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The mist rose thick as milk, swallowing the path until even moonlight had to feel its way forward.
Shen Xun’s qi glimmered faintly around them, a sheath of pale silver holding the damp at bay. Every footstep made the bridge hum—a low, metallic vibration that echoed in their bones.
He Yan walked half a step behind, cloak tugged tight around his shoulders. His breath fogged the air in slow bursts. Somewhere below, unseen water roared through the canyon like the heartbeat of a sleeping beast.
“Beautiful place for insomnia,” he murmured.
Shen Xun didn’t answer. His attention was on the runes that flared dimly along the railing—sigils of warding, shifting between clarity and haze.
He crouched, fingertips brushing the carved lines. “The barrier is thinning. Someone’s been tampering.”
“Tampering how?” He Yan leaned in beside him, hair brushing his shoulder. The contact sent a small, treacherous current down Shen Xun’s spine.
He Yan’s eyes, gold under the moonlight, studied the sigils. “These lines… they’re not eroded. They’re absorbing. As if drawing qi inward rather than repelling it.”
Shen Xun’s brows knitted. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“That depends on what’s feeding it.” He Yan’s fingers hovered just above the mark. “If the bridge is alive—or bound to a spirit core—it could be… hungry.”
The word hung there, tasting faintly of danger.
The Breath Beneath
A gust of wind rose from the chasm. Cold, damp, carrying the faintest whisper—words neither of them quite understood, more sensation than language. Shen Xun’s sword hand moved instinctively to his hilt. He Yan felt his qi twitch, restless, eager.
The mist parted.
Something looked back.
A shape, pale and fluid as moonlight caught in water, drifted upward through the fog. It had no face, only the suggestion of one—eyes where light gathered, a mouth that shimmered like rippling glass. For a moment, it simply hovered, studying them. Then it spoke.
“Two halves,” it murmured. “Bound by jade… share one breath… or fall.”
He Yan’s hand went automatically to the oath token at his chest. The jade disc was glowing—softly, insistently.
Shen Xun drew his sword in a single soundless motion. “Step back.”
“Wait.” He Yan’s palm brushed his sleeve. “It’s not attacking.”
“Yet.”
The spirit tilted its head, as if amused by their disagreement. Then, before either could react, it dissolved into light—and the entire bridge answered.
A shockwave ran beneath their feet. Runes flared. The air convulsed.
He Yan staggered, clutching the railing. Shen Xun caught him by the wrist, pulling him close just as the world split in white fire. The bridge shuddered and the protective array shattered like glass, raining fragments of qi that burned and glittered all around them.
“Hold on!” Shen Xun barked, but the wind swallowed his voice.
The jade token flared brighter, twin halves fusing for the first time. He Yan felt his consciousness twist—a dizzying lurch as Shen Xun’s qi surged into his own. His mind flooded with sensation: the cold precision of sword intent, the quiet storm of a spirit honed by discipline. He gasped, half-choked on someone else’s heartbeat.
And Shen Xun—used to control so rigid it could split stone—found himself awash in the scent of herbs and starlight, in a warmth that hummed like laughter trapped inside fire. He tried to pull back. The jade refused.
They were linked.
The spirit’s voice echoed again, inside their shared mind this time.
“Trial of Mind. Two paths. One heart.”
The mist convulsed—and the world vanished.
Inside the Trial
They awoke standing in a field of mirrors. Thousands of them, stretching endlessly, each reflecting fragments of themselves—He Yan’s uncertain smile, Shen Xun’s furrowed brow, an infinite gallery of what-ifs.
He Yan exhaled shakily. “I’ve had hangovers that felt like this.”
“It’s an illusion realm,” Shen Xun said, scanning their surroundings. “The first trial began without warning.”
“And we’re linked by qi,” He Yan noted. “Which means if one of us panics—”
“The other feels it.” Shen Xun’s tone was grim.
“Splendid,” He Yan said faintly. “Intimacy through suffering.”
A mirror beside them rippled. From its surface stepped another He Yan—smiling too wide, eyes gleaming with mischief. Behind him, a second Shen Xun emerged, blade drawn, expression blank as carved jade.
The doubles circled them.
“Ah,” He Yan muttered. “Inner demons. How very traditional.”
“They’re drawn from thought,” Shen Xun said. “Stay calm.”
“Calm is relative,” He Yan replied as his double raised a hand and conjured a flame shaped like a blooming orchid. “Mine seems rather theatrical.”
The real Shen Xun stepped forward, intercepting the blow with a sweep of his sword. Sparks flew. “Focus!”
He Yan spun aside, his palm glowing as he threw a counter-seal. “Easy for you to say! Your inner demon looks exactly the same.”
“Because I already live with mine.”
The words struck harder than the demon’s blade. For a moment, He Yan forgot to breathe.
Then his demon laughed—a sound both cruel and familiar. “You hide behind jokes because the truth burns,” it whispered. “You brew pills for everyone except yourself.”
He Yan’s seals faltered. The mirrored flame surged.
But Shen Xun’s qi flooded through the bond, cool and steady as mountain snow. Focus on me, his voice echoed inside He Yan’s head—command and comfort in one. The warmth steadied his pulse. Together they moved, a rhythm born not of training but of instinct. When Shen Xun struck, He Yan’s qi wove behind the blow, amplifying it in a burst of silver-blue light. The mirrored selves shattered, dissolving into mist.
Silence returned.
The field of mirrors folded inward, collapsing until only one remained—tall, polished, showing them side by side. Their reflections were not enemies now but fused: two outlines overlapping, indistinguishable.
The spirit’s voice echoed: “Balance. Achieved.”
The mirror cracked, light poured through, and the bridge came rushing back.
Back on the Bridge
He Yan stumbled, catching himself on the railing. His chest heaved; his skin hummed with residual qi. Shen Xun was beside him, equally breathless, sword lowered but not sheathed.
For a long moment they simply stared at each other, the night wind cool against their flushed faces.
“Are you hurt?” Shen Xun asked quietly.
“Only existentially,” He Yan said, voice rough.
The corner of Shen Xun’s mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile. He Yan couldn’t help it; he laughed, low and breathless.
“You—laughed,” He Yan said in disbelief.
“You hallucinated.”
“Then hallucinate more often, Senior Brother.”
Shen Xun looked away, pretending to adjust his blade. “We passed the first trial.”
“Together,” He Yan said softly.
The token at his chest had cooled now, but faint threads of light still bound them, fading slowly. Shen Xun followed the line with his eyes before looking back at him.
“For tonight,” he said, “don’t wander.”
He Yan smiled. “You’re worried.”
“I’m responsible.”
“Same thing,” He Yan murmured, too quietly for him to deny.
Shen Xun said nothing, but when he turned to leave, his hand brushed He Yan’s shoulder—light, brief, unthinking.
He Yan stood there long after the footsteps faded, heart drumming with borrowed rhythm.
Above, the mist swirled again, and the bridge glowed faintly—two colors interwoven: silver and gold.
The Trial of Mind had ended.
The Trial of Body awaited.
And between them, something fragile and unspoken had begun to breathe.
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