Gen watched as figures across the shattered basin began to vanish. Beams of soft, white light shot from their chests or pendants, lifting them skyward before they winked out of sight. He noticed a different group—cultivators who seemed to flicker sideways, their forms blurring before being pulled into the surrounding forest shadows. *Sent out,* he realized. *They didn't collect enough light.*
He glanced at his own pendant, still a dull, five-wedged grey. A knot of bitter irony tightened in his chest. In his arrogance, he'd vowed to earn his light only by defeating a real monster. He'd fought an Adult Beast, broken its assault, and forced its retreat. And his pendant was still empty.
He let out a short, sharp sigh, more frustration than breath. Around him, the aftermath was a blur of movement and sound. Liang was saying something, his face animated, but the words were lost. Gen saw Baili's cold profile, Lorel being supported by Chubbs, Juxian's serious gaze fixed on him. There was so much to say, to ask, to understand.
Then, a warm, gentle light enveloped him from within. It pulsed once, softly, from the center of his chest—not from the pendant, but from *him*. His figure dissolved into a beam of pure white light. The last thing he saw was Liang's surprised face, mouth still moving, before the world vanished.
***
It took him a moment to adjust. The smell of crushed vegetation and blood was gone, replaced by the dry, still air of polished stone. He stood in the same cylindrical hall of the Tower's entrance, but the forest was absent. This was a vast, circular chamber, its walls curving up into shadowed heights. The only feature was a massive, raised arena of dark grey stone in the very center, etched with faint, glowing lines.
His body felt… wrong. In a good way. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders. The deep ache in his bones from blocking those fists, the sting of a hundred sonic cuts, the throbbing in his ears—all of it was gone. He was whole. Healed. As if the battle had been a brutal, vivid dream.
That's when he noticed the stares.
They were all here, arrayed around the edge of the chamber. Duo Yi, standing tall, her glasses mended and robes clean. Juxian, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his jar secure. Baili, leaning against a wall in a distant corner, his face a scowl etched in ice. Lorel, half-hidden behind a pillar with Chubbs a solid shadow beside her. Dozens of others, the survivors, all watching.
"Gen!"
Liang rushed forward, throwing his arms around him in a grip that was half embrace, half desperate check for injuries. "Brother! I saw the light take you and I… I thought you'd been sent out before the real show started!" He pulled back, tears of relief making his eyes shine. "Then I remembered how stubborn you are. I knew you wouldn't be sent out. Not like that."
Gen didn't feel awkward. He hugged his friend back, right there in front of everyone. "I'm happy to be here too," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I thought… I thought I'd failed." He meant the pendant, the light, the entire measure of the trial.
A presence approached. Duo Yi stopped before them, and to the shock of every onlooker, she performed a formal, deep bow—the kind offered to a master who has saved one's life, or a benefactor whose debt could never be fully repaid.
"Gen Jiang," she said, her voice clear and solemn, carrying in the hushed chamber. "I will forever be in your debt. Whatever you may ask of me, one day, no matter what it is… even my life, if you wish it, I will give it." She rose, meeting his eyes. There was no flirtation, no shyness. It was a vow etched in iron.
Gen was so shocked he took an involuntary step back, a flush creeping up his neck. Here, healed and whole, with the grime of battle gone, Dou Yi was stunningly beautiful. Her saying such grave, intimate words in this public arena made his skin prickle with discomfort.
Liang nudged him hard in the ribs, a wide, knowing grin splitting his face. "Told you. A knack."
Gen kicked his friend's shin without looking, a glare silencing him. He turned back to Duo Yi, forcing his voice to steady. "I acted to regain my Jingdao. You gave me the reason. We are even. You don't owe me."
Juxian, who had been listening intently, let out a sudden, explosive gasp. "Wait! So you climbed all this way, fought the Bear-Dragon, faced the False Deity… with your *Jingdao blocked*?"
The words landed in the silent chamber like stones in a still pond. The crowd's perception of Gen shifted audibly. The dismissive glances, the view of him as a merely boisterous distraction, evaporated. Understanding dawned. His reliance on **Shidow**, his avoidance of direct clashes, his search for the Black-Green Wood—it all clicked into a picture of monumental struggle, not weakness.
Lorel, from her place by the pillar, caught the conversation. *Gen had lost his Jingdao.* The realization hit her like a physical blow. She remembered every sign, every instance she'd dismissed as him being reckless or showboating. How could she have missed something so fundamental about the person she was supposed to marry? A hot wave of shame and longing washed over her. She wanted to go to him, to say something, anything. But he was encircled now—by the formidable Dou Yi, the fascinated Juxian, the watchful Ning, and even the assessing gaze of Baili. She did not have the right to stand in that circle. Not yet.
Chubbs stood silently beside her, his usual commentary dead on his lips. He understood the distance in her eyes.
Among the other cultivators, murmurs broke out.
"If our wounds are healed… was it all an illusion?" one young man from the Crimson Plateau wondered aloud.
"An illusion?" scoffed an older cultivator from the Bamboo Marches, shaking his head. "Were your fear and pain an illusion? The scent of your own blood? Boy, you are blind. It was all real. We would have truly died in there. This will not be the first batch to enter the Tower of Wonder and never leave. This place… it is mysterious. It judged, it healed, and it sent us here. To the 25th Level."
"And it sent *him*," another muttered, pointing subtly at Gen. "Without a single light in his pendant. No one can explain that."
As the discorse swirled, a voice slipped into the chamber. It was not loud, but it was everywhere, like dust motes speaking.
**"Your performance was… above average. Nothing truly noteworthy."**
A collective intake of breath, followed by several scoffs of disbelief, echoed around the stone. They had *seen* what they'd faced. They had felt its power.
Gen, Liang, Juxian, and Duo Yi said nothing. They listened. In their young minds, weathered now by genuine mortal terror, they understood. In the future, they would face only increasingly powerful adversaries. The blood bath in the forest had been a brutal, necessary lesson.
A wisp of grey smoke coalesced above the arena, morphing into the scheming, bearded face of an ancient man. Gen and Liang exchanged a glance, a shared memory flashing between them—the sheer, overwhelming presence of Shelia, the Old Monster Milky Beast. Could the Tower itself be inhabited by such a being?
The bearded face paid no mind to the discontent. It seemed to caress its own intangible beard with a spectral hand. **"The next stage this year is… special. Given your demonstrated limits, there is little here that can break them for you. Therefore,"** the voice took on a playful, cruel edge, **"you will break your limits against each other. A tournament. Only the top ten will be sent directly to the 45th Level, where the only door to proceed from this tier awaits."**
Tension, thick and sudden, boiled in the chamber. Eyes darted, assessments were made in glances. Juxian, with his terrifying **Agile Mountain**. Baili, with his indomitable pride and **Cloud Juggernaut**. Dou Yi, master of **Shidow** and the **Doom Dragon**. They were the prime targets, the mountains to climb.
**"The rules are simple,"** the voice continued. **"Win one match, you qualify to move up the ladder. Lose one match, and you are disqualified from further solo combat. You must then join with another defeated cultivator to fight, as a pair, against someone who holds a victory. If you lose again, both of you are ejected from the Tower through the door on this level."**
Murmurs of confusion spread. "Too complicated!" someone shouted.
**"But,"** the voice cut in, smiling its smoky smile, **"if your pair wins… you both earn the right to challenge, together, someone at the top of the ladder. Should you win *that* fight, you both re-enter the competition as individuals."**
A cultivator from Heaven's Gate nodded slowly, working it out. "It means those at the top are in the most danger. They become targets for the desperate."
"Imagine getting first place," another whispered, "only to have to fight Dou Yi *and* Baili at the same time."
Baili, from his corner, smirked. "I would never lose. Therefore, I would never need to 'join hands' with the defeated."
Dou Yi simply shrugged, her expression unmoved. Her losing here? The concept seemed alien to her.
The bearded man laughed, a sound like dry leaves rustling. **"I love your confidence! You may go all out. I will heal any wound, as long as you do not die. That, I cannot help."** The levity vanished. **"This will be fierce. If you do not believe you can sustain it… leave through the door now."**
He gestured with his wispy hand. A simple, arched doorway of light shimmered into existence against the far wall. A silent, ultimate choice.
No one moved.