Fang Lin had just taken a step toward one of the countless doors when the entire Myriad Halls Plaza trembled.
It was not a violent tremble. The ground did not crack, and the ancient pillars did not sway. Yet every cultivator in the plaza felt it clearly, as if a hand had pressed down on the space itself and forced all noise to die.
The trial doors dimmed at the same time.
The plaques that had been showing names, levels, passes, failures, and deaths lost their light one after another. Golden words faded into blank stone. The silence that followed was heavier than any roar.
Then the ancient formation voice sounded again.
"From this moment onward, the level attempted and the result obtained shall no longer be announced."
The plaza froze.
"The path of trial belongs to the one who walks it. Outsiders shall no longer read another cultivator's steps."
The voice was calm and old. It did not explain. It did not answer. After those words fell, the light above the doors returned, but the plaques remained blank.
For several breaths, no one moved.
A scarlet-robed disciple from Scarlet Sun Palace frowned. A Heavenly Sword Lake cultivator narrowed his eyes. Several medium sect disciples looked at one another, suddenly unsure whether this change was a mercy or a warning. Even the reclusive disciples, who rarely showed emotion, became still.
Gu Man stared at the blank plaques and scratched his jaw. "That old voice really knows how to make people uncomfortable."
Mo Qingchuan's fingers rested on the cracked lantern pendant at his chest. "It changed the rules after watching us attempt the trials. That is rarely a small matter."
Ye Qinglan's expression remained gentle, but her gaze had sharpened. "From now on, anyone who enters may return with a reward, a failure, or a wound no one can explain."
Feng Jiu'er looked toward Fang Lin. She did not ask whether he still intended to enter.
Fang Lin watched the nearest door for a moment. The blank plaques suited him better than the shining ones.
A disciple from a medium sect could not endure the pressure and walked forward first. He wore blue-grey robes and carried a curved saber. His companions called out a warning, but he forced a smile and said, "If results are hidden, that is even better. At least no one will laugh if I fail."
The door swallowed him.
Less than half an incense stick later, another door opened somewhere across the plaza. The blue-grey robed disciple was thrown out like a broken sack. His curved saber was cracked in two, his left leg twisted at an ugly angle, and blood poured from one ear. His companions rushed forward and dragged him back while feeding him pills.
The plaque above the door did not shine.
No word appeared.
No one knew whether he had passed, failed, surrendered, or barely escaped death.
A cold feeling moved through the plaza.
Another cultivator entered. Then a third. One returned with his chest armor caved inward. Another did not return at all. His sect brothers waited, their faces growing worse with every breath, but the door stayed closed and the plaque stayed blank.
The hidden results had not lowered the danger.
They had only removed the warning bell.
Fang Lin stepped forward.
Feng Jiu'er spoke quietly behind him. "Be careful."
Fang Lin turned his head slightly. "I am always careful."
Fang Lin smiled faintly and continued walking.
The door opened before he touched it. Ancient light wrapped around his body, and the noise of Myriad Halls Plaza disappeared.
When the light vanished, Fang Lin stood inside a wide black stone chamber.
The ceiling was high enough to vanish into darkness. The floor was engraved with old combat marks, some shallow, some deep enough to swallow a foot. The air carried a metallic smell, like dried blood that had been washed away too many times yet never fully vanished.
Across from him, a figure slowly raised its head.
It was taller than a man by half a body. Its skin was ash-black and covered in hard scale-like plates. Two broken horns curved back from its forehead, and its arms were wrapped in dark chains that ended in crescent hooks. Its eyes were dull gold, but there was no confusion in them.
This was not a mindless puppet.
The moment its gaze landed on Fang Lin, killing intent struck the chamber like a hammer.
Fang Lin's robe snapped backward.
He did not retreat.
Night Burial Sword appeared in his hand, its black blade quiet and heavy. Fang Lin's fingers closed around the hilt, and his breathing settled.
The ash-scaled demon moved first.
Its speed was absurd. One moment it stood across the chamber, and the next, the hooked chain had already torn through the air toward Fang Lin's throat. The chain did not whistle. It crushed the air flat, carrying a force that made the stone floor beneath Fang Lin's feet crack.
Fang Lin stepped sideways.
The hook passed his neck by a hair's width and smashed into the wall behind him. Stone burst outward. Before the fragments landed, the second chain came from below, aiming for his ribs.
Night Burial Sword turned down.
Metal struck metal, and the impact ran through Fang Lin's arm. His sleeve split from the force, and the floor beneath his boots sank half an inch.
The demon did not pause. It pulled both chains, and the crescent hooks curved back like living things, one toward Fang Lin's spine and the other toward his knee.
Fang Lin's eyes became colder.
His left foot pressed down.
A heavy pressure entered the floor. It did not spread widely, and it did not roar. It sank into one point beneath him, making his body as steady as a mountain root. The hook behind him struck his back, but its killing angle had already been forced aside by the shift in his stance. It tore through the outer layer of his robe and left a bloody line across his shoulder instead of piercing his heart.
Fang Lin moved at that instant.
His body closed the distance in a single burst. Night Burial Sword cut upward, black light flashing across the demon's chest. Sparks flew as the blade scraped over ash-black scales, leaving only a shallow wound.
The demon's knee rose.
Fang Lin raised his left palm.
The knee and palm collided. A dull boom spread through the chamber, and Fang Lin slid back three steps, each step crushing stone. His palm went numb, but his expression did not change.
The demon lunged after him.
The chains swept out in a cross, sealing the space above, below, left, and right. The hooks dragged black sparks across the floor. Fang Lin's divine sense tightened into a thin thread, catching the slight change in the demon's shoulder before the killing move fully formed.
The right chain was false.
The left hook was the real strike.
Fang Lin bent his body backward as the right chain passed over him. His black sword stabbed down and pinned the left chain to the ground. The demon's golden eyes flashed. It released the chain and punched directly at Fang Lin's head.
Fast.
Too fast for an ordinary Late Spirit Foundation cultivator to react.
Fang Lin's body twisted. The punch tore past his cheek, and the wind from it split the skin near his jaw. Blood slid down, but his own fist had already landed against the demon's abdomen.
The chamber shook.
The demon's body bent slightly, but only slightly.
Fang Lin's gaze sharpened.
Its body was stronger than expected.
The demon roared and slammed its forehead down toward him. Fang Lin did not dodge backward. He moved inward, shoulder striking the demon's ribs as Night Burial Sword reversed and cut into the joint beneath its arm.
This time, the blade entered.
Black blood sprayed out.
The demon's roar became harsher. Its free hand grabbed at Fang Lin's neck, but Fang Lin's figure blurred half a step. Not vanished. Not an illusion. Just one impossible shift at the exact moment the hand closed.
The claws caught empty air.
Fang Lin appeared beside its wounded arm and kicked the back of its knee.
The demon staggered.
Night Burial Sword came down.
The strike landed on the demon's neck, but the scales there were thicker. The blade sank in only a finger's depth before stopping. The demon twisted violently, and one chain lashed across Fang Lin's chest.
Fang Lin flew backward and struck the ground. Blood rose in his throat. He swallowed most of it, but a thin line still escaped the corner of his mouth.
The demon rushed over him like a falling wall.
Fang Lin's eyes were calm.
At the moment the demon descended, his palm pressed against the floor.
The stone beneath the demon's feet sank.
Its movement slowed for half a breath.
That half breath was enough.
Fang Lin rolled beneath the falling chain, rose beside the demon's wounded arm, and drove Night Burial Sword into the same cut he had opened earlier. This time, he did not pull back. His body force surged through the blade, dark and heavy, drilling through scale, flesh, and bone.
The demon's arm tore free from the shoulder.
Black blood splashed across the floor.
The demon howled and smashed its remaining fist toward Fang Lin's chest. Fang Lin crossed his arm before him and took the blow directly. The impact sent him sliding back, but before the demon could recover its balance, Fang Lin's feet struck the ground again.
He rushed forward.
No hesitation.
No wasted movement.
The demon swung its remaining chain. Fang Lin lowered his shoulder and let the hook scrape across his back, tearing open another bloody wound. His eyes did not even flicker. Night Burial Sword thrust forward, not at the neck, not at the chest, but into the gap beneath the demon's jaw.
The black blade pierced upward.
The demon froze.
Fang Lin stepped closer and twisted the sword.
A cracking sound echoed through the chamber.
The demon's golden eyes dimmed, but its remaining hand still tried to rise. Fang Lin's left hand struck its chest with a palm. The force was short, heavy, and merciless. The demon's chest caved in slightly, and its body flew backward, crashing into the far wall.
This time, it did not stand.
Fang Lin remained where he was, breathing slowly. Blood dripped from his shoulder, cheek, back, and chest. None of the wounds were fatal, but they were real. He had not avoided all injury because avoiding everything would have required showing more.
The chamber stayed silent for three breaths.
Then ancient light descended.
The demon's corpse dissolved into ash, leaving no material behind. A jade bottle appeared in the air before Fang Lin. Inside the bottle were six pale blue pills, each one carrying clean medicinal fragrance and a faint warmth that spread through the meridians just by being near.
Fang Lin stored the bottle without opening it.
The trial chamber door appeared behind him.
Before stepping out, he looked down at his torn robe and the blood across his body. His wounds had already begun to itch faintly, the hidden recovery within his body stirring beneath the surface. He suppressed it.
Then he forced his aura to become rougher, let his breathing grow heavier, and smeared a little more blood against his sleeve.
Only then did he walk through the door.
Myriad Halls Plaza returned around him.
No plaque lit up.
No voice announced his result.
Fang Lin stepped out with torn robes, a bleeding shoulder, and an unstable aura. Several cultivators nearby turned at once. Some recognized Night Burial Sword. Others recognized his calm face. A few looked toward the blank plaque above the door and found nothing there.
That emptiness made their expressions change.
No one knew whether Shen Mo had passed.
No one knew what level he had challenged.
No one knew what he had seen inside.
They only saw that he had returned alive.
Feng Jiu'er reached him first. Her eyes moved across his wounds, and the fire in her gaze sharpened slightly. "How serious?"
"Not enough to fall down."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the one I can afford in public."
She looked at him for a moment, then handed him a pill without asking further. Fang Lin accepted it and held it in his palm, but did not swallow it immediately.
Gu Man walked over and looked him up and down. "You look like something tried to chew you and regretted the first bite."
Fang Lin glanced at him. "It had poor taste."
Mo Qingchuan exhaled softly. "He can still answer like that. He is not dying."
Ye Qinglan looked toward the blank plaque above Fang Lin's door. "No result. No level. No reward shown. This change will make everyone more afraid than before."
Across the plaza, Xu Hanjiang watched Fang Lin return with narrowed eyes. Jian Wuchen also looked over, his expression unreadable. Kong Mingyuan stood among the Demon Suppression Temple disciples, his face still carrying a calm, righteous appearance, but one finger moved slowly across the prayer beads at his wrist.
No one spoke loudly.
The hidden result had turned every returning cultivator into a sealed box.
And Shen Mo had just walked out of one.
Fang Lin sat down among the Green Bamboo Alliance side, lowered his eyes, and slowly adjusted his breathing. His wounds looked rough, his aura looked unstable, and the blood on his robe was convincing.
Only he knew how much strength he had truly used.
Only he knew that the sixth level had fallen.
Inside his storage treasure, the jade bottle rested quietly.
Above the countless doors, the blank plaques gave no answer.
And because there was no answer, the pressure inside Myriad Halls Plaza grew heavier.
The trial had become silent.
But silence did not make it gentler.
It made every door look like a mouth that swallowed truth.
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