The chamber beyond the hidden passage was not large, but the moment everyone stepped inside, the air changed.
Hundreds of broken swords floated in silence above the stone floor. Some had no tips. Some had no hilts. Some were only rusted fragments, yet each of them hung in the air as if held by invisible hands. Faint black-red threads moved between the blades like old blood drawn into silk, and whenever someone breathed too loudly, the sword fragments trembled slightly, releasing a thin metallic sound.
At the far end of the chamber stood a stone gate.
On the gate, a single line of ancient characters had been carved deeply.
Those who enter with a weapon shall leave with a wound.
No one moved for a while.
After what had happened in the Weapon Resting Hall, even the most impatient cultivators had learned to hold their legs back. Greed was still there, but fear had become heavier. The floating swords looked like treasures from afar, yet the longer one stared at them, the more they seemed like teeth inside a beast's mouth.
Zhao Feng looked at the words, then looked at the floating swords. His throat moved once. "Senior Sister Feng, I suddenly feel that walking barehanded is a very refined choice."
Murong Yue glanced at him. "You were holding your saber with both hands just now."
Zhao Feng immediately lowered his saber as if it had personally betrayed him. "A man must know when to let go of worldly attachments."
Li Shan stared at him for a moment and said nothing.
Fang Lin stood near the front, the Night Burial Sword quiet at his side. His gaze moved across the chamber once. There was no excitement in his eyes. This place felt different from the previous halls. It did not feel like a place meant to grant treasure. It felt like a passage demanding a toll.
Someone behind them finally could not endure it.
A disciple from a smaller sect stepped out carefully. His eyes were fixed on a floating sword fragment near the left wall. It was only half a blade, but the edge still gave off a faint cold light. Perhaps he thought everyone else was frightened for nothing. Perhaps he believed fortune favored the bold. In the ruins, such thoughts had killed more people than beasts.
He reached out.
The broken sword did not dodge.
The disciple's face lit up, but before his fingers could close around the blade, a soft sound rang through the chamber. The sword fragment turned into a streak of black light and passed through his palm.
Blood sprayed.
The disciple screamed and fell back, clutching his hand. Two fingers dropped to the floor before they dissolved into ash.
The chamber became even quieter.
Fang Lin looked at the ash, then at the floating swords. "That one was expensive."
The injured disciple's face twisted from pain and humiliation, but he did not dare answer. His companions dragged him back, their faces pale.
Duan Qingshan's expression grew solemn. "Those are not real weapons anymore. They are remnants of sword intent."
He Lanyue smiled faintly, though her gaze remained cautious. "Then this is not a treasure chamber."
"No," Feng Jiu'er said. "It is a doorway."
Xu Hanjiang stood farther back among the River Sword Sect disciples. His eyes moved across the floating swords, but he did not step forward. After losing face in the previous hall, he had become much more careful. His smile had vanished, leaving behind only a calm expression that looked a little too controlled.
Fang Lin did not care whether Xu Hanjiang was calm or furious. A snake hiding in grass was still a snake. The difference was only whether it had raised its head.
He walked toward the stone gate.
The moment he moved, the floating swords turned slightly. Their edges aligned toward him. Several cultivators immediately stepped back, afraid that his action would drag them into danger.
Fang Lin stopped three steps before the gate. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of the Night Burial Sword.
The black sword gave a faint hum.
The floating sword fragments trembled. Their intent pressed down, thin and sharp, as if demanding blood. Fang Lin's expression did not change. He lifted his left hand and allowed one strand of sword light to graze across his palm.
A shallow cut appeared.
Blood slid down his finger and fell onto the stone floor.
The moment his blood touched the ground, the sword fragments before him moved apart. The stone gate groaned, and a narrow opening appeared.
Fang Lin looked at the wound on his palm and flexed his fingers once. "A door that asks before cutting is already polite."
Several cultivators did not know whether to laugh.
Murong Yue did laugh, but softly. "Fellow Daoist Shen's standards for politeness are very worrying."
Feng Jiu'er walked forward next. Her red-green robes moved lightly as the sword intent turned toward her. She did not flinch. A thin flame aura rose around her body, warm and sharp, but she did not forcefully resist the chamber. She allowed a sword thread to pass across the back of her hand.
Blood appeared.
The gate opened wider.
Fang Lin glanced at the wound. His hand moved slightly, and a small clean cloth flew toward her.
Feng Jiu'er caught it without thinking. When she realized what it was, her fingers paused. "I have healing pills."
Fang Lin said calmly, "Then return it. Cloth is also money."
Feng Jiu'er looked at him.
Zhao Feng's eyes widened. Bai Qing turned her face away. Murong Yue's lips curved with the expression of someone who had found entertainment in a dangerous place.
Feng Jiu'er's ears reddened by the smallest trace. She wrapped the cloth around her hand and said coldly, "Put it on my account."
Fang Lin nodded. "Fairy Feng's account is growing."
Her gaze sharpened. "Do you collect from everyone like this?"
"Only from people who can afford it."
For some reason, Feng Jiu'er did not answer immediately. She turned and continued forward through the gate, but the corner of her mouth seemed to soften for half a breath before it disappeared.
The Green Bamboo Alliance disciples followed one after another. Each person paid a small wound. Some were cut on the palm, some on the arm, some on the shoulder. The sword intent was sharp, but it did not pursue death unless someone resisted foolishly.
A few cultivators tried to cheat the rule by hiding their weapons in storage pouches before stepping forward. The chamber still cut them. One man protested angrily, only for three sword fragments to turn toward his neck. His protest died so quickly that even Zhao Feng looked impressed.
"Good temper," Zhao Feng muttered. "Better than mine."
Li Shan glanced at him. "You would have protested?"
Zhao Feng shook his head seriously. "No. I mean the sword fragments have better temper than mine. They only cut once."
Luo Chen finally could not hold back and laughed.
The tense atmosphere loosened slightly.
Duan Qingshan and Iron Spear Valley passed through after the Green Bamboo Alliance. When the sword intent cut across his forearm, Duan Qingshan did not even blink. He looked at Fang Lin as he walked past and said, "Fellow Daoist Shen, after leaving this place, if you ever want to drink with Iron Spear Valley, I will pay."
Fang Lin looked at him. "You are inviting me because of the sword or because of me?"
Duan Qingshan grinned. "Both. I am honest enough to admit it."
"That is already better than many people."
Duan Qingshan laughed loudly. "Then there is hope?"
Fang Lin walked through the stone gate. "There is always hope before the bill arrives."
The Iron Spear Valley disciples behind Duan Qingshan exchanged glances. Some looked amused, while others became even more curious and few didn't even understand the talk.
Shen Mo had no sect badge, no clear origin, and no obvious fear of offending powerful disciples. Such people were either fools or monsters. After the Weapon Resting Hall, no one in Iron Spear Valley thought he was a fool.
River Sword Sect came later.
Xu Hanjiang let two disciples go ahead before entering himself. The sword intent cut across his sleeve and left a thin wound on his wrist. His expression did not change, but his eyes briefly landed on Fang Lin's back.
Fang Lin did not turn around.
That indifference made Xu Hanjiang's gaze colder.
The stone gate opened fully after the last group passed. Behind them, the chamber of floating swords began to dim. One by one, the broken sword fragments sank toward the ground. By the time everyone had crossed, the hidden passage behind them closed with a heavy sound. The Weapon Resting Hall, the sword chamber, the blood on the floor, and the racks full of old weapons vanished behind stone.
The trial location was over.
What appeared before them was not another hall.
It was the ruins.
A vast broken landscape stretched beneath a sky stained with dim red clouds. Collapsed towers leaned against each other like old giants that had died standing. Black grass grew between cracked stone roads. Far away, half of a palace floated in the air, its lower half missing, while streams of dark mist poured from its broken foundation like smoke from an ancient wound.
The air outside was wider, colder, and far more dangerous.
There were no neat walls guiding them forward now. No single door. No inscription telling them what to do. Paths split in every direction. Some roads led toward ruined courtyards. Some descended into underground cracks. Others vanished between black stone forests where faint beast roars echoed from time to time.
Cultivators moved in the distance.
Some traveled in groups. Some hid their auras and watched from broken rooftops. A battle had just ended near a collapsed pavilion to the west; three bodies lay beside a shattered stone lion while two surviving disciples searched the corpses quickly before fleeing. To the north, several beams of spiritual light rose briefly, then vanished as if swallowed by fog.
This was no longer a controlled trial chamber.
This was a ruin where people hunted treasure, danger, and each other.
Feng Jiu'er looked across the broken land. "How long do you think we spent inside?"
Su Wanqing took out a small time-counting jade and checked it. "Less than half a day in the Weapon Resting Hall sequence. Outside, the sixth day should be deepening. We still have time before the expected ejection."
The expected ejection.
Several people relaxed slightly at those words. Fifteen days was the limit everyone knew. As long as they survived until then, they would leave.
Fang Lin looked toward the distant floating palace but did not speak.
In ruins like this, the things everyone knew were often the least trustworthy.
A few cultivators who had exited behind them began whispering already.
"Silent Mountain Sword came out."
"He took the black sword."
"Iron Spear Valley is speaking with him."
"River Sword Sect paid him compensation."
"Who exactly is Shen Mo?"
The name moved through the crowd like sparks carried by dry wind. It did not explode, not yet, but it would travel. Inside the ruins, rumors ran faster than people. By nightfall, the story would become sharper, uglier, and more exaggerated depending on whose mouth carried it.
Fang Lin could already imagine it.
By tomorrow, he might have three heads, six swords, and a hobby of collecting compensation from anyone who breathed too loudly.
He coughed and sighed lightly.
Murong Yue heard it and smiled. "Regretting your fame?"
Fang Lin said, "I am wondering whether I should charge less before the rumors become unreasonable."
Zhao Feng stared at him. "You still want to charge?"
Fang Lin looked at him calmly. "Fame is troublesome. Someone must pay for the trouble."
Zhao Feng opened his mouth, then closed it. After thinking seriously for a moment, he nodded. "That sounds shameless, but strangely fair."
Bai Qing finally laughed.
Even Feng Jiu'er's expression eased for a moment before she looked away.
The small warmth did not last long. Han Zhi suddenly raised his hand, and the Alliance disciples became alert. From the road ahead, three injured cultivators staggered out from between two broken walls. Their robes belonged to a middle sect Fang Lin did not recognize. One of them had a bleeding shoulder, while another clutched a storage pouch tightly against his chest.
Behind them, five rogue cultivators walked out slowly.
The leader of the rogues was smiling.
"Friends," he said to the injured disciples, "why run so quickly? We only wanted to discuss how to divide the medicine garden harvest. There is no need to make things ugly."
The injured disciple holding the pouch gritted his teeth. "You waited until we fought the corpse vines before attacking!"
The rogue cultivator's smile widened. "That is called good timing."
The Green Bamboo Alliance stopped.
So did Iron Spear Valley.
The rogue cultivators noticed the larger group only then. Their expressions changed at once. The leader's eyes swept over Feng Jiu'er, then Duan Qingshan, then Fang Lin. When he saw the Night Burial Sword at Fang Lin's side and the blood still drying on several disciples' sleeves, his smile became much more polite.
"Ah," he said, cupping his hands quickly. "Fellow Daoists, this is a misunderstanding."
Zhao Feng whispered, "That word is getting cheaper."
Fang Lin looked at the rogue cultivator and then at the injured disciples.
The injured disciple's face was pale, but he still held the pouch tightly. He did not beg immediately. That alone made Fang Lin look at him one extra time.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze turned cold. Her Peak Spirit Foundation aura did not fully erupt, but the air around the road grew hotter. "Leave."
The rogue leader's face stiffened. He looked as if he wanted to argue, but Duan Qingshan shifted his spear, and Iron Spear Valley's disciples moved half a step forward. Behind them, several cultivators who had heard the name Silent Mountain Sword were watching eagerly, as if hoping someone else would be foolish enough to test whether the rumor was true.
The rogue leader swallowed.
"Yes. Of course. We were just leaving."
He retreated quickly with his men. None of them dared ask about the pouch again.
Fang Lin watched them disappear into the broken streets. He did not chase.
Not every debt belonged to him. Not every villain needed to die under his hand. In the ruins, wasting strength on every ugly face was also a kind of stupidity. But if those people appeared again at the wrong time, he would remember their faces.
The injured disciples bowed repeatedly to Feng Jiu'er and the others before hurrying away.
Duan Qingshan looked at Fang Lin. "You did not move."
Fang Lin replied, "Fairy Feng already spoke."
Feng Jiu'er glanced at him.
Duan Qingshan's grin became strange. "So Fellow Daoist Shen also knows when to let others take the wind."
Fang Lin said, "Wind is free. Why fight for it?"
Murong Yue's eyes curved. "That sentence sounds wise only because you said it seriously."
Fang Lin looked at the ruined road ahead. "Then remember it as wisdom."
No one knew who laughed first, but for a brief moment, the group did not feel like disciples walking through a deadly ruin. They felt like young cultivators traveling under a dark sky, still alive, still able to laugh before the next blade appeared.
Feng Jiu'er turned toward the west, where the broken stone road curved around a collapsed tower. "We should not enter another trial site immediately. Everyone needs to recover, and we need information about the outer ruins. We will move through the ruined streets first, find a defensible place, and rest before choosing the next direction."
No one objected.
Even those who wanted more treasure understood the need. The Weapon Resting Hall had given them gains, but it had also placed eyes on their backs. Moving blindly into another enclosed location would only invite traps.
Fang Lin approved silently.
The ruins ahead were better.
Open ground meant more danger, but also more choices. More witnesses, but also more chances to disappear. More enemies, but also more ways to make enemies fight each other.
He glanced once toward the distant floating palace.
Somewhere deeper in this broken world, the true current was still hidden.
For now, he walked with the Green Bamboo Alliance along the cracked stone road, while whispers followed from behind.
Silent Mountain Sword.
Shen Mo.
No sect. No origin. A black sword at his side and debts counted clearly.
The name had not yet to spread beyond the ruins.
But inside the ruins, it had begun to walk ahead of him.
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