The stone seat beneath Fang Lin was colder than normal stone.
The moment he sat down, a thin thread of black light rose from the seat and wrapped around his wrist like smoke. It did not bind his body, nor did it suppress his cultivation. It simply rested there, quiet and weightless, as if waiting for him to make a mistake.
Around the hall, the others took their seats one after another.
Feng Jiu'er sat not far from him, her back straight and her white-red robes spread neatly over the ancient stone. Her expression was calm, but her Peak Spirit Foundation aura had not fully withdrawn. It remained around her like a sheathed sword, quiet but ready. Su Wanqing sat beside her, while Li Shan, Luo Chen, Murong Yue, Bai Qing, Han Zhi, Zhao Feng, and the other Alliance disciples took seats in a loose formation.
Across from them, Xu Hanjiang and the River Sword Sect disciples sat with far less composure.
The disciple whose storage pouch had been taken by Fang Lin still looked pale. The black fire chains had disappeared, but the fear in his eyes had not. Every few breaths, his gaze would move toward Fang Lin with hatred, then toward the black lamp with dread, and finally back to Xu Hanjiang as if hoping his senior brother would somehow regain the face River Sword Sect had lost and if possible, his storage treasure.
Xu Hanjiang's face remained cold. The small black flame above his shoulder had vanished after he sat down, but the humiliation it left behind was still there. His robe was neat, his sword rested calmly across his knees, and his expression had returned to the thin smile he liked to wear. Yet Fang Lin could see the tension in his fingers.
A person who had lost face in front of enemies always wanted to regain it quickly.
That made him useful.
The black lamp burned silently at the center of the hall.
Its flame was dark, but it illuminated everything.
The withered corpses seated around the hall slowly raised their heads. Their hollow eyes faced the living cultivators, and the ancient voice echoed again.
"Desire has weight. Price has shape. Those who seek without price are thieves before fate. Those who speak falsely shall leave part of themselves beneath the lamp."
No one moved.
Even Murong Yue's smile faded.
The black light on each person's wrist tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind everyone that the trial was no longer asking politely.
The first person forced to speak was a River Sword Sect disciple near the edge of the hall.
The black light around his wrist brightened. His face changed, and his mouth opened before he could stop himself.
"I want more cultivation resources," he said, his voice trembling. "I want to break through to Late Spirit Foundation before my rivals."
The black lamp flickered.
The ancient voice asked, "What price?"
The disciple swallowed. "Ten years of sect contribution."
The black flame remained still.
Then a cold pressure fell on him.
The disciple's face went white. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his lips trembled violently. After several breaths, he cried out, "No, not ten years. I would betray a junior brother for it. I would take his reward if no one saw."
The moment the true price left his mouth, the black light loosened. A small black mark appeared on the back of his hand, then faded.
Silence settled over the hall.
Several River Sword Sect disciples looked ugly, but no one dared laugh. They knew their turn might be worse.
Fang Lin observed calmly.
So that was how the trial worked.
It did not care about righteous words. It did not even care if the desire was ugly. It cared whether the cultivator dared to look at his own heart without covering it with silk. The price did not have to be paid immediately. It only had to be admitted.
That was troublesome.
And interesting.
One by one, the black lamp chose people.
A Green Bamboo Sect disciple admitted that he wanted to survive more than he wanted glory, and that the price he was willing to pay was abandoning pride. The lamp accepted it. Another disciple claimed she wanted strength to protect her friends, but the black flame burned her wrist until she admitted she also wanted to be admired by them. The lamp accepted that too.
The trial did not punish selfishness.
It punished false purity.
When Zhao Feng's turn came, his face stiffened as if he had been pushed in front of an execution platform.
The black light around his wrist tightened.
He gritted his teeth and said, "I want to become strong enough that people stop thinking I am only following others."
The black lamp flickered.
"What price?"
Zhao Feng's expression twisted. "I can endure pain."
The flame did not move.
His face darkened. After a moment, he muttered, "Fine. I can endure being laughed at while I catch up."
The black light loosened.
Murong Yue looked at him with surprise, then smiled faintly. "That was not bad."
Zhao Feng glanced at her. "Was that praise?"
"It was almost praise."
He looked strangely satisfied.
Li Shan's turn followed.
He looked at the black lamp calmly. "I want a sword path that belongs to me, not one borrowed from another person's shadow."
"What price?"
Li Shan was silent for a moment. "I will accept being ordinary for as long as it takes to stop being ordinary."
The black lamp burned steadily.
Accepted.
Fang Lin gave Li Shan a brief glance.
That answer was plain, but it had weight. Some people wanted glory first and strength second. Li Shan had begun to understand that the order mattered.
Murong Yue's turn came next.
She leaned back slightly, her smile returning as if she wanted to greet the lamp like an old acquaintance. "I want freedom."
The black flame flickered.
"What price?"
"My reputation," she said lightly.
The black light tightened.
Murong Yue's smile did not vanish, but her eyes became sharper. After a breath, she sighed softly. "Fine. I want the freedom to choose who I am, even if others think the smile is fake. The price is that sometimes I will have to keep smiling even when it hurts."
The lamp accepted it.
No one joked.
Even Zhao Feng remained quiet.
Bai Qing's answer was gentler. She wanted courage, not glory, and her price was to stop hiding behind the excuse of weakness. Han Zhi wanted discipline strong enough to protect others without hesitation, and his price was loneliness. Luo Chen wanted a spear that would not bend before pressure, and his price was repeated failure.
Su Wanqing spoke calmly when the black light reached her.
"I want clarity. I want to see through danger before it reaches the people beside me."
"What price?"
Su Wanqing lowered her eyes. "To be suspected by those who do not understand caution."
The lamp accepted her.
Then the black light reached Feng Jiu'er.
The entire hall seemed to grow even quieter.
Feng Jiu'er sat beneath the black lamp, her expression composed and her sword resting across her knees. Crimson light faintly moved around her, mixed with pale-green Qi that steadied rather than softened her presence.
The ancient voice asked, "What do you desire?"
Feng Jiu'er did not answer immediately.
Xu Hanjiang watched her from across the hall, his eyes narrow. Several River Sword Sect disciples also listened closely. Desire revealed weakness. If Feng Jiu'er spoke carelessly, they might use it later.
Fang Lin watched her quietly.
Feng Jiu'er finally spoke.
"I want strength that does not need permission."
Her voice was calm, but the words spread through the hall like a flame touching dry grass.
The black lamp flickered.
"What price?"
Feng Jiu'er's eyes grew colder. "I will carry the weight of my choices myself."
The black flame tightened.
It was not enough.
Fang Lin saw her fingers press lightly against the sword hilt.
After several breaths, Feng Jiu'er raised her gaze toward the lamp. Her Peak Spirit Foundation aura slowly spread outward, crimson and pale green flowing together. It did not attack anyone, but Xu Hanjiang's expression changed slightly as the pressure brushed past him.
Feng Jiu'er said, "If I must stand alone, then I will stand alone. If my choices bring blame, I will bear it. If my path offends those above me, then let them be offended."
The black flame rose.
Accepted.
The Alliance disciples felt their hearts shake.
Xu Hanjiang's face became uglier. He had wanted to see weakness. Instead, he had seen a blade being drawn.
Fang Lin looked at Feng Jiu'er, and a faint smile appeared in his eyes.
Good.
Not because she was beautiful.
Not because she was proud.
Because she had a heart that could walk forward.
Then the black light reached Xu Hanjiang.
His thin, controlled smile returned.
"I want to obtain opportunity in these ruins and bring honor to River Sword Sect."
The lamp did not move.
The hall became cold.
Xu Hanjiang's expression stiffened.
The ancient voice asked, "What do you desire?"
Xu Hanjiang's jaw tightened. "I want the Black Lamp Hall's reward."
The flame remained still.
Fang Lin's lips curved slightly.
Xu Hanjiang noticed that smile, and anger flashed in his eyes. But under the black lamp, anger had no place to hide.
Finally, Xu Hanjiang spoke through clenched teeth. "I want to surpass the disciples who entered under Heavenly Sword Lake's banner. I want them to know River Sword Sect is not merely a servant sect."
The black flame flickered.
"What price?"
Xu Hanjiang breathed slowly. "I will risk my life."
The lamp tightened.
His face paled.
After a long silence, he said in a low voice, "I will risk the lives of those beneath me too."
Several River Sword Sect disciples looked at him sharply.
Xu Hanjiang did not look back.
The black flame accepted.
The hall became even colder.
Fang Lin watched him with mild interest. That answer was ugly, but useful. At least now the River Sword Sect disciples knew what kind of senior brother they had followed.
Then the black light reached Fang Lin.
For the first time, every gaze in the hall turned toward him.
Feng Jiu'er looked calm, but her eyes were focused. Murong Yue's curiosity was almost shining. Xu Hanjiang's gaze carried malice. The River Sword Sect disciple who had lost his storage pouch stared at Fang Lin as if hoping the black lamp would tear him open.
Fang Lin sat quietly beneath the dark flame.
The ancient voice asked, "What do you desire?"
Fang Lin lowered his eyes slightly.
He could not speak of Uncle Wei.
He could not speak of his parents.
He could not speak of the hidden truth of the ruins, his real identity, the grey stone, the Nine Nether lineage, or the road beyond this world.
But he also could not lie.
So he chose a truth large enough to hide many truths inside it.
"I want a road forward," Fang Lin said calmly.
The black flame flickered.
"What price?"
Fang Lin's expression did not change. "Those who block it."
The hall went silent.
The black flame rose slightly, but did not accept.
It wanted more.
Fang Lin lifted his gaze and looked at the lamp directly. His eyes were calm, but there was something beneath that calmness that made the nearby disciples feel their breathing slow.
"I will pay with patience when I must hide, with blood when I must fight, and with enemies when they insist on becoming the price."
The black lamp burned higher.
Still, it did not accept.
A faint pressure descended on Fang Lin's soul.
Not enough to break him.
But enough to ask.
Fang Lin's eyes became colder.
He understood. The lamp wanted something closer to the bone.
For one breath, his heart became silent.
Then he spoke.
"If the world gives me no road, I will take one. If the heavens place a gate before me, I will open it. If someone says I am not allowed to pass, then he had better be prepared to become part of the path beneath my feet."
The black flame erupted.
The withered corpses around the hall all turned toward Fang Lin.
The pressure vanished.
Accepted.
No one said a word.
Murong Yue stared at Fang Lin as if she had suddenly discovered that the quiet rogue cultivator beside them was not merely strange, but dangerous in a way that made people want to step away and watch from a safe distance.
Zhao Feng swallowed. "That sounded expensive."
Li Shan replied quietly, "Very."
Feng Jiu'er looked at Fang Lin without blinking. Her heart moved again, not because his answer sounded like Fang Lin, but because it sounded like something Fang Lin might become if the world kept forcing him forward.
Xu Hanjiang's face had turned grim.
The black lamp's flame slowly split into two streams of dark light.
One stream fell toward Feng Jiu'er.
The other fell toward Fang Lin.
The ancient voice echoed through the hall.
"One desires strength without permission. One desires a road without allowance. The lamp remembers both. The second test begins."
The stone seats beneath everyone trembled.
The withered corpses slowly stood.
Their ancient robes fell in tatters, and black fire burned in their hollow eyes. Each corpse turned toward the person whose desire had been weighed, as if choosing which heart to challenge.
Fang Lin stood from his seat, his black-grey robes settling around him.
He looked at the corpse walking toward him and smiled faintly.
"So desire is not enough. The lamp also wants proof."
His fingers relaxed by his side, and the heavy rhythm of Black Mountain Suppression Art stirred quietly within him.
Very well.
He had given the lamp words.
Now he would give it weight.
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