Lin Zhiyue looked down at the eight documents on the desk. Outside the window, the night was as thick as ink, and the desk lamp in the dormitory cast a warm, cozy yellow glow over everything. Standing in this small room where she had pulled countless all-nighters, revised endless drafts of her thesis, and drawn innumerable illustrations, she found all her choices waiting for her.
Greed, a desire for strength, power, fame, comfort, a bright future, and validation—the illusion acted like a microscope, shaking out all the desires she had hidden in the deepest recesses of her heart during her past life. It laid them out before her one by one, each beautifully and perfectly packaged, each something she had once truly and genuinely wanted.
She stared at them for a long time.
In her past life, she had sat in her dorm room hesitating over three job offers for three days, but before she could make up her mind, she had been sent to the cultivation world.
At the moment of her death, her hand had still been gripping the stylus of her graphics tablet, her thesis acknowledgments only half-written. All those unmade choices had become an eternal, unsolved mystery.
But now, the illusion was giving her a second chance, placing her back in that very seat to face the crossroads that had once kept her tossing and turning at night.
She reached out and picked up the first one: the game company's offer. After flipping through a couple of pages, she set it down.
The second was the offer to stay at the university. Her advisor's familiar handwriting spelled out her name. She stared at it for a few seconds before putting it back.
The third, the fourth, the fifth... She picked up and examined each one, then placed them back on the desk one by one. She didn't destroy them, tear them up, or watch them dissolve into flecks of light. She simply read through every single one with utmost care, then neatly arranged them back in their original spots.
Finally, she walked to the window and pushed it open wider. The autumn night wind rushed in, rustling the documents on the desk.
Leaning against the windowsill, she glanced outside. The sycamore leaves along the tree-lined path glowed a brilliant gold under the streetlights. The soccer players on the field had dispersed, leaving only an empty lawn and the scattered lights of the distant dormitory buildings.
“I wanted every single one of them,” she said softly. “When I was pulling all-nighters in the lab, I thought about slacking off at a game company. When I was getting blasted by peer reviewers, I thought about changing careers so I'd never have to take that kind of abuse again. When my hands cramped up from drawing, I thought about signing with a studio and being a hands-off boss. All of those thoughts were real.”
She turned around, leaning her back against the windowsill as she faced the desk piled high with documents.
“But I chose drawing, I chose doing research, and I chose to keep moving forward. It wasn't because any of those offers weren't good enough, but because I was already on the path I wanted to walk. A person can only choose one path. Once you're on it, stop looking back and pining for the others.”
After saying this to the mountain of documents, she fell silent for a moment, then smiled.
“The decision I couldn't make in my past life—I've made it now.”
She turned, propped herself up on the windowsill, and leaped out of the third-floor window. The autumn wind rushed against her face, and sycamore leaves spun as they fell under the streetlights. She felt the weightless sensation of plummeting, but she closed her eyes in midair. All the unmade choices, unrejected offers, and unspoken decisions from her past life were lifted from her shoulders one by one during her descent, growing as light as feathers swept away by the wind.
The illusion shattered.
A vast expanse of white light flooded in once more. The dormitory, the documents, the sycamore trees, and the streetlights were all crumpled and swept away as if by an invisible hand.
She felt herself plummeting suddenly before her back pressed against the cold, hard stone tiles of the square.
She opened her eyes.
Above her head fluttered Tiance Palace's flag with its silver patterns on a black background. A crescent moon had just climbed over the eaves.
Around her, people were waking up one after another. Some clutched their knees and wept bitterly; some stared blankly at their empty hands; and others, pale-faced, propped themselves up on the ground, unable to stand for a long time.
The third trial, Heart's Inquiry, churned the deepest depths of human nature with the seven emotions and six desires. Out of the sixty-odd candidates, those who could stand up with a normal expression were few and far between.
Lin Zhiyue lay on the floor for a few moments longer, gazing up at the dim, yellow night-glowing pearls on the stone hall's vaulted ceiling, and slowly curled her lips into a smile.
She propped herself up with her arms, sat up, brushed off the nonexistent dust from her skirt, and rose to walk toward the hall exit.
As she passed the stone alcoves, the old man from Luohong Valley suddenly opened his eyes. His gaze landed on her, and his aged, raspy voice carried a hint of intrigue. “It seems you have overcome your desires—”
Lin Zhiyue paused slightly.
“It wasn't overcoming them,” she said. “I've just made peace with them.”
The old man stroked his beard, asked no further, and closed his eyes once more.
By the time she walked out of the stone hall, the sky was completely dark. The lights on Juxian City's square flickered to life one after another. The flag with the character “Ce” in silver patterns on a black background fluttered gently in the night wind, the moonlight casting a cold gleam over its silver details.
Standing at the entrance of the stone hall, Lin Zhiyue took a deep breath of the late autumn night air, feeling a crisp coolness fill her lungs. The cold spiritual energy in her body flowed quietly, and the hem of her Mist-shrouded Verdure robe fluttered slightly in the wind, its dark green patterns faintly visible.
She turned and walked back toward the inn. The moonlight stretched her shadow long and thin, and her green earrings swayed gently with her steps, reflecting a glint of light like shattered silver.
The results of the third trial were posted the following morning.
The majority of the sixty-odd candidates had been eliminated, leaving only twenty-three who successfully passed all three trials. Lin Zhiyue's name was hung high at the very top of the list, followed by the words: “Heart's Inquiry: Grade A-Plus, Overall Rating: Grade A-Plus.” The ink was barely dry, written in powerful, vigorous strokes.
She stood in front of the bulletin board as a crowd gathered around, whispering and pointing. The boy with the Gold Spiritual Root poked his head in and leaned closer, whispering, “You're the one with the dual ice and wind Heavenly Spiritual Root, right? I heard you only took the time of a single incense stick to get through the Heart's Inquiry. How did you do it?”
Before Lin Zhiyue could reply, a sudden commotion erupted behind her.
She turned to look. On the eastern viewing stands, the elders of the various sects had risen from their seats, their gazes turning in unison toward the same direction—the center of the square. There, in the armchair with silver patterns on a black background that had been empty for three whole days, a person was now seated.
The man was tall, dressed in sleek red and black martial robes with neatly bound cuffs. At his waist hung a narrow-bladed long saber with an entirely black scabbard, save for a hint of dark red at the pommel. His hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and a few stray strands on his forehead fluttered in the wind, revealing an extremely young face.
His features were sharp and deep-set, the lines of his brow and the bridge of his nose looking as though they had been carved stroke by stroke with a knife. His thin lips were slightly pursed, and his jaw was set tight.
He appeared to be a young man in his early twenties, but his posture in that chair lacked any of the restlessness or greenness of youth. He was incredibly solemn, cold, and composed, like a sheathed blade that one dared not look at directly, quietly radiating an oppressive aura.
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