallowed his vision. The jade floor vanished. The barrier disappeared, and for one dizzying instant Ning felt like he'd been thrown into a river of warm light. Then it receded, and he stood in an endless pale nothing. No sky. No ground. He stood firm all the same. Soft golden currents drifted through the emptiness, slow and soundless, farther than his eyes could see.

"An illusion?" Ning blinked. [Panel] [Ji Ning Spiritual Root: Mid-grade Attributes: Five Elements Talent: Extreme Space-Time Sensitivity Realm: Qi Condensation: 6th Stage of Qi Condensation (3194/3200), Marrow Refining (325/600). Mind: Clear Heart ++ Cultivation Techniques: Pure Qi Sutra (Completion), Jade Skin & Ice Meridians (3rd Level), Medicine King Technique (Starting), Food Qi Nourishment Method Martial Arts: Bone Forging Fist (Mastery), Shadow Steps (Mastery), Turtle Breathing (Mastery), Pure Eyes (Starting: 250/300), Falling Leaf Spear (Unity), Spiral Arrow (Unity), Cold River Spear (Starting: 21/300) Techniques: Small Cloud Rain (Mastery), Soil Refining (Mastery), Hidden Ice Mist (Great Accomplishment: 108/400), Scorching Purge (Great Accomplishment: 56/400), Golden Finger (Great Accomplishment: 2/400), Withering & Flourishing (Great Accomplishment: 379/400), Fireball (Great Accomplishment: 6/400), Crimson Flame Control (First Level: Great Accomplishment: 237/400), Soul Ferrying (Starting: 10/10000), Spring Breeze Seedling (Minor Accomplishment: 2/200), Lightning Cry Arrow (Starting: 6/200)]"If I can still see my panel, then this isn't like the previous illusions where I couldn't summon it at all."

Ning rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he glanced at the familiar translucent screen before him.

"So... this is a more realistic type of illusion?" Illusions in the cultivation world came in many forms. Some dragged the soul into an entirely fabricated world, severing every connection to reality until the victim could no longer distinguish truth from falsehood. Others merely clouded the senses, making the eyes see what wasn't there while leaving the mind perfectly clear.

There were even more insidious varieties that subtly twisted perception itself, mixing reality with fiction until the cultivator would question whether their will was even their own. Judging by his panel's continued existence, this illusion belonged to the latter category. It had recreated an environment so close to reality that even his unique ability remained intact. Ning added this to the growing list of functions of this Tower.

"Plus, I feel like in this space, my thinking speed has increased, or is it more about increased inspiration?" Ning tilted his head. The Tower did say that activating the Origin Orb would bring a wellspring of inspiration, and it was doing just that. So, without wasting much time, Ning began to work on his objective. Innovate. It was but a simple word, but actualizing it was anything but that.

Learning an existing technique was already hard: understanding the circulation route, controlling the right amount of spiritual energy, coordinating the body, enduring the strain on the meridians. Even after learning it, years of practice might be needed before it became useful. Improving one was worse. One wrong alteration meant qi deviation. A badly designed route could tear the meridians open. A mistimed release could blow the gathered power inward instead of out.

Creating something new from nothing was another tier of madness entirely, the domain of true experts. Every technique was the end result of decades of cultivation and a graveyard of failures nobody talked about. Behind every inheritance was a creator who'd walked one path long enough to distill it into something others could learn.

"So..." Ning rubbed his chin.

"What exactly are the requirements for creating a technique?" If you wanted to solve a problem, step one was understanding the problem. Whenever he'd studied a technique before, he'd made a habit of hunting down the creator's biography, trying to get inside their head. Famous cultivators loved writing biographies, or having intelligence factions write them for them, and he'd read enough to piece together a pattern.

"First: an understanding of the human body. Meridians, the dantian, circulation, and where the body reaches its limits. If the creator doesn't know what the body can endure, then they're simply inventing a new way to cripple themselves." He moved on.

"Second: an understanding of spiritual energy itself. How it flows, gathers, compresses, disperses, and how different attributes interact. Every technique is simply qi moving according to a set of rules. So this is another thing to figure out." Fortunately, in this domain, Ning had a lot of experience thanks to his myriad expertise in spells and martial arts.

"Third: a concept. Every technique needs a purpose, an idea that answers what the technique is trying to accomplish. Without a concept, it's merely a random collection of movements stitched together." It was the most focal point of them all. Ning nodded to himself.

"Fourth: experience. Theory only gets the creator to the starting line. A creator must refine, adjust, fail, and try again. Only after surviving repeated testing can a technique truly be called complete." And finally, from the experts he'd read, the thing they stressed most about.

"Fifth: talent... or rather, comprehension." Ning didn't have much to say about this one. It was so straightforward; either you had it, or you acquired it through hard work. But Ning still felt something was missing. Those five were certainly necessary. Any technique creator lacking one of them would stumble sooner or later. Yet Ning couldn't shake the feeling that they only explained how a technique was built, not why one technique became extraordinary while another remained ordinary.

Slowly, his enhanced brain produced a single word. Delusion. Ning wasn't joking. The more he thought about cultivation, the more absurdly obvious it became. This world had never obeyed common sense in the first place. Sword Intent. Saber Intent. Fist Intent. Killing Intent. None of them physically existed, yet cultivators could sharpen a blade with conviction alone, freeze an opponent beneath murderous will, or split mountains through an ideal they refused to abandon.

Every great expert claimed to have comprehended their own path, their own Dao, their own truth. But what was that, if not an unbelievably sophisticated form of delusion? They looked at reality, rejected it, and replaced it with their own. Cultivation itself had always been an act of defiance. Mortals were supposed to age, weaken, and die. Cultivators simply rejected that conclusion. They believed humanity could ascend beyond heaven itself, and somehow... the world allowed it. Ning let out a slow breath.

"Intent isn't just understanding; it's imposing understanding onto the world." Suddenly, countless things clicked into place. A technique was not merely qi flowing through meridians. If that were all it was, everyone who copied the same circulation route would produce the exact same result. Yet they didn't. Two cultivators could practice the same sword art for decades, and one would merely wield a sharp blade while the other would cut apart an entire mountain range. The difference had never been the movements.

It was the belief behind them. Every original technique began as an impossible thought. Someone had once looked at ordinary qi and stubbornly insisted that it could become fire. Another had believed water could freeze heaven itself. Another had decided a single sword could divide the seas. Ridiculous. Impossible. Until it wasn't. Ning stared at the single word written on the page.

"A creator first needs an idea..." he murmured.

"Then enough understanding to make it possible..."

"... and finally..." His lips slowly curved upward.

"... they have to believe in that idea so completely that even qi has no choice but to follow." He leaned back and laughed quietly.

"So creating a technique is really just becoming delusional..." The smile lingered for another moment before gradually fading.

"... Now comes the difficult part." His gaze settled on the pale world before him.

"Can I become delusional enough to create something that has never existed before?" Ning's eyes shone a brilliant blue. He knew he would find out soon enough.

"So, what kind of technique do I desire?" The answer came fast. Something that let him not just survive, but thrive. Fight bigger, hit harder, punch above every weight class he'd ever be handed. A nuke, but for peace of mind. After all, this was an absurd world, where anything could happen at any moment.

"But techniques like my Lightning Cry Arrow fulfill that purpose somewhat; it's just still lacking." Ning mused. Ning closed his eyes. He didn't immediately begin experimenting. Instead, he looked back. At himself. At the boy who had arrived at the Pure Qi Sect with little more than common sense and an odd ability that told him when he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

He had survived because he understood one truth from the very beginning: a sapling that insisted on standing taller than the ancient trees would only be snapped by the wind. So he endured and waited. Only now, after countless quiet gains, had he grown sturdy enough to spread his wings. But was that it? No. He had borrowed spirit stones without hesitation if they could be turned into greater gains later. He had farmed diligently, not merely for harvests, but for relationships.

Every successful crop became another favor from an alchemist, another acquaintance willing to exchange knowledge. He had sought out those who knew more than him instead of pretending he already knew enough. He had reorganized the Scripture Pavilion's lower library, not just because he enjoyed sorting books, but because access to ten thousand books was worth far more than the effort required.

He had shamelessly written dubious manuals that respectable cultivators wouldn't touch, simply because it would help him grow further. He had even bribed Si Sihua with snacks and little gifts so she'd quietly point him toward worthwhile missions whenever they appeared. His farming improved his cultivation. His cultivation improved his farming. His understanding of otherworldly knowledge helped his spellcasting. His spellcasting strengthened his battlefield control. Everything fed everything else.

None of those choices had seemed extraordinary on their own. Together, they had become him. Ning opened his eyes.

"... I've never won because of one brilliant move." His victories had always been built the same way. One advantage after another. Layer upon layer. Until the difference became impossible to ignore. His gaze drifted toward his status panel. Know Thyself had undoubtedly been invaluable. It revealed flaws before they became disasters. It measured progress. It showed his numbers going up. But it had never comprehended a technique for him, nor fought his battles.

It simply ensured that every ounce of effort he invested yielded the greatest possible return.

"It never became my strength..." Ning chuckled.

"It made my strengths stronger." That was why he treasured it so much. The ability had never demanded he become a certain kind of cultivator. It had simply taken whatever path he chose... and helped him walk it better. So the answer was obvious.

"... Accumulation." He wanted a technique that would help him accumulate and further enhance his strength.

"Fortunately, this is a world where the impossible becomes possible." Ning decided on his path that very moment.

"So, how do I go about this?" The Origin Orb further sharpened Ning's already active mind. Spiritual energy normally entered the meridians, ran its route, and was released. Even techniques built around gathering power usually compressed it at one point before letting go. It was direct, but it was also a landmine: compress too far, and the meridian tore; destabilize it, and it went off on its own; interrupt it, and the backlash came straight back through the body. So why did the force have to sit still?

He raised a hand, gathered qi, and pushed it into a slow rotation. It sped up. A hum spread through the emptiness. A circle had no beginning or end; force in a straight line eventually had to stop or release, but force trapped in a circle just kept coming back to itself. Every revolution layered onto the last. Beautiful. Also completely insane. The body wasn't a formation plate. Force continuous rotation into it, and eventually the channel would come apart.

The sphere above his palm accelerated, then collapsed inward and detonated.

"Ugh." Ning blinked as he recovered. He was back at the Tower. [Attempts Left: 999] Ning glanced at his uninjured hand and grinned.

"Good." Then he started writing down all his findings, all his ambitions, like a madman, on the paper. After finishing, he started over again in the pale world.

"Circulation..." Every technique ran on it, at the bottom. Qi never sat still. Breathing was circulation, blood was too. In fact, even the world moved, cloud to rain to river to sea to cloud again.

"So why does every technique insist on stopping?" Qi flowed from the dantian, through the meridians, out. It was simple and direct. The technique began, and then it went back to zero. It was the basic rule.

"But who decided that?" Ning's eyes shone. He imagined the river. When it hit a stone, it didn't stop; the water behind it kept coming. One current became the next. The force wasn't one wave; it was hundreds arriving together. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"So what if qi did the same?" He drew a ring of qi. Kept it turning instead of releasing it. One revolution, two, three, the qi around it drifted in on its own.

"It works-" The ring thickened. Then, three breaths later, it spun out of control and blew his arm apart. Ning was back at the start again. Ning remembered the panel.

"Tsk, my body couldn't handle it. But I have the concept down." Plus, there was another thing to be happy about. His Know Thyself synergized extremely well with the simulation. He could know, in depth, exactly which meridian and which circulation he had gotten wrong. While others' spiritual sense allowed them to sense inside their own bodies, their detection would never be as accurate and insightful as Know Thyself. This was Ning's advantage, and his hope for accomplishing his goal.

"So, now all that's left is to grind."...

"I tell you, the first Origin Orb is absolutely wasted on Xiao Fan." Zhou Chen spoke through gritted teeth.

"That brat was simply too lucky. The orb flew upward just as three others tried to seize it at the same time, and he happened to catch it."

"You truly never rest, do you?" He Shou countered. He was getting sick of this man. Zhou Chen had been complaining about one disciple the entire time.

"Why the hell are you even here?" If Ning had been present, he would have answered that question. In xianxia, just as arrogant young masters had their yes-men, protagonists also had their no-men. Without doubts and insults, how could the protagonist face-slap everyone later?

"Yes, calm down." Hong Zeiling sighed. He had already felt that the combination of Lou Ren and He Shou was troublesome enough, but with Zhou Chen added to the mix, things had become even worse. Alas, he should never have jinxed himself by wondering whether it could get any worse back then.

"This Origin Orb seems incredibly powerful," the young elder said.

"Especially the part about inspiration. I wonder how the disciples are feeling right now."

"Probably differently from one another," Hong Zeiling answered.

"Hm?" Ling Xin raised a brow.

"I thought the Origin Orb acted like the rare third-tier Wisdom Clarity Pill. At least, that was how it worked in my time."

"For you, perhaps it was similar, but it isn't exactly the same." Hong Zeiling shook his head.

"In truth, the Origin Orb's enhancement differs from person to person. It does not grant knowledge from nothing. It works based on the amount of information, experience, and inspiration already present within the disciple. The more they've accumulated, the more the orb can amplify."

"If that's the case, then older disciples have an advantage," the young elder said, nodding thoughtfully.

"Not necessarily," Ling Xin said. She had total faith in her disciple.

"Well, your disciple has surprised us several times already, so I hope you're right," He Shou said. Although Xiao Fan was probably his favorite among the remaining disciples, he still liked Ning. The boy never backed down when it came to helping someone, even if his methods were often surprising. He was a kind lad in the end.

"If the Heavenly Origin Tower can produce such a miraculous item, then can elders also obtain one?" the young elder asked. After hearing Ling Xin compare it to a third-tier pill, something useful even for Purple Mansion cultivators, his curiosity naturally grew.

"That's not possible." Hong Zeiling's tone carried some regret.

"I don't know exactly how the Tower produces these orbs, but I do know one thing: they can only be used by Qi Condensation disciples." Even he had dreamed of obtaining such a boost in inspiration.

"Why is it like that?" the young elder couldn't help but ask.

"That's simply how the Tower was made," Hong Zeiling sighed.

"At first, the Heavenly Origin Tower didn't possess so many functions on each floor. The founder slowly transformed his Nascent Soul artifact into what it is today. The rules regarding the Origin Orbs were also set by him." Hearing it was the decision of the founder, the young elder knew there was no way around it.

"It's a pity we can't check the disciples' progress until the end," He Shou said, sounding bored.

"Lei Dong will surely win," Zhou Chen proclaimed. He Shou merely side-eyed the man. He knew Zhou Chen belonged to Grand Elder Lei's faction, but even so, this level of bootlicking was truly difficult to watch.... Lang Rulang stood alone within her simulation space, sword in hand, her robes fluttering beneath invisible currents. Before her floated a single line of golden text. [LANG RULANG.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 121.] She had originally possessed six hundred attempts. Now, only one hundred and twenty-one remained.

Lang Rulang looked at the number in silence. She should have been more careful. But carefulness alone did not create progress. If she had spent every attempt hesitating, then even six hundred chances would have become meaningless. The Origin Orb rewarded those who dared to test their understanding and endure the consequences of being wrong. Even so, she understood her limits. Lang Rulang was not greedy enough to believe she could create a completely new technique from nothing.

She did not possess the spiritual sense to observe every subtle change in her inner circulation. Without that, attempting to design a complex new qi route would be like walking through a sword formation blindfolded. If she had taken a stronger orb, perhaps she would have tried. But heaven had not favored her that much. Qiu Han had beaten her to the third orb with his supernatural power. Lei Dong had claimed the fourth.

Shi Fu, an eighth-stage disciple still burning with anger after missing the brighter orbs, had seized the fifth. Lang Rulang had only managed to claim the sixth through stubbornness, timing, and the opening created by using Ning's strategy. She knew why she had reached this stage. It was not because she was a genius in comprehension. It was because she refused to lose. She had worked until her palms bled. She had practiced until her wrist went numb. She had lost, and that troubled her more than it should.

That obsession had carried her here. So she chose the path that suited her best. She would not create something entirely new. No, she would improve what was already hers. Falling Gale Sequence. The inherited sword art of her family. It was an Earth-grade martial art, a chain of sword strikes that gathered wind pressure with every movement.

Each slash borrowed the momentum of the previous one, turning one cut into two, two into four, and four into a storm that pressed down upon the enemy until their guard finally broke. It was strong and elegant. It had carried her through countless battles. And Ji Ning had broken it. Lang Rulang's fingers tightened around her sword hilt. She still remembered that fight.

Not only was she slowed down by the icy mist, but her rhythm was dismantled by a technique not even meant for battle, and it was at that moment Ning's spear struck the weakest point of her technique. He had not overpowered her. That would have been easier for her to digest: that the opponent just had a stronger technique. No, Ning had found the fragile link in her chain and defeated her because she was lacking. At first, she had been angry and ashamed. Then she had trained.

Because anger was useless unless it became a blade. It was a lesson she knew well enough. Lang Rulang raised her sword. The wind answered. She once again tried the new circulation, the new way to express force through her blade. The first slash cut forward, and then the second followed. The third gathered the leftover pressure, ready for the next. Then she tried to bend the fourth slash back into the chain. The wind pressure rebounded through her wrist. Her fingers went numb.

The sword flew from her hand and spun across the pale floor before dissolving into light. [Attempt; 120.] Lang Rulang stared at her empty hand. Then she summoned the sword again. Again. This time, she made her footwork lighter, trying to prevent any small disruption from reaching her rhythm. For the first three slashes, the sword moved smoothly. The wind gathered, circled, and pressed forward. But the moment she tried to alter direction, her steps became too loose. The rhythm scattered. [Attempt: 119.] Again.

She shortened the full Falling Gale Sequence into three-strike bursts. The first burst worked, and the second almost connected. The third became nothing more than ordinary swordplay wrapped in excess wind. It looked sharp and fierce. But Lang Rulang knew the truth. It was hollow. [Attempt: 118.] Again. She forced more qi into the blade, attempting to hold the scattered wind together through power alone. The fourth slash came out stronger. Then the returning force slammed into her meridian near the wrist.

Pain flashed up her arm as the sword slipped from her hand. [Attempt: 117.] Lang Rulang breathed slowly. She did not curse, nor did she complain. She simply picked up the sword again. Falling Gale Sequence was powerful because each strike fed the next. But that also meant every strike depended on the previous one. If the chain was interrupted, the accumulated pressure collapsed. The weakness was not merely her footing. It was continuity. The sequence was like a river forced into a straight channel.

Once the channel broke, the water scattered. So the answer was not more force. The answer was to return. If the rhythm broke, there had to be a way to catch the scattered wind and bring it back. Lang Rulang closed her eyes. Wind did not only move forward. When wind struck a cliff, it curled. When it passed through a valley, it twisted. When it met resistance, it did not vanish. It changed direction. Why, then, did her sword insist on one path? She raised her sword again.

This time, she did not imagine Falling Gale Sequence as a straight chain of attacks. She imagined it as circling wind. The first slash moved forward. The second drew back slightly to gather the leftover pressure around her wrist. The third rose from below, carrying the returning current back into the blade. The wind trembled. For one dangerous moment, the sequence almost scattered. Lang Rulang's eyes sharpened. She did not force the rhythm forward; she let it bend following its natural rhythm. Her wrist circled.

The wind curled around the blade, slipped through the failed path, and returned from the other side. The fourth slash came out, but it was weak and unstable. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 107.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 96.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 84.] Lang Rulang's expression remained cold, but her sword grew steadier. The returning wind circled her blade again. This time, the fourth slash did not collapse; the fifth followed, and the sixth was right behind it. The wind no longer relied on one perfect line. When interrupted, it curled back.

When scattered, it gathered again. When its forward path was denied, it returned through another angle. It was not a complete transformation of Falling Gale Sequence; rather, it was a patch. A way to prevent one disruption from ending the entire rhythm. In essence, it was a bridge. But sometimes, a bridge was the difference between falling into an abyss and crossing it. The pale chamber trembled. Golden words appeared before her. [NEW FORM CREATED.] Lang Rulang held her sword silently.

The returning wind circled her blade, soft at first, then sharper, like a storm remembering its path after being broken.

"Falling Gale Sequence." Lang Rulang understood the name she wanted for this new form.

"Returning Wind." The simulation trembled. [FORM ACCEPTED.] [FALLING GALE SEQUENCE: RETURNING WIND FORM.] [PRIMARY EFFECT: RECOVERS RHYTHM AFTER DISRUPTION.] [SECONDARY EFFECT: ALLOWS SHORTENED GALE CHAINS TO RECONNECT.] [DIRECT POWER: MODERATE.] [TECHNIQUE CONTINUITY: HIGH.] Lang Rulang slowly lowered her sword. She had not created a heaven-shaking art, but she had sealed the wound Ji Ning had once opened in her sword. For now, that was enough. No. It was not enough.

But it was a beginning as she bathed in the faint silver light from the tower.... Ning exploded for the two hundred and twenty-third time. Within the simulation, his body had just ruptured from the inside out after attempting to force rotating qi through his shoulder meridian. The pale world reset. Ning appeared again, whole and breathing hard. Golden text hovered before him. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 777.] He stared at the number. Then he rubbed his forehead. Ning looked down at the papers scattered around him.

After the simulation, he had insisted on writing everything down. Sheets covered the ground in messy circles, crooked diagrams, failed meridian routes, pressure estimates, and notes that had gradually grown less elegant as his patience died. Ning sat cross-legged and exhaled.

"Let's review." His first concept had been simple: rotating qi through a circulation route and allowing each revolution to accumulate force. But the problems showed. The meridians of the arm were too narrow. The shoulder route was too complicated. The spine route was strong but dangerous; any instability there was the sort of mistake that turned a cultivator into a cautionary scroll. The waist route distributed pressure better, but leaked too much force before release. The biggest problem was not the circle.

It was location. He had been trying to create an accumulating rotation through the meridians themselves, because most techniques moved through meridian routes. That made sense for ordinary circulation and release, but his technique was not ordinary circulation. It was about accumulation.

"I need to change my thought process." Ning understood he had reached a dead end. If the meridians were too fragile for continuous accumulation, then he needed a place in the body already meant to contain qi. His gaze slowly lowered. The dantian. Ning went quiet. The dantian was the root of cultivation. Spiritual energy gathered there before circulating through the meridians. It was naturally broader, more stable, and more capable of holding qi than any individual channel. Every cultivator used the dantian.

But using it as a rotating accumulation chamber was another matter entirely. It was not impossible, of course. It was just incredibly dangerous in a far more important location. Ning stared at the glowing diagram of his inner body.

"Putting a spinning bomb near the dantian," he murmured.

"But if the bomb doesn't touch the wall..." Earlier, Ning had wondered if he was deluded. And now, Ning had proved it through a practical answer.... In another sealed chamber, purple lightning roared. Lei Dong stood beneath a sky of flickering thunder, his robes snapping violently around him as arcs of lightning crawled over his arms. Before him floated an old jade slip, its surface cracked, its inscriptions incomplete.

It was an incomplete Earth-grade martial art his grandfather had once obtained through great effort. The first half was intact. The second half was fragmented. Several crucial circulation routes were missing, and the final strike existed only as scattered hints. Strictly speaking, using the Origin Orb to complete it was somewhat shameless. But Lei Dong did not care. Opportunity was opportunity. Only fools abandoned an advantage because it looked unfair.

The Heavenly Origin Tower had not forbidden disciples from improving existing techniques, and the ancient voice had only said to innovate. Completing a broken Earth-grade inheritance was innovation enough, if he put his own twist at the end. Lei Dong raised his hand, and a great mass of purple lightning gathered above his palm.

"Why should I start from nothing," he muttered, eyes sharp, "when I already stand before a path to power?" The incomplete martial art was called Purple Heaven Thunder Palm. Even incomplete, it was formidable. When activated, thunder qi would gather in the meridians of the arm, compress into the palm, and descend like heavenly punishment. But the flaw was obvious. The palm gathered power quickly, but it scattered just as quickly.

If he failed to release it at the proper instant, the lightning would rebound through his arm and tear apart the flesh. And that was exactly what happened for the past hundred simulations. [Attempts Left: 210] Lei Dong's face darkened.

"Again." He altered the route, borrowed a fragment from another lightning art he had practiced, and tried to stabilize the palm print before release. The thunder became stronger, but the palm collapsed before striking. [Attempt: 209.] Lei Dong's eyes blazed. He did not need subtlety in the technique - none of that weak shit. He wanted power. He wanted a palm that could crush anyone standing before him. Purple lightning surged upward, forming a huge palm print in the void.

Compared to the earlier attempts, this one was clearer. The five fingers were distinct. The palm lines burned with thunder runes. Its pressure was unstable, but it was no longer collapsing. Lei Dong lifted his chin.

"Good. It's coming together." The purple palm descended; while it was not picture perfect, it was enough to prove he was walking in the right direction.

"Again," he said.... Ning failed again. This time, the dantian whirlpool survived forty breaths before the outer ring destabilized and dragged the surrounding qi sea into rotation. For one beautiful moment, it looked like a miniature galaxy inside his lower abdomen. Then it proved to be a disaster. Alas, it was like a devil, for only with a beautiful appearance could it lead to disaster. The simulated Ning folded in half as golden cracks burst from his dantian. The world reset. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 331.] Ning appeared again in the Tower, seated among scattered notes and ruined diagrams.

"Ugh!" Ning scratched his head. It was almost working. He just wasn't finding the correct ratio, the correct form for the circle to take.

"One more time." In the pale world, this time Ning increased the intake speed using Small Cloud Rain's droplet principle, allowing qi to enter the whirlpool in tiny pulses instead of one stream. It worked. Then the pulses arrived too quickly, colliding inside the rotation and creating turbulence. The whirlpool tilted sideways and struck the containment boundary. [Attempts Left: 330] Ning exhaled.

"Layered speed must be gradual. Inner fast, outer slow, but it should not touch the wall; otherwise I am screwed." His notes covered the pale ground. Diagrams of circles filled the pages. Some were crossed out with violent black lines. Some had tiny annotations beside them. Some simply contained question marks, curses, and arrows pointing to phrases like: terrible idea, maybe less terrible, promising but suicidal. The number dropped. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 320.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 315.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 310.] Ning's hair had fallen loose over his shoulders. His eyes were faintly bloodshot, but blue light still glimmered within them whenever Clear Eyes activated. He looked like a man trapped in a furnace, hammering the same piece of iron again and again because he refused to admit the iron was pure enough. And each time the simulation reset, he rose. Each time the panel gave him a cause of failure, he wrote it down. Each time the concept broke, he did not abandon it. He narrowed it. He corrected it.

He made the madness more precise.... In the brightest sealed chamber, Xiao Fan was also failing. In the pale world, there was only Xiao Fan, his fist, and the power he kept failing to hold. Golden characters floated before him. [XIAO FAN.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 418.] He had started with one thousand five hundred. Now, barely over four hundred remained. Xiao Fan looked at the number, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and grinned.

"That many left? Good." The Origin Orb had given him more attempts than anyone else, but he had burned through them faster than anyone else too. His method was simple. Gather power. Fail. Get blown apart. Stand up. Do it again. Xiao Fan understood one thing clearly. Luo Kei had not truly been defeated by him alone, not in a way Xiao Fan could call pure strength. He had won because Ning had created an opening. Because Luo Kei had been careless. Because the situation had turned against him at the perfect moment.

Luck was part of victory. Xiao Fan did not deny that. But if he wanted to keep climbing, if he wanted to stand before eighth-stage disciples and not rely on someone else's trap, then luck could not be his only weapon. He looked down at his fists. They were bruised, bloodied, and wrapped in golden qi.

"Heaven-Shattering Fist is strong," Xiao Fan muttered. But strong was not enough. Against someone at the same level, it could overwhelm. Against someone one stage higher, it could contest. Against an eighth-stage cultivator who was serious from the start? He might only get one chance. Then that one chance had to be enough. He wanted an attack that did not merely hit hard.

He wanted a strike that gathered everything he had, held it, layered it, compressed it, and released it in a single blow so heavy that even someone stronger would be forced to acknowledge it. An attack that could decide a fight. An attack that could break through a wall he was not supposed to break. Xiao Fan slowly clenched his fist.

"Gather qi into the fist." That was the obvious first step. Spiritual energy surged from his dantian, rushing through his arm and gathering around his knuckles. Golden light thickened. Heaven-Shattering Fist began to form. Normally, he would release it immediately. This time, he held it even though the qi trembled and the bones in his hand creaked. Xiao Fan clenched his jaw.

"More. More. More." He forced layer after layer of spiritual energy over the first. The fist brightened. For a breath, the layers held. Then the structure collapsed. The gathered qi burst apart, blowing his arm backward in a spray of golden light. His shoulder twisted violently, and the entire simulated body staggered as pain shot up through his meridians. The world reset. [Attempts Left: 417] Xiao Fan rolled his shoulder.

"Again." He gathered qi into his fist, but instead of stacking the second layer directly on top of the first, he wrapped it around the outside like cloth wound around a stone. The structure held longer. Xiao Fan's eyes grew hopeful, then the outer layer cracked. Failure. Again. He compressed the first layer too much, and his knuckles shattered. Failure. Again. He layered too softly. The punch released, but the result was barely stronger than an ordinary Heaven-Shattering Fist.

Xiao Fan stared at the faint crater in the black stone. His face darkened.

"That's not enough." He didn't mind pain, but he refused to accept being weaker. He activated Heavenly Body Tempering Art while gathering qi. Pale-golden lotus patterns surfaced beneath his skin, strengthening flesh, bone, and meridians. The phantom of a lotus bloomed faintly behind him. This time, the fist held. Xiao Fan's eyes lit up. Then the qi became too dense for his control. The gathered force rebounded up his arm, slammed into his shoulder, and blasted him backward across the cracked stone field.

The world reset again. Xiao Fan coughed out a breath and laughed.

"That was closer." Golden characters continued to fall. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 391.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 367.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 342.] Xiao Fan walked through the pale world, breathing heavily. Too much compression broke the fist, and too little compression lacked force. Direct stacking collapsed, and soft layering dispersed. Rotation helped, but only if the layers supported one another. The Heavenly Body Tempering Art could endure more pressure than ordinary flesh, but even it had limits.

It was a foundation he had to use properly. Xiao Fan looked at his fist again.

"Layer it." His eyes grew brighter.

"Yes, I got it." He gathered the first layer around his fist. This time, he treated it as the core. The second layer wrapped around it, not pressing directly inward, but holding its shape. The third layer bound the second. The fourth layer compressed from the outside. The fifth began to rotate, forcing all the previous layers to grind inward without scattering. Golden light sank into his knuckles, into the bones, into the meridians of his arm. The fist began to glow like a sun buried beneath skin.

Xiao Fan's forearm trembled. The lotus patterns beneath his skin brightened.

"More." The sixth layer formed. The black stone beneath his feet cracked. The pressure around his fist became unbearably heavy. It was a force so devastating that it was surprising that Xiao Fan could contain it. Each layer held the previous one down, forcing the power inward, strengthening the whole structure until his fist felt as if it carried a blazing star trapped beneath his knuckles. Xiao Fan inhaled and then punched. The release came too early as the gathered force exploded halfway through the motion.

Golden light tore across the field, carving a broken trench through the ground before scattering apart. The backlash threw Xiao Fan backward, his right arm hanging limp. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 341.] He lay on the cracked stone for several breaths. Then he laughed carefree.

"That was definitely closer." The world reset. [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 312.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 287.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 256.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 223.] [ATTEMPTS LEFT: 187.] His body shattered again and again, but his eyes grew steadier. Only focus remained. He remembered being called trash; he remembered losing everything. He remembered Zhou Chen, and how the foundation-building pressure had felt like a mountain pressing down simply because it was taller. No, next time he would not get crushed so easily.

Xiao Fan lowered his stance.

"I'll make a fist that can break mountains." Golden qi gathered around his hand. First layer. His arm hummed. Second layer. Lotus patterns spread across his skin. Third layer. The ground beneath him cracked. Fourth layer. His breathing became heavy. Fifth layer. The golden light around his fist turned dense, almost white at the center. Sixth layer. The phantom lotus bloomed behind him. This time, he did not rush to attack as he had before. He held the power of the sun in the palm of his hands. One breath.

Two breaths. Three breaths. His arm shook violently. Blood seeped between his fingers. The layered qi ground against itself, each layer threatening to collapse into the next. Xiao Fan's eyes burned gold.

"Hold." The fist obeyed his order, regardless of the pain. He stepped forward. All six layers collapsed into one point, as he was ready.

"Heaven-Shattering Fist." The golden lotus behind him opened fully.

"Final Star Break." His fist struck. For a heartbeat, the world went silent. Then golden light erupted. It pierced forward like a pillar, a concentrated beam of fist force that tore across the cracked black field and split the distant horizon of the simulation space. The ground shattered beneath his feet, and the golden sky split apart. This time, his arm was not broken. Xiao Fan stood in the center of the golden afterglow, his right arm trembling, blood dripping from his knuckles onto the broken stone.

The fist had held true and strong. Golden characters appeared. [INNOVATION COMPLETE.] Xiao Fan looked at his smoking fist. For several breaths, he said nothing.

"From now on, I will call this Final Star Break." The Origin Orb blazed. Outside, in the real hall, the sealed chamber around Xiao Fan opened, and he was suddenly struck by golden radiance. Within the light, Xiao Fan stood with his fist raised....

"... golden light?" For a moment, everyone was speechless.

"This brat just keeps on surprising." He Shou was smug. As expected of that boy, he always created miracles.

"Xiao Fan produced a golden light. That means he created an excellent new technique by himself."

"Tsk, the brat just got lucky." Zhou Chen's face twisted as if he'd eaten a sour lemon.

"Oh? But only Sect Leader Ge Xuan had the same achievement. Do you mean to belittle him by saying it's nothing?" He Shou chuckled.

"Y-you-" Zhou Chen narrowed his eyes.

"Enough, you two, on such a momentous occasion." Hong Zeiling snapped the two of them back.

"Also, Zhou Chen, I know you're upset that your son lost to Xiao Fan in the outer sect competition, but that doesn't take away from Xiao Fan's achievement. A golden light meant he placed first yet again in this competition. Only Lei Dong's faintly silver light comes close, and his isn't even fully silver."

"I guess the winner is decided, then," the young elder said.

"My niece performed great as well. Her silver light was almost identical to Lei Dong's, and even without spiritual sense." Lang Feilang was also proud this time. Her niece had done a great job.

"But I think there's still one left, isn't there?" Lou Ren spoke. His eyes tracked the only sealed space still present on the floor. Ji Ning.

"He should be wrapping up as well. Surely he innovated something; his previous achievements at least showed he was a genius." He Shou spoke up.

"Maybe he couldn't do it?" Zhou Chen spoke up, for no other reason than to contradict He Shou.

"My disciple will pass this trial." Ling Xin glared at Zhou Chen so fiercely that even the experienced old man felt the burn. Or maybe it was her fire spirit body at work.

"Calm down, Ling Xin. Calm down your temper, or else everything will be in flames." Lang Feilang tried to calm her friend, as the ends of Ling Xin's hair turned red.

"I would, if some people would just stop doubting my disciple." Ling Xin glared.

"Okay, okay. No one is doubting your disciple." Hong Zeiling spoke calmly.

"We're just wondering how he'll fare against Xiao Fan. We're all looking forward to your disciple's achievement."

"Oh, Ning..." Ling Xin calmed down, then looked at the sealed dome worriedly.... Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. At some point, Ning stopped counting. The pale world shattered and rebuilt around him so many times that even dying inside the simulation began to feel routine. His meridians tore. His dantian shook. The rotating qi expanded beyond control. The core overheated. The outer edge froze. The release route collapsed before the power reached his arm.

Failure. Repeat. Again. Ning ignored the bronze light that rose from somewhere beyond the sealed walls. He ignored the silver beam that followed. Later, even when golden radiance erupted from another chamber, bright enough to make the entire space tremble, he did not look up. Someone had succeeded. Good. Let them succeed. He had only one thing on his mind. The circle.

"Am I overreaching?" Ning muttered to no one, watching another failed ring dissolve into gold mist. A part of him, the small sane part that hadn't yet been buried under hundreds of explosions, wondered if he was chasing something that simply didn't belong to a sixth-stage cultivator. Maybe he should've just settled for something else. Ning took those doubts and buried them. In his heart, there should be no place for doubt. He just needed to believe. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat.

Retry. Failure. Repeat. For belief to grow, it needed seeds. And to Ning, those seeds came from another world. A world where people wrote impossible things and made them feel natural. A world where there were fictions and even physics. A world where a certain bizarre anime showed the power of rotation through spin. Not only that, even in this world, Ning knew that techniques for accumulating power existed.

There are tales of legendary sword sheathing techniques, where swordsmen would nurture their swords for hundreds of years, and the day they unleashed the sword would be the day when blood would spread for certain. So, Ning needed to be certain about his path. A circle had no beginning and no end. If force moved in a straight line, it had to stop, scatter, or release. But if force could be made to return to itself, then every revolution could nourish the next. Power would not merely gather; it would be refined.

Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Ning's hair had long since fallen loose around his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot, and sheets of paper covered the pale ground around him, filled with frantic diagrams and half-mad notes. Do not let the circle touch the meridian wall. Dantian can contain qi. Meridians cannot contain rotation. Heat refines. Too much heat cooks. Cold stabilizes. Too much cold kills motion. Droplets, not flood. Circle must breathe.

Don't hamper normal circulation of qi. His brush had broken several attempts ago. He now wrote with condensed ink on his fingers, scratching corrections onto the floor. The answer was close. He could feel it. If he could suspend the circle within the dantian, then the surrounding spiritual energy could act as a buffer. The circle would not grind against flesh. It would spin within qi itself. Like a whirlpool in water. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Failure.

Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat. Retry. Failure. Repeat... Ning repeated the cycle endlessly, searching for that one moment where everything fell into place. And luck, in the end, favored those who left it nowhere else to hide.

Contrary to people's expectations, luck was not uncontrollable. It was just buried beneath failure, waiting at the bottom of a graveyard made from shattered attempts. Ning had died here again and again, and failed even more. He had carved every mistake into the pale floor until even impossibility had no more excuses left. So when the next attempt came, it was not like a miracle, just the inevitability of the process. Ning slowly raised his trembling hand.

"Again." A single ring of qi formed in the center of his dantian. It spun slowly. He let qi enter in droplets, following the principle of Small Cloud Rain. Each drop joined the rotation without disturbing the whole. He remembered all his techniques. He applied everything he had learned. Hidden Ice Mist cooled the outer edge, preventing expansion. Scorching Purge refined the core, burning away unstable strands. Turtle Breathing suppressed the leakage, keeping the circle subdued.

Clear Eyes observed every tremor in the flow before imbalance became collapse. Jade Skin and Icy Meridians allowed his body to endure the strain. Withering and Flourishing balanced nourishment and restraint, letting the circle grow without devouring itself. Spiral Arrow gave it rotation, teaching the gathered force how to turn without scattering. Lightning Cry Arrow gave it discharge, showing how stored power could erupt in a single instant.

Cold River Spear Art gave it rhythm: calm on the surface, force hidden beneath, moving relentlessly. It was every path he had walked, every small art he had practiced, every ordinary lesson he had refused to waste, finally turning together as one. As finally that one moment came, as the true circle formed. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Ning's breath caught. Stable. Then it wasn't just stable anymore. No, it was growing, accumulating, becoming something more from a tiny strand.

The ring thickened without him feeding it anything new; the qi already inside was folding over itself, refining, condensing, layer answering layer just like water finding its own level. He'd built something that fed itself. Heat surged through his abdomen like a furnace that was eternally burning as the qi revolved around his dantian, being nourished due to the very nature of it. Ning felt his own lips pull into a grin.

"So this is what it feels like." His voice came out rough, wrung dry from lack of water, more than nine hundred attempts taking its toll on him. But it was worth it. He closed his fist. The circle answered by turning faster. [INFINITE CIRCLE] [A circle of qi gathers in the dantian. The qi is then nourished with time as it spins. Eventually, it will grow stronger and stronger. Any technique used with this qi will be supercharged.] Then, the purple-gold light hit Ning....

Thanks for reading~ A/N: Next, the final trial of the Tower.