Fang Lin did not enter another trial door immediately.
He sat among the Green Bamboo Alliance side with his head lowered, as if using every breath to steady the wounds left by the sixth trial. Blood had dried along his shoulder and back, and his aura moved with an uneven rhythm that looked convincing enough for the eyes watching from every direction.
Feng Jiu'er stood beside him for a while without speaking. Her gaze moved once across his shoulder, then returned to the blank plaques above the trial doors.
"Your wound is still open," she said quietly.
Fang Lin answered without lifting his head. "That is useful."
Her eyes turned colder. "A wound that fools enemies is useful. A wound that drags down your sword is stupidity."
Fang Lin finally looked up. Her voice was restrained because too many people were nearby, but the fire behind it was not fake.
"I know where the line is," he said.
"Then do not cross it where I can see."
After saying that, she looked away. Her expression returned to its usual calm, but her fingers had tightened once against her sleeve before loosening.
Gu Man crouched nearby with one arm resting on his knee. The bronze-green beast-hide armor on his shoulder still carried marks from the earlier trials, and his eyes had the bright hunger of someone who wanted to fight but knew the door was not a beast he could bite casually.
"If you are going in again with that shoulder, keep your skull attached," Gu Man said. "I still want to see whether your bones are really as stubborn as your sword."
Mo Qingchuan gave him a sidelong glance. "Brother Gu, most people would call that concern."
Gu Man snorted. "Concern is for people who cannot stand back up. He can still sit too straight."
Mo Qingchuan touched the cracked lantern pendant at his chest and looked toward Fang Lin. "A wound can hide strength, but too much blood becomes a signal. The people watching you are not all fools."
Ye Qinglan's voice was calm from the side. "The blank plaques protect secrets, but they also create guesses. Some guesses are more dangerous than truth."
Fang Lin looked toward the trial doors.
The plaques remained empty. A cultivator in black armor stumbled out from one door and immediately pressed a talisman against his abdomen. A woman from a medium sect walked out of another door with frost across half her hair, then sat down without answering her companions' questions. In the distance, a smaller sect disciple entered under his senior brother's urging and never returned.
No announcement came.
No result appeared.
The Myriad Halls Plaza had become a place where every door swallowed evidence.
Fang Lin stood up.
This time, no one tried to stop him. Feng Jiu'er only watched him, and Ye Qinglan shifted her position slightly, blocking several curious eyes from seeing the exact state of his wound. Mo Qingchuan lowered his gaze as if studying the cracks in the ground, while Gu Man smiled with his teeth showing, not in mockery, but in the manner of a beast cultivator watching another hunter step toward a den.
Across the plaza, Xu Hanjiang noticed Fang Lin's movement. His expression did not change much, but his fingers pressed against his sword hilt. Jian Wuchen also looked over, his gaze sharp and silent. Kong Mingyuan stood with the Demon Suppression Temple disciples, prayer beads wrapped around one hand, his face still carrying a solemn righteousness that made his silence seem deliberate.
Fang Lin ignored them all.
The nearest door opened before his palm touched it.
Ancient light wrapped around him, and Myriad Halls Plaza disappeared.
When the light faded, Fang Lin stood inside a chamber filled with black stone pillars.
The pillars rose from the ground at uneven angles, forming a broken forest of stone. Some were thick enough for three men to embrace. Some had been cut halfway through by old battle marks. The ceiling was hidden in darkness, but wind moved above it, circling slowly with a faint slicing sound.
Fang Lin did not raise his sword immediately.
His divine sense spread out in a thin, restrained layer. It touched the ground, the nearest pillars, the wind currents, and the old cuts carved into the stone. He did not scan widely. This place belonged to the mansion trial, and careless soul movement might touch something that did not need to be awakened.
The first attack came from above.
Three grey wind blades fell in silence.
Fang Lin stepped aside, and the wind blades cut into the ground where he had stood. The stone split cleanly, leaving narrow marks with smooth edges. A fourth blade came from behind, lower and faster, aimed at the back of his knee.
Night Burial Sword turned in his hand.
The black blade met the wind blade, and the impact sent a sharp vibration through Fang Lin's wrist. The wind blade shattered into grey threads that scraped across his sleeve before fading.
A shriek came from the darkness above.
A winged figure dropped between two pillars.
It looked almost human from a distance, but its body was covered in dark iron feathers. Its arms ended in hooked claws, and a pair of wide wings stretched behind it like two curved blades. Its face was narrow, its eyes pale, and every feather along its wings carried a faint wind edge.
The creature touched the ground for only an instant before vanishing between the pillars.
Fang Lin's eyes followed the movement.
It was not true disappearance. It was speed, terrain, wind, and broken sight lines woven together. The creature used the pillars as footholds, its wings as blades, and the chamber's wind as cover. If Fang Lin chased carelessly, he would be cut apart before he reached it.
A feather sliced across his forearm.
Blood appeared.
The creature flashed past and rose again.
Fang Lin did not pursue upward. He was still in the Spirit Foundation Realm. He could leap, burst, and cross ground with terrifying speed, but he could not step on air like a Core Formation cultivator. The winged creature owned the space above. Fang Lin owned the ground.
So he broke the ground's rules instead.
The creature dove again, folding both wings into a spear-like killing line. Fang Lin stepped behind a pillar. The wing struck stone and cut halfway through it. Before the creature could withdraw, Fang Lin struck the pillar with his palm.
The pillar cracked from the center.
It collapsed toward the creature.
The winged creature twisted aside with frightening agility, but Fang Lin had already moved. His foot landed on the falling pillar, and his body shot upward along its slanted surface. Night Burial Sword cut toward the base of the creature's left wing.
The creature folded its wing and took the strike with iron feathers. Sparks scattered in the dark air. Its claw swept toward Fang Lin's face at the same time.
Fang Lin tilted his head. The claw tore through several strands of hair and left a shallow cut beside his temple. His knee struck the creature's chest before its claw could return.
The creature slammed into another pillar, shook once, and let out a piercing cry.
Dozens of iron feathers shot from its wings.
Fang Lin landed heavily. A dense pressure sank beneath his feet, not spreading far, only enough to make the air around his body slow by a fraction. Night Burial Sword cut through the first feathers. His left hand knocked aside two more. One feather pierced his sleeve and grazed his upper arm. Another cut his thigh, leaving a long red line.
He moved through the feathers instead of retreating.
The winged creature opened its mouth and released another shriek. This one carried a soul-piercing tremor. The sound struck like a needle against the mind, trying to freeze thought before the claws arrived.
Fang Lin's gaze only became colder.
His soul stood firm.
The creature's claw reached for his throat.
Fang Lin stepped inside the attack and caught the creature's wrist with his left hand. The claw pierced through his palm, but his fingers closed around the joint like an iron clamp.
The winged creature's pale eyes changed.
It tried to pull back.
Fang Lin did not let go.
His shoulder drove forward and struck the creature's chest. The impact cracked the pillar behind it. The creature beat its wings violently, and wind exploded between them. Cuts opened across Fang Lin's neck and arms, but he held the wrist tighter until bone began to grind beneath his fingers.
The creature struck his side with its other claw.
Fang Lin shifted just enough to protect his heart. The claw tore across his ribs and ripped through his robe, leaving a bloody wound along his side. At the same moment, Night Burial Sword rose from below and cut into the root of the creature's left wing.
This time, the iron feathers did not stop the blade.
Black-red blood sprayed against the pillar.
The winged creature screamed and kicked Fang Lin away. Its injured wing dragged for half a breath before wind gathered around it again. Broken feathers, stone dust, and grey currents spiraled together, and the chamber began to hum as if countless blades were rubbing against one another.
Fang Lin steadied himself.
He allowed himself a little more strength than before.
Not Frost.
Not Life.
Not the deeper Death and Darkness he kept buried.
Only body, sword, pressure, speed, and a thin thread of soul perception.
The winged creature descended like a black spear.
Fang Lin waited until the last instant. His palm struck the ground, and the stone beneath the creature's landing path shifted under a sudden heavy force. Its angle changed slightly.
The wing-spear attack missed his heart and tore through his shoulder instead.
Blood splashed across the floor.
Fang Lin's hand shot upward and grabbed the wounded wing root.
He pulled.
The creature crashed face-first into the black stone floor. Before it could rise, Fang Lin stepped onto its back and drove Night Burial Sword down through the injured wing joint. The blade pierced through flesh and scraped against bone.
The creature thrashed with savage strength.
Fang Lin twisted the sword.
The wing tore apart.
The shriek that followed filled the chamber, but Fang Lin did not loosen his grip. He kicked the creature's head into the floor, and the impact broke its jaw. Its remaining wing swept backward, aiming to cut his waist, but Fang Lin lowered his body and moved along the inside of the wing's arc.
Night Burial Sword flashed once across the creature's throat.
Blood poured out, but the winged creature still staggered upward. Its jaw hung at an unnatural angle. One wing was ruined. One claw was broken. Its eyes had turned from pale white to blood-red.
It lunged with the last of its strength.
Fang Lin stepped forward instead of back.
His shoulder struck its chest for the third time. The earlier cracks inside its body finally collapsed. Its body folded inward, and Night Burial Sword pierced through its open mouth, driving out from the back of its skull.
The creature froze.
Fang Lin pulled the sword free, and the body fell heavily to the ground.
For several breaths, only the wind remained.
Then even the wind died.
Fang Lin stood among broken pillars and scattered feathers. His shoulder wound bled heavily. His palm had been pierced. His thigh, side, neck, and arms were cut in several places. He had not needed to suffer all of those injuries, but if he left the chamber too clean after entering again so soon, the blank plaques would not be enough to protect him.
Ancient light descended.
The winged creature's corpse dissolved into ash, and the broken feathers vanished with it. A dark jade case appeared in front of Fang Lin. Inside were three dark-cyan pills, each one marked with a faint wind pattern. Beneath that wind pattern moved a darker thread of medicinal force that seemed to settle into the tendons and meridians.
Fang Lin closed the case and stored it without studying it further.
The trial door appeared.
Before leaving, he lowered his head and looked at himself. His wounds were real. His exhaustion was partly real. His strength, however, had only opened another narrow crack.
He suppressed the hidden recovery stirring beneath his skin, disturbed his aura until it looked rough, and let the blood from his shoulder soak deeper into his sleeve.
Only then did he step out.
Myriad Halls Plaza returned around him.
No plaque lit up.
No voice spoke.
Fang Lin walked out with blood running down his left arm, his palm wrapped loosely around Night Burial Sword, and several fresh cuts across his robe. The cultivators nearest to the door looked over and then quickly looked away, as if staring too long might pull them into the same silence.
Feng Jiu'er came over without haste. In public, her face remained calm, but her eyes stopped on his shoulder for a fraction longer than before.
"This wound cannot be left open," she said.
Fang Lin lowered his voice. "I know. I will handle it."
She took out a strip of clean cloth and passed it to him without making a scene. "Then handle it before someone decides your blood is a map."
Fang Lin accepted the cloth. "That would be an ugly map."
Her eyes sharpened. "Do not make me regret giving you cloth instead of fire."
Fang Lin wrapped his palm and said nothing more.
Gu Man walked over, looked at Fang Lin's shoulder, then looked toward the silent door. "Whatever was inside had wings, claws, or too many knives."
Fang Lin tied the cloth with his teeth. "Close enough."
Gu Man's grin faded slightly. His battle instincts were rough, but not dull. "Then it was fast."
"Fast enough."
"Good." Gu Man's eyes brightened again, but his voice lowered. "If a thing like that cuts you and still dies, I will not rush into my next door laughing."
Everyone knew that even if they lost and attempted again, the opponent would be different each time.
Mo Qingchuan watched the blood drip from Fang Lin's sleeve onto the stone. "The silent rule is cruel. In the old system, a result would frighten people once. Now every return makes them imagine ten different answers."
Ye Qinglan glanced across the plaza. "And imagination spreads faster than truth when no one dares ask directly."
Far away, Xu Hanjiang saw Fang Lin sit down again. The River Sword Sect disciple beside him opened his mouth, then closed it before speaking. Xu Hanjiang's face had become too still.
Jian Wuchen looked at Fang Lin's sword, then at the blank plaque above the door. His fingers rested lightly against his own sword hilt, but he did not move.
Kong Mingyuan lowered his eyes and turned one prayer bead with his thumb. The righteous calm on his face remained, yet his shoulders had become less relaxed than before.
Fang Lin sat among the Green Bamboo Alliance side and adjusted his breathing.
His wounds looked serious enough. His aura looked unstable enough. The blood on his robe told a story that was useful because it was incomplete.
Inside his storage treasure, the dark jade case rested beside the jade bottle from the sixth trial.
The seventh trial monster had fallen.
No one outside knew.
That ignorance was now Fang Lin's shield, and also the knife hanging over every cultivator in Myriad Halls Plaza.
-