The cold of the Alter Ego Path was not a temperature. It was an absence, leaching into Gen's bones from the infinite void pressing in on all sides. He hugged himself, his footsteps the only sound in the crushing silence. Minutes stretched. The grey path ahead remained unchanged, a ribbon leading nowhere. He walked, his mind wandering.
*What are the others seeing? Is Lorel on a path like this? Is Liang? What's the point of this?*
No answers came from the dark.
He walked for what felt like an hour. The sameness was maddening. No turns, no landmarks, no end in sight. Frustration, his oldest companion, boiled over.
"What the hell is this even?" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the nothingness.
"It's you."
The voice came from directly behind him, soft and familiar, yet echoing in his mind.
Gen jolted, spinning around. There was nothing but the empty path and the dark.
"In front," the voice whispered.
Gen whipped back. Still nothing.
Vexed, he crossed his arms. "I'm not playing petty tricks anymore," he muttered to the void and kept walking.
The voice kept pace, right beside his ear. "You're always playing, though. That's the fun part."
Gen turned his head.
A figure walked beside him, matching his stride perfectly. It was him. Down to the last detail—the stubborn set of the jaw, the unruly hair, the confident, rolling gait. The only difference was substance. Where Gen was flesh and blood and vibrant energy, the figure was an amalgamation of condensed shadow, a perfect silhouette given three-dimensional form.
Gen blinked, shock freezing his steps for a second. *Is this… what the old man meant? My alter ego?*
He looked the shadow up and down, and his old, defensive instinct kicked in. A slow, cocky grin spread across his face. "Huh. I was expecting… more. You're even shorter than I remember."
The shadow-Gen shrugged, the gesture an exact mirror. "This place is fantastic, don't you think? Quiet. No one to disappoint. It might be a good place for you to stay."
Gen shook his head and resumed walking, his pace quicker now. "Stay? I've got a Divine General to beat, a friend to save, and a father to avenge. I've got too much to do to rot in this stupid place."
His alter ego clapped its shadowy hands together, a sound like rustling silk. "See? That's it. You are me, and I am you. We are both the Immortal's son. There is nothing we cannot do. Nothing we cannot obtain." The voice was a murmur, sliding into Gen's ear like oil.
Gen puffed out his chest, staring straight ahead at the endless path. "Of course! My father fell, but I will rise again! I'll reach a level even Jiang himself never saw!"
The shadow smiled, a dark curve against its featureless face. "I can give you exactly that. I can give you what you need to defeat the Divine General. Right now. Think of it. No more waiting. No more struggling. You could leave this Tower and crush him. No one would ever be able to stop us again."
Gen's confident stride faltered. He took a half-step back, his heart giving a single, hard, traitorous *thump* in his chest. The idea had never crossed his mind. Not seriously.
There were no shortcuts to the Wheels of Destiny. The texts, Madame Su, even Ting—they all said it. Mastery was years of dedicated, brutal work. That was why five years to master them all was considered a joke, even for him. He'd accepted the challenge not because it was possible, but because the impossible was the only thing worth doing.
But… what if it wasn't?
His alter ego stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Its shadowy form blurred and intensified, as if drawing on a deep, dark well of **Jingdao**. It seemed to grow, looming over him. "The son of the Immortal doesn't *beg* fate for strength," it hissed, its voice losing all mimicry and becoming something colder, hungrier. "He commands it. He doesn't bend. He rises. Don't you want to be an Immortal? *Now?*"
Gen's body trembled slightly. Not from pain or cold, but from a sudden, profound confusion that felt like falling. His heart grew heavy, a stone in his chest. He had no answer. The figure's words scraped against the deepest, most hidden flaw in his spirit—the part that truly believed the world *owed* him victory, that his birthright was a guarantee, not a responsibility. The part that raged when he was denied anything he wanted.
*He was right,* the thought whispered from that dark place. *I'm not supposed to bend. I'm supposed to have it all.*
The shadow saw the crack. It reached out a hand, not to attack, but to merge.
Gen, acting on an impulse he didn't understand, stretched out his own hand in return. Not to push away. To connect.
His fingers touched the shadow.
It dissolved. Not into nothing, but into *him*. A wave of cool, dark certainty flowed up his arm, settling in his core. For a moment, it felt like clarity. Like power without effort.
The grey path vanished.
Gen's smile returned, wider, brighter. He had succeeded! He had faced his trial and overcome it! The Tower's challenge was—
His vision cleared. He stood not on a mystical path, but on familiar, sunlit flagstones. The air was warm, thick with the murmur of a crowd. He blinked.
He was in the grand entrance plaza of the Tower of Wonder, on the very first level. All around him were cultivators—Madame Su, other elders, spectators who had been watching the early rounds, Lone cultivators who had been ejected earlier. And there, clustered together with looks of dazed confusion, were Lorel, Chubbs, Liang, Duo Yi, Ning, Juxian, and Li Zhan.
They were all back at the start.
Gen's face darkened. He spun, looking for the fading light of the portal, the Alter Ego Path. He saw only the solid, ancient stone of the Tower's base. High on the wall, the faint, smiling visage of the old overseer was just dissipating like morning mist.
"Unfortunately," the old man's voice whispered, for Gen alone to hear, "you are all still too young to face your demons. Until you do, your alter ego shall remain your shadow, limiting your path on the Wheels of Destiny. It is a pity. I expected more from the son of Immortal Jiang."
"No! Wait!" Gen rushed at the wall, scrambling as if he could claw his way back. "I can do better! Let me try again!"
The last trace of light winked out. Gen's grasping hand met cold, unyielding stone. The momentum sent him stumbling forward awkwardly, pitching him onto his hands and knees right in the center of the crowded plaza.
A wave of laughter rippled through the uninformed spectators. They saw only the boisterous Jiang heir taking a clumsy, public spill. They had no idea of the psychic battle, the shattered pride, the revelations, or the shadow paths.
Among the eight, there was no laughter. They wore varied expressions—Lorel's was pale and thoughtful, Liang's concerned, Duo Yi's closed and distant, Ning's quietly analytical, Juxian's contemplative, Li Zhan's coolly observant. Each face held a private knowledge, a reflection of whatever they had faced on their own path. They had all seen something. What exactly, no one would say.
Madame Su walked over to where Gen still knelt. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Gen," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "It's over now. The Tower of Wonder has closed. It will not open again for a good long while. You have made progress. You can be proud of yourself."
Gen looked up at her. Part of him felt a leaden weight, a profound sense of having missed something crucial. He hadn't run from the shadow. He had faced it. He had even… accepted it. Why had the Tower deemed that a failure? The logic was a locked door in his mind.
He sighed heavily, pushing the feeling down. He flipped nimbly back onto his feet, dusting off his pants with sharp, annoyed swipes.
Liang was suddenly at his side, a solid, reassuring presence. "Who cares about an old tower and a cranky floor sweeper anyway?" Liang said, his voice deliberately light. "Let's go."
Gen looked at his friend, at the genuine lack of judgment in his eyes. He managed a nod, forcing his trademark grin back onto his face, though it felt tighter than before. "You're right, my friend. You're absolutely right."