The Hollow's paths twisted anew at dawn.
Gone were the serene lakes and quiet groves. In their place rose jagged cliffs and swirling fog, thick as woven silk. The air buzzed with a presence neither wholly hostile nor welcoming. It was a place of memory.
The Trial of Reflection had begun.
They ascended together. Not as strangers, not as competitors, but as a collective—eighteen remaining cultivators walking in silent unity, Xiyan at the center.
When the fog swallowed them, it did so gently. Not to blind, but to isolate.
One by one, they vanished from sight.
Xiyan stepped forward—and was alone.
Before her stood a girl.
Small. Frail. Eyes bruised by sleepless nights and broken hope. Her own face, years ago, when her only goal had been survival.
"You still think you can save them?" the girl asked. "When you couldn't even save yourself?"
Xiyan breathed in. And out.
"No," she said. "Not save. Stand beside."
The illusion flickered.
Another figure appeared. Her old sect master, hands bloodied, dying in her arms.
"I trusted you to protect them," he rasped.
"I was not ready then," Xiyan answered. "But I carry you forward."
The fog shivered.
Visions continued.
Every misstep. Every failure. The moment she begged for mercy. The time she turned away from helping a stranger out of fear.
Each one struck her—not as accusations, but reminders.
Reminders that she had chosen differently since.
And would keep choosing.
A bell tolled somewhere deep within the trial space.
One by one, the cultivators emerged from the fog. Eyes red. Bodies exhausted. But no longer fractured.
They had seen their own truths.
And found strength in the cracks.
When Xiyan appeared, she did not speak. She only walked to the center of the clearing where the others waited.
Yue Lan rose first, walking to meet her. She bowed—not just out of respect, but in recognition.
The others followed.
Not in worship.
In bond.
At the summit, the trial's final guardian awaited: a silver-haired woman draped in immortal robes. Her eyes flicked from cultivator to cultivator.
"You come not as champions, but as a choir," she said. "Unusual."
She turned to Xiyan.
"And you, the conductor?"
"I did not command them," Xiyan said. "They chose to walk beside me."
The woman's gaze softened.
"Then you have already passed."
She opened her palm. A token floated forth—a glimmering seed, pulsing with life.
"The last seed of the Verdant Flame. It chooses only those who would cultivate not just power, but harmony."
She placed it in Xiyan's hands.
"May your roots reach far. And may your branches shelter many."
As they descended the mountain, the Hollow fading behind them, none asked who the winner was.
There was no need.
Their journey had already chosen her.
Not because she was the strongest.
But because in her presence, they had all become more.
End of Chapter 15