The sun above the endless sky of the secret realm cast no shadows. For nine long years, Xiao Tian had stood before the vast lake, staring at the still, glimmering waters that stretched far beyond the eye could see. Time passed, yet the lake remained unchanged—a boundary he could not cross, a trial he had not overcome.
At sixteen years old, Xiao Tian's body had matured, tempered by solitude, hardship, and tireless cultivation. His robes clung loosely to a frame more defined than before, his once-childlike features sharpened with age and resolve. Luminous circuit-like patterns on his right arm and face, once wild and unstable, now glowed faintly—calm and contained. They were no longer markings of chaos, but proof of the power he had tamed.
And yet, despite all of that…
"I still haven't done it," he whispered to himself. "Nine years... and I still haven't split the lake."
He clenched his fists, a tinge of bitterness rising in his throat. The weight of failure hung heavy on his shoulders.
Not far away, the massive form of the Fire Qilin lounged lazily under the pale sunlight, its mane of flame flickering like a dream. It yawned, stretched, and cast a sideways glance at Xiao Tian.
"You've been here nine years," the Qilin said in a calm, almost amused tone. "And yet, the lake remains whole. One year left. Fail to split it by then, and you'll remain here forever."
With that, it dived beneath the water in a graceful arc and vanished, leaving only silence behind.
Xiao Tian's expression tightened. Forever? The word echoed in his head. Was this to be his tomb? A prison of stillness and forgotten time?
He turned his gaze back to the lake. The instructions were simple—draw the sacred sword embedded in stone, and split the lake to reveal the path to the sect. But for nine years, he had failed. Not because he hadn't tried—he had, again and again—but because the task itself felt… impossible.
Even after years of training, his strength had only reached the Late Middle Tier (中阶后期 - Zhong Jie Hou Qi). He had mastered basic swordplay, enhanced his movements, and honed his body beyond that of ordinary warriors. But he remained far from the High Tier (高阶 - Gao Jie), where one could command elemental forces.
To split a lake of this magnitude?
That was a feat fit for someone at the peak of the Spirit Realm (灵境 - Ling Jing)—or perhaps even those who had touched the Transcendent Realm (超凡 - Chao Fan), whose power could tear mountains and part skies.
"There are only a handful in the world who've ever reached that level," Xiao Tian murmured. "So how can I… someone who hasn't even stepped into Gao Jie… possibly do this?"
His gaze shifted toward the sword.
It stood on a stone platform, half-covered in moss and rust. It was ancient and unimpressive, more like a ceremonial relic than a divine weapon. Yet, the Qilin had spoken of it with reverence.
"Every thousand years, a sword is born… a blade forged by destiny itself. In the last twenty thousand years, only three have appeared… and this is the third. It has waited here for over ten thousand years."
Xiao Tian had asked himself countless times—Is this really a divine sword? And even if it is… how can I use it to split the lake?
Each time, the answer had eluded him.
He turned his back to the lake and sat down on the smooth stone, knees drawn up, arms draped over them. Around him, silence stretched like a veil. No birds, no wind, no time.
Nine years alone. No one to speak to except a cryptic, sarcastic Qilin who never offered help—only riddles and reminders of failure.
"This place... it's like a painting that never changes," he thought. "And I've become part of it. Forgotten."
A sigh escaped him. He wasn't sure if he was tired or simply numb.
But then, as he stared into the shimmering lake, something stirred within his thoughts. A doubt. A crack in the logic he had clung to for years.
"What if… it's not meant to be split at all?"
He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.
"The Qilin said to split the lake… but that could mean anything."
He thought back to how it phrased its challenge.
"Use the sword to split the lake... or remain here forever."
What if the meaning wasn't literal?
His mind began to race.
In ancient texts and idioms, the word "split" or "cleave" (劈 - pi) was often symbolic. It could mean breakthrough, transformation, even understanding.
What if the lake wasn't the obstacle?
What if… the obstacle was his fear?
"It's impossible," he whispered. "No one in the middle tier could split a lake. Even at the high tier, it'd be a miracle. It would take someone at the very peak of the Spirit Realm—or beyond. Only a Transcendent might succeed."
And yet, he had been told to do it.
Why?
Because perhaps… the true trial was not about might. But insight.
"What lies beneath the lake…? What if the answer is down there?"
His eyes widened.
"That's it. That's why no one has ever passed this test—because they were all trying to fight the lake instead of understanding it."
He stood quickly, heart thudding.
"If the trial was to conquer fear… then what am I afraid of?"
He turned to the still waters.
It was vast, dark, and deep. No one knew what lay beneath. For nine years, he had never dared to dive into it—not once.
Now, he realized why.
"Because I was scared," he admitted aloud. "Scared of what's under there. Scared I'd fail. Scared that the unknown would consume me."
He looked to the sword again.
"Maybe… it's not meant to split anything. Maybe it's just the key… to open something below."
A grin tugged at the edge of his mouth. For the first time in years, the despair lifted.
"Then let it be known," he said with a fire rekindled in his voice, "that I, Xiao Tian… fear nothing."
He took a deep breath—then ran forward.
With a sharp cry, he leapt from the stone platform and dove into the lake's surface, vanishing beneath the mirrored waters.