Xu Hanjiang's corpse opponent raised its rusted sword again.
The sword did not move quickly, but every time it descended, the air in front of Xu Hanjiang seemed to become a cold lake. The pressure was not overwhelming by itself. What made it troublesome was the intent hidden within it. Each strike carried the clean, ruthless simplicity of higher sword cultivation, as if the corpse was not trying to kill him with strength, but with comparison.
Xu Hanjiang hated that feeling.
He was a River Sword Sect inner disciple, one of the stronger disciples among his generation. In Rivercloud City, many people lowered their heads when his name was mentioned. Yet beneath Heavenly Sword Lake's shadow, River Sword Sect was always treated like a branch, a servant, a sword that belonged in someone else's sheath.
The corpse before him did not speak, but its sword seemed to say the same thing.
You are not enough.
Xu Hanjiang's eyes turned colder. His water-sword aura surged around him, forming ripples beneath his feet. The blood at the corner of his mouth had not dried, but his expression grew steadier. If he continued trying to win beautifully, he would lose. If he wanted to prove what he had said beneath the lamp, then he had to admit what kind of person he was.
The corpse stepped forward and slashed.
Xu Hanjiang did not retreat.
"River Severing Sword."
His sword light swept out in a cold blue arc, clashing head-on with the corpse's rusted blade. The impact forced his arm to tremble, but this time he did not try to overpower it alone. His left hand suddenly formed a seal, and a thread of water Qi shot backward, wrapping around the wrist of the River Sword Sect disciple who had lost his storage pouch.
The disciple's face changed. "Senior Brother Xu!"
Xu Hanjiang pulled.
The disciple staggered forward, unwillingly entering the edge of the corpse's sword pressure. The corpse's blade paused for half a breath, its attention disturbed by another living aura crossing into its range. That half breath was enough for Xu Hanjiang. His eyes flashed, and his sword pierced through the gap.
"Cold River Throat Pierce."
The sword light stabbed into the corpse's hollow throat, then exploded upward. Black fire burst from the corpse's eyes and mouth, scattering across the air like burning ink. The corpse trembled violently before collapsing into ash.
The River Sword Sect disciple who had been pulled forward fell to one knee, his face pale with fear and anger. The corpse's pressure had cut a bloody line across his shoulder. It was not fatal, but it was enough to let him understand something clearly.
Xu Hanjiang had truly been willing to risk him.
The hall fell quiet for a moment.
A stream of dark light descended from the Black Judgment Lamp and entered Xu Hanjiang's hand. A faint black flame mark appeared. Xu Hanjiang looked down at the back of his hand, and a strange light appeared in his eyes. He did not understand what the mark meant, but anything the lamp gave after such a trial could not be ordinary.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze turned cold.
"You used your own disciple as bait."
Xu Hanjiang slowly lowered his sword. His face had regained some color, and his smile returned, thinner than before but more dangerous. "The lamp asked for proof. I merely proved my answer."
And he tossed a healing pill casually towards that disciple.
The injured River Sword disciple caught the pill and lowered his head, but his fingers trembled. He did not dare speak.
Feng Jiu'er's Peak Spirit Foundation aura pressed forward slightly, crimson and pale-green light gathering around her like a flame held behind glass. "A sword that needs to step on its own people will never reach the lake it dreams of."
Xu Hanjiang's smile stiffened.
Fang Lin glanced at Feng Jiu'er, and the faint amusement in his eyes deepened. Her words were sharp enough to draw blood without unsheathing a sword. Good. Some people deserved to be cut where it was hardest to heal.
Xu Hanjiang looked at her coldly. "Junior Sister Feng should worry about her own path."
Feng Jiu'er did not reply.
The difference between them had already been shown clearly beneath the lamp. Both had received marks, but one had stood through his own greed by dragging another person into danger, while the other had stood alone. The lamp accepted both, but acceptance did not mean equal worth.
Fang Lin understood the Black Judgment Lamp a little more.
It did not judge kindness.
It judged truth, conviction, and whether a cultivator could bear the weight of what they had spoken. A righteous coward would fail. A cruel man with enough resolve might pass. It was not a clean trial. It was an ancient one.
Ancient things rarely cared whether the living felt comfortable.
Elsewhere in the hall, the battles continued.
Su Wanqing's opponent was not strong in pressure, but it moved strangely. Its body flickered between three positions, each one appearing just before her attack landed. Several disciples near her had already been forced back by its sudden shifts. Bai Qing nearly took a claw to the chest before Han Zhi blocked it, but the impact pushed both of them toward the edge of another corpse's range.
Su Wanqing's gaze remained calm.
She did not rush.
Her desire had been clarity. The lamp had given her an enemy that punished unclear sight.
Wind-wood Qi flowed from her sleeves, not to attack, but to trace the movement of air around the corpse. The first two images stirred the wind differently from the third. Her eyes sharpened.
"There."
She formed a seal with both hands.
"Willow Wind Binding Seal."
Green-white Qi curled through the air and wrapped around the true body of the corpse just as it shifted again. The corpse froze, and Su Wanqing's second seal followed immediately. A thin blade of wind cut through its forehead, extinguishing the black fire inside its eyes.
The corpse fell apart.
A small stream of dark light descended toward Su Wanqing. It entered the back of her hand and formed a faint black mark.
Su Wanqing looked at her hand with a slight frown. She did not smile. Instead, her gaze moved toward Fang Lin and Feng Jiu'er, then toward Xu Hanjiang. Clearly, she had noticed that not everyone who won received the same reaction from the lamp.
Or perhaps not everyone would win.
Li Shan's corpse broke apart soon after, but no mark descended. He stood silently for a moment, then lowered his sword. There was no resentment on his face. His answer had been to accept being ordinary until he could stop being ordinary. In a strange way, failing to receive the lamp's recognition did not break that answer. It only made it heavier.
Zhao Feng defeated his corpse with difficulty, his robe torn and his breathing rough. When no mark appeared, his expression showed disappointment for half a breath before he gritted his teeth and sheathed his blade.
Murong Yue's corpse vanished beneath her hidden blade. The lamp flickered above her, as if considering something, but in the end no mark fell. She looked up at the lamp and smiled faintly. "Stingy."
Zhao Feng stared at her. "You dare complain to it?"
Murong Yue glanced at him. "Quietly."
"Everyone heard you."
"Then perhaps I was not quiet enough."
Even in the tense hall, Bai Qing almost laughed before remembering where they were. The small moment eased the pressure among the Alliance disciples, though no one truly relaxed.
On the River Sword Sect side, the result was worse.
Two disciples failed to defeat their corpse opponents before the lamp flame lowered further. Black light tightened around their wrists, and both screamed as something invisible was pulled from them. They did not die, but when the light loosened, their eyes had dimmed. One looked at his sword with fear, while the other clutched his chest as if the ambition he had spoken aloud had been cut shorter.
The trial had taken what they could not prove.
Xu Hanjiang saw it and said nothing.
The injured disciple beside him noticed that silence, and his face became even paler.
Fang Lin observed quietly.
This was why trials were useful. Outside, people wore robes, titles, and sect names. Inside, when pressure arrived, the cloth tore. Some revealed steel. Some revealed rot. Some revealed both.
The dark flame above the hall lowered to the last third.
Only a few corpses remained.
Feng Jiu'er, Fang Lin, Su Wanqing, and Xu Hanjiang had already received the strange marks. The others fought for survival, not recognition. With the stronger corpses gone, Feng Jiu'er gave a calm order and led the Alliance disciples to support their weaker members without interfering too much. The lamp allowed assistance, but only when the person being tested did not abandon the fight completely.
Fang Lin did not move to help immediately.
He was watching the lamp.
The dark flame had begun to fold inward after each corpse fell. It was not weakening like an ordinary fire. It was withdrawing. The withered corpses that had collapsed did not leave bones behind; their ashes sank into the floor, returning to the stone seats one layer at a time.
This hall was preparing to close.
Fang Lin lowered his gaze to the back of his hand. The mark was hidden beneath his skin, silent and cold. He could feel it if he focused, but it did not call to him, did not point anywhere, and did not explain itself.
Obvious treasures often killed people quickly. Quiet ones waited until the right moment.
He let his sleeve fall over his hand.
No need to study it now.
The final corpse fell beneath Feng Jiu'er's sword.
The black lamp trembled.
All the remaining corpses stopped moving at once. Even those still standing lowered their heads and slowly turned back toward the stone seats. Their bodies cracked apart, becoming ash before they could sit down again. The stone seats themselves sank into the ground one by one, leaving only the black lamp floating in the center of the empty hall.
The ancient voice echoed one last time.
"Desire spoken. Price weighed. Proof accepted. The lamp remembers those who bore the flame."
The dark flame rose high, then compressed into a single black point.
Every cultivator in the hall stared.
Xu Hanjiang's eyes flashed with greed again. He took half a step forward before he stopped himself. The memory of the black chains was still fresh enough to hold his feet in place.
Fang Lin remained still.
Feng Jiu'er remained still as well.
The black point pulsed once.
Then the entire Black Judgment Lamp vanished.
There was no explosion, no fading light, and no sound. One moment it floated in the center of the hall. The next, it was gone, leaving behind only a circular shadow on the stone floor. Even that shadow slowly disappeared, as if the hall itself refused to admit the lamp had ever been there.
Silence settled over the hall.
Zhao Feng stared at the empty air. "It disappeared?"
Murong Yue's expression became thoughtful. "Treasures with temper usually do."
A River Sword Sect disciple muttered, "Was it a treasure or a trial spirit?"
No one offered an answer.
Su Wanqing looked at the place where the lamp had vanished and said softly, "The marks may not be ordinary rewards."
Feng Jiu'er's gaze moved to her own hand, then away. "Do not discuss them openly."
Her words were not loud, but the Alliance disciples immediately understood something. Whether the mark was blessing, ranking, curse, or key, speaking too much about it while enemies stood nearby would be foolish.
Xu Hanjiang smiled coldly from across the hall. "Junior Sister Feng reacts quickly. It seems your group gained more than you wish to admit."
Feng Jiu'er looked at him. Her aura pressed forward again, controlled and proud. "If you want to know, try asking the ruins instead of staring at my hand."
Xu Hanjiang's eyes narrowed slightly.
Fang Lin smiled faintly. "Fellow Daoist Xu should be careful. The last time River Sword Sect tried asking with a sword, the answer was expensive."
The injured River Sword disciple's face twisted.
Murong Yue lowered her head, shoulders trembling slightly.
Xu Hanjiang stared at Fang Lin for several breaths. Killing intent rose in his eyes, but he forced it down. This hall had just punished one reckless action. No one knew whether the lamp's disappearance meant the rules were gone. More importantly, he had seen Fang Lin defeat his corpse with too much precision. The rogue cultivator was not easy to kill.
At least not casually.
A deep rumble came from the far side of the hall.
Two stone doors rose from the ground.
The left door was narrow and covered in faint black flame patterns. The right door was wider, with old battle marks carved across its surface. Neither door carried a clear inscription. The ruins had stopped explaining itself.
Fang Lin looked at the doors and smiled inwardly.
Good.
A door with battle marks usually meant something direct waited behind it.
Feng Jiu'er studied both doors briefly, then looked toward the Alliance disciples. Most of them were injured or exhausted, but their eyes were clearer than before. They had survived Ashen River Crossing, Demon Echo Valley, and Black Lamp Hall. Even those who did not receive marks had gained something.
"Rest for a short while," she said. "After that, we move."
Xu Hanjiang also began gathering his people, but the River Sword Sect's atmosphere had changed. His disciples still obeyed, yet their gazes toward him were no longer the same. The Black Judgment Lamp had left no treasure behind, but it had exposed debts that would not disappear easily.
Fang Lin stood near the vanished lamp's shadow and looked toward the two doors.
The mark beneath his skin stayed silent.
Feng Jiu'er walked to his side, keeping a careful distance. She looked at the doors, not at him. "Which one do you think is safer?"
Fang Lin replied calmly, "The safer one is usually where people die slower."
She turned her head slightly. "That is not an answer."
"It is an honest warning."
For a moment, Feng Jiu'er's lips almost curved, but she suppressed it quickly. "Then which one would you choose?"
Fang Lin looked at the wider door marked by old battle scars. His eyes were calm, but beneath that calmness was a faint sharpness.
"That one."
"Why?"
"Because it looks less interested in pretending."
Feng Jiu'er studied him for a breath, then looked back toward the door.
Behind them, the empty hall grew colder.
The Black Judgment Lamp had vanished.
But everyone who had received its mark could still feel something beneath their skin, quiet as buried fire, waiting for a day no one yet understood.
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